ants in the sugar sample
These are images from this morning. Perhaps i am looking for emotion in the cana itself....
A migrant worker wrote a book, actually a dailing journal to send to his family. i visited baracks. six men in a small room. who cooks? i asked. they laughed. no one has chairs, they sit on water bottles that they take with them to the fields. they offered me a water bottle and covered it with a towel. one worker remained standing as we talked. it was really dark and i was scared even though i knew i was safe with elias, my friend a big strong man and my teammate in this expedition. i didnt know it but yesterady was valintines day here. the recordings of the migrant workers express their love for those quem ficou lá.
yesterday I visited a sugar-alcohol plant called São Marino. They had ants in the sugar samples that they offered us. They wouldnt let me take photographs. The woman who i am staying with calls me irma because she thinks i am a nun. a nun with a lot of interesting digital equipment...a nun who left her rosary beads at home...i met one of those men in those white trucks today who said, do you have permission to be taking those photographs. permission from who?
my vision from the motor cycle helmet was poor. scratches on the plexi glass. a blur of sugar green, stench of manure and the rising sun.
my face is covered with a thin layer of dirt.
A migrant worker wrote a book, actually a dailing journal to send to his family. i visited baracks. six men in a small room. who cooks? i asked. they laughed. no one has chairs, they sit on water bottles that they take with them to the fields. they offered me a water bottle and covered it with a towel. one worker remained standing as we talked. it was really dark and i was scared even though i knew i was safe with elias, my friend a big strong man and my teammate in this expedition. i didnt know it but yesterady was valintines day here. the recordings of the migrant workers express their love for those quem ficou lá.
yesterday I visited a sugar-alcohol plant called São Marino. They had ants in the sugar samples that they offered us. They wouldnt let me take photographs. The woman who i am staying with calls me irma because she thinks i am a nun. a nun with a lot of interesting digital equipment...a nun who left her rosary beads at home...i met one of those men in those white trucks today who said, do you have permission to be taking those photographs. permission from who?
my vision from the motor cycle helmet was poor. scratches on the plexi glass. a blur of sugar green, stench of manure and the rising sun.
my face is covered with a thin layer of dirt.
posted by Emma at 8:09 AM
