At Lamentin, Georges has become an icon. From time to time, the crocodile, which no one knows how it ended up in the mouth of the Lézarde river, puts on a show, creating crowds on the banks. Nearby, the Yves-Adèle stadium is less attractive. This Thursday in November, as the sun begins to set, three groups – from as many clubs – train there.
Under the direction of tireless president Stribline Libon, the little ones from La Cigogne, orange t-shirts on their backs, meander between the blocks and the hoops, without paying attention to the holes that abound on this no longer really red track. Their elders have long been accustomed to this faded tartan, which largely reveals the cement, having not been renovated in twenty-five years. Or the lighting is much too dim, because the spotlight bulbs are no longer changed.
