The ComorosMap
January The Comoros Islands—it sounds so romantic.  Fishermen probably catch big fat delicious fish here.  People probably sit on the street selling French baguettes here.  In reality, people manage to destroy even benches made of concrete here.  Comoran trash cans.  Payphones.  More payphones.  All the fire hydrants are smashed, the decorative outside part is missing on the top.  A license plate.  Sometimes traffic signs are painted right on the wall.  But most often they’re simply impossible to see—they’ve faded away with time.  And when you can see them, you find yourself surprised. Why does the digger have such a crooked shovel?  Graffiti on the wall: “France—enemy of the Comoros.”  It’s all France’s fault.  Comoran women have a tradition of wearing facial masks to protect their face from the sun.  Peanuts are sold on every corner in white paper rolls.  For a fairly long time, there were major problems with electricity here, so almost all the gas stations use hand pumps.  The Comoros have something to be proud of.  Vehicle inspection stickers.  A skull.  There are foosball tables everywhere.  The taxi’s rearview mirror has fallen off—no big deal.  A street sign like the ones on Réunion.  Graffiti.  A “do not litter” sign.  Litter.  Cows gather under the sewer pipe to snack on fresh runoff.  The river.  A brilliant sign for a unisex hair salon.  The art of composition has yet to be invented in Comoros. Every store has all the objects drawn separately on the wall (under the influence of Madagascar, apparently).  The airport has stands across the street, like in an ancient Roman amphitheater, where people wait for arriving passengers under an awning.  The Comoros Islands—it sounds so romantic. |
