“Sifelani? Imali?”, responded one of the survivors of the Marikana Massacre, now rooted to a wheelchair remembering each laboured breath with his face planted in the soil, hands clenched over a bullet wound, wondering to himself what they were all dying for. His words translate to “What are we dying for? Money?” From the Zulu dialect. This, of course, couldn’t be further from the truth. They were dying for something much more valuable than money, much more valuable than Gold. They were dying for an idea of what Africa should be. Fair. Equal. Prosperous. This question is perhaps so poignant and central to the idea behind this body of work to ask ourselves as Africans, wherever we are, what we are dying for.