Lives on the Edge

A few days ago, I found myself on Korte Zavelstraat, right across from the OCMW, where two homeless people were waiting for their one o’clock appointment. It was just past 12:15, and they were there early, calmly passing the time. Walking over from the Gasstraat blocks, I was struck by the contrast, this felt like another world, still Belgium, yet removed from the rhythms of everyday life I know.

This is Seefhoek: a neighborhood on the edge, where the margins of society meet, where old Belgians remain, where the unexpected and the unseen mingle. I walked slowly, my camera around my neck. The woman called out to me, complimenting my outfit. I turned, smiling, and we exchanged greetings. “Would you like a photo?” I asked, and she said yes.

As I took a few shots, we started talking. I sat down on the doorstep beside them and explained that I’m a documentary photographer and street photographer, interested in people’s stories. Could I follow them for a day? They agreed immediately, welcoming the idea. They told me where to find them: afternoons at Park Spoor Noord. At night, he often sleeps at Biekorf (homeless shelter), weighed down by frustration and financial struggles. The woman sleeps in different places, finding her own small spots and corners, rarely at Biekorf.

Later that day, I passed Sint-Jansplein, taking photos as I went. I was approached by a antoher homeless man who asked very detailed questions about my camera. He asked about the brand and mentioned that he used to be a photographer himself. He asked whether I shoot on film or digitally, and shared stories about his time using a Hasselblad. He came across as friendly, but shortly after, the mood shifted. He began making remarks about my sunglasses and how much drugs he could buy with my gear.

Because of my background in law enforcement, I wasn’t particularly fazed, but I remained cautious. I decided to wrap up the conversation and continued on my way toward Park Spoor Noord. In the distance, I saw the two people I had met earlier that day on Korte Zavelstraat, but they were surrounded by a group of other homeless people. After the encounter at Sint-Jansplein, I decided I didn’t want to push my luck and head back toward the city center for the day.

I don’t know exactly what draws me to these people, to this world so different from the one I live in. I have been fascinated all my life by what I do not know, curious about everything that is different. This curiosity has taken me everywhere, not just here, but across the world. I want to know more, to get closer, to gain access to places, people, spaces, and lives that are usually closed off. I cannot fully explain why it captivates me, or what it is about.

Even brief encounters like this leave an impression. There’s a world here, hidden in plain sight, full of stories of struggle, resilience, and quiet dignity. And while I carry my camera, I carry their trust, too the fragile permission to witness, to document, to enter lives that society often overlooks. It is this connection, fragile yet profound, that keeps me coming back, always searching, always observing, always trying to understand more.

I promised them their photos. Now, printed and tucked in my backpack, I plan to return soon, to give them the pictures, and see where the day takes us.