Comoros is three islands: Grande Comore, Mohéli and Anjouan, with their respective capitals in “i”: Moroni, Fomboni, Ouani. Tourism is sparse. In 2004 (20/11>30/11), Anjouan seceded with its “dictator” Mohammed Bacar. But the Comoros is not the Middle East; in the Comoros, as often in Africa, people laugh and talk. The Comoros is no stranger to palaver. Men dress up to go to the
mosque. It takes months for the women assigned to this task to make Kuf embroidered with gold threads. These headdresses will allow those who have been to Mecca to be recognized and to perish; whoever has the most beautiful will have it.
The Grande Comore is taking shape around its volcano. The sea is superb of transparency in its rocky bays, its fn sand, its luminous skies. Its ancient stone villages breathe eternity… Yes, but… the garbage is everywhere. The sea sends back tons of plastic waste. That’s nobody’s problem. There’s no work, so logically no one works. Not much happens in the Comoros. The islands are dotted with houses without roofs, useless chicors fnancé without perspective by Comorian expatriates. They are almost useless and yet unique… and so beautiful.