The Plane: Faces

A plane. No sooner had we boarded the plane than all the clouds began to gather the faces together. You even find the faces of Mozambique in East Africa, and you find West Africa in these faces. It is one plane, yet it speaks of the white northern Portuguese elite, so like the French, who built this state, and who, by virtue of colour and genes, are counted the elite everywhere — so much so that a few strands of blond hair express, quite simply, historical elitism and myth. That Moroccan smile on the white teeth of that hostess: you find Moroccan merriment, you find the laugh, and you find fear in the eyes of the Congolese who are arriving, and the Angolans from the middle of Africa you find everywhere — merriment and joy and life and the continuation of life and its acceptance, everything on a single plane.