“The devil lives in Wilda,” was the slogan that hung over me when I changed my place of residence. During numerous walks, a picture emerged very quickly for me of an extremely diverse and authentic urban fabric, very difficult to clearly qualify. Premature evaluation limited the possible content. Wildzians turned out to have history written on their faces, reading them like a map. It was their gazes that guided me around the district, taking their photos I learned a new slice of the world.