Behind the white paint and the red hearts drawn on the cheeks of a street hustler, dressed as a clown, is a troubled soul.
Fhatu lives in a trench along a busy route. The little he has - a pair of worn trousers, a paint brush and a small piece of a broken mirror - are strategically placed in a plastic bag hidden behind a box stashed in the trench.
His source of survival is the generous motorists who give him cash or food after his performances.
"Sometimes I wish to die because I do not know what I am living for.
