Newer tenants would not be aware that the passions climbed steam high in those flats. Too many years had passed. Perhaps people no longer ran after one another in the hallways after hours or grappled at the top of the stairs. Maybe no one crumpled sob-heavy in the foyer anymore, fingerprinting the glass on the double doors. The building held no records that a coat of quality paint could not conceal. It overlooked all of the activity with the same fixed indifference trees have as all other things transform. A passerby could still look up the following day and see its gorgeous concrete curves. Untouched.

Photography by Ian N'Kosi Joseph. Words by Kwesi Ako Dash. © 2009