I took a ride on Pinotage to Croix-des-Bouquets today to see some tent cities that have not seen a lick of aid. No food, no tarps, no tents. I was meeting a woman named Islande, who looks over the tent cities and is really looking for help. I shot video of the whole thing to cut a piece out of, that should be on here soon.
But as I was leaving I stumbled upon these two. In the middle of a tent city there were two tailors, busily tapping the foot pedals of their manual sowing machines. They didn’t speak much except for an occasional comment over the shoulder regarding the others work. They just sat under the mango tree and made clothes.
There was something about them that seemed slightly artistic, like the string quartet that decided to play as the Titanic sunk. Because in this tent city they continue their work, embroidering pockets and pant-suits as if their world didn’t just collapse around them.