As the audience enters, they encounter sixty-something zenzile maseko sitting in her concrete cube of a room in a downtown Durban women's hostel.

The space is cramped. When zenzile rises from the bed, she needs only to hobble a few paces before she has reached the kitchen counter situated on the opposite side.

Outside, rain can be heard falling from the gutters … the occasional rumble of thunder … distant street and city noises … hooting cars … tyres slushing through puddles … the whistles of taxi drivers … and conversations of street vendors as they pack up for the night.

zenzile sits on the edge of her bed, shoes cast aside, rubbing her swollen ankles. A wheelchair sits beside the bed. Since her stroke, zenzile has lost the use of her right hand and has been largely relegated to this chair. While she is able to walk short distances with the aid of a walking stick, trips outside of the hostel are undertaken with the aid of this chair.

zenzile is framed by a large window. The sickly urine-yellow sodium of a nearby street light spills into the room, casting long shadows. On the window ledge sits a framed picture of a young man, a wireless radio (with Zulu gospel music playing) and a small clay pot with a tree sapling planted in it.

zenzile's single bed, relegated to one corner of the room and raised on bricks, is adorned with frilly sheets and a patterned blanket folded neatly at the end. At the head of the bed stands a rusty locker, with a suitcase, blankets (still kept in plastic carry bags) and a laundry basket all balancing precariously on top.

On a section of the wall closest to the bed are a myriad of photographs depicting zenzile's family members at ceremonies and special occasions. Extending along this same wall is a washing line with items of clothing pegged all along it. A makeshift bedside table (plastic beer crate) features an isiZulu Bible sitting pride of place on top of a doily.