Ndong.

In his story, before ever climbing into a cab, Ndong joined the railway through the track maintenance crew: twenty-two kilometers between two villages, covered on foot, with an iron bar over his shoulder and no tool but his legs. He learned the kilometers by walking them, one by one, before learning to drive them. Even today, when he passes certain points on the line, he knows which stretch of ballast sinks with the rains and brakes a little earlier, without thinking, the way you remember a road by heart. And nobody needs to tell him twice.

On this youth t-shirt you're wearing more than what shows. The orange hat in this portrait has its own rule: it goes on entering the cab and comes off getting down, no exceptions. Frayed at the edge, worn from use, it's the only piece of Ndong's clothing that lives exclusively in there. Nobody outside a train has ever seen him wearing it. That small, repeated gesture — putting it on, taking it off, always at the same threshold — is perhaps what best sums up who he is: methodical even in what nobody sees. This piece is printed to order, one at a time, when someone requests it, not before.