Black─ a color that fascinates me because of its depth. It often symbolises strength, determination, fear, grief etc. I remember thinking about the black in my own national flag, which signifies “the strength and creativity of the people which has enabled them to overcome hardships”. I sat by Palais de Chaillot (Trocadéro), indulging in a crêpe, whilst curiously gazing at the neoclassical style building, decorated with several gilded statues. Across from me was an extensive esplanade, the “Rights of Man” terrace, which had scores of tourists, as well as a cluster of Asian protesters, whose protest lost significance in the face of the majestic Eiffel Tower against the scenic backdrop of the “City of Lights”. Despite being engrossed in the view, I noticed African men en masse─ vending touristy trinkets, souvenirs, keyrings and Eiffel Tower statuettes. Their distinct charcoal complexion made them conspicuous at once. I observed keenly as some laid out their merchandise on canvas sheets on the ground, while desperately soliciting sales from passersby. Although the sun gleamed in the azure sky, the crisp air was cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey, and it showed. The men’s dusky lips appeared desiccated, and their midnight skins akin to their hardships turned ashy. When a police siren disturbed the peace, the men’s stances turned to unease, and a glimmer of fear crept into their bold eyes as they watched intently. Even with numbed fingers they seemed ready to snatch their goods and scamper. As the siren drew nearer, some dashed off, while others waited until the threat subsided. I was reminded of “higglers” by the plaza of my hometown in Jamaica─ peddling while playing hide-and-seek with the police. Perhaps this stab of homesickness called out to one of the men and made him approach me. “Bonjour! Souvenir?” Aly asked eagerly. I browsed through his goods. “Oui…Parlez-vous anglais?” “So-so English…” he said, before offering me six Eiffel Tower keyrings for a single Euro. I had seen better souvenirs elsewhere, but an intuition that they were undocumented migrants guided me to support his hustle. Suddenly, I found myself flocked with faces and souvenirs, but I could not buy from everyone. “Where you from?” Aly asked in pieced-together English. “Jamaica.” I responded. “Jamaïque! Bob Marley! Usain Bolt!” the men shouted excitedly in their Afro-French accents. “We from Senegal. Enchanté, my sister!” They held their hands over their hearts as a gesture of respect. Before leaving Aly took pictures of me with the famed Eiffel Tower in the background─ solving the solo traveler’s dilemma. When I went to the crowded Musée du Louvre the next day, I was surprised to be greeted with exuberant shouts of “Jamaïque!” from familiar faces; I had found a family. Keinde, a new face, approached me and offered the museum ticket for €20. “Real price?” I asked. Smiling, he whispered, “No...€5 for me, but since you our sister, and I respect Jamaïcains, I give you real price.” I smiled. “This is how we survive.” Aly chimed in. I admitted to him that my French-Martiniquais friend had advised against buying from people on the streets, but I did not understand why. He shared his personal experience and perilous journey from Senegal to France. I did not regret buying from them, but despite their endearing smiles and buoyant demeanor, I sensed deep dejection.Their poignant reality of hustling in the numbing cold was juxtaposed with the more opulent side of Paris─ like the affluent 16th arrondissement where I had met them. Ironically, the esplanade where we had met was where the “Liberty, Equality, Fraternity”, dignity and rights which they had been seeking, were adopted universally. Even vending replicas of the most iconic and visible symbol of Paris seemed paradoxical to their invisible life in society. I exited the museum somberly and Aly inquired why. When I shared news I had just received of a sudden family bereavement, these strangers became a source of solace─ offering their condolences, and their fervent determination to survive gave me strength. As I walked away, Aly shouted, “Jamaïque, après la pluie, le beau temps...” [After the rain, good weather]. My cheeks suddenly became wet─ maybe it was the rain he spoke of.