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Jost Franko / Pulitzer Center on Crisis Reporting

Local farmers are seen at the so-called market, a collection centre for cotton, in a village near Dano, Burkina Faso, on November 11th, 2015. Just before the market day, farmers help each other press the cotton into a huge, hard mass, so they're able to weigh their harvest.

Local farmers are seen at the so-called market, a collection centre for cotton, in a village near Dano, Burkina Faso, on November 11th, 2015.
Just before the market day, farmers help each other press the cotton into a huge, hard mass, so they’re able to weigh their harvest.

Cotton Black, Cotton Blue
Slovenia   www.jostfranko.com

A red dress, printed with tiny white and yellow flowers. Maybe the cotton was grown in Burkina Faso: without ploughs, without tractor sprinklers, without combines and subsidies, with bad seeds. Maybe the fabric was woven in large, dark and noisy halls where tedious work may have been done by children because their hands are tiny and skilful. Maybe it was coloured by men working where the air – thick and full of poisonous gasses – glues itself to their skin. Maybe it was made by a seamstress and maybe by a guy whose possessions are stacked in a small backpack that’s hanging on a wall above his work station. Which is also his bedroom.

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