Michael Holman discovers some purpose in an old woman;s seemingly futile, mindane and monotonous activity.
"She no done come." The old lady with a home-made brush of grass and twigs paused in her work. I mus have looked puzzled.
"She no done come," she repeated.
As she went back to her task, I settled down to wait for accreditation, and as I waited, I watched.
Brush, brush, brush, vigorously brushing carpets so ingrained with dust that the pattern is barely discernible. And so trodden in over the years that the pile is almost worn smooth.