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| Upcycled furniture by Kodio |
I am hoping to be able to bring them a pile of stuff and have them create scultpuresque furniture pieces to fit the space of their choice. We spent the first week considering campus spots and hanging out, "feeling" the atmosphere of each one. Now that they've chosen, it's time to design.
I met Kodio at the market near his "workshop." He calls it this, but really, it is just a small space in the middle of many where a few of the guys he works with sit. They have marked their territory with a chair or two, some bars of iron, and a tarp overhead. If he has welding to do for a piece, this is where he comes.
I followed him around the market in a daze. Everywhere I turned there was something to see. The melodic sounds of people working filled the air. Like any good market, the deeper went, the more magical it became.
We passed men working with metal barrels. Some were cut in half, the tops and bottoms removed. They were pounding along the cuts, folding them over to smooth the sharp edges. Farther on we came to the cement storehouse where Kodio likes to pick through the scraps in search of diamonds.
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| A choice find |
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| You have to know where to look |
A few men sat outside, drinking tea and taking in the day. We placed our selections in a small pile and they remarked on everything we took out. I found a nice motorcycle muffler that could make a good arm rest. When I put it in the pile, there was a lot of exclaiming. I put out another one and it was promptly removed. Apparently these were parts to someone's motorcycle. I laughed and asked if there was anything else mixed in with the junk that they needed. It seemed a precarious way to store essential components.
We continued walking, my eyes filled with the treasures all around. It was better than any junk drawer or Home Depot. I was reminded of long ago days when these were the things I feared missing in Africa. Here I was surrounded by parts, all separated and stacked in piles.
We stopped to look at an interesting assemblage of gears and gadgets. One man sat in the middle of the darkness. The ground was stained with black oil and debris. He was patiently taking the metal pipe out of each piece and laying them carefully aside. A Chinese factory in reverse. I was amazed at the methodical work pace. Every part that was usable was removed and placed into its own pile. Pile after pile lined the roadway. Things I wasn't sure anyone would ever be looking for lay stacked in abundance.
A boy went by with a collection of milk cans bound in such a way they made a neat circle. I had seen these before. Each had slit down the middle of the top. They resembled piggy banks but I just couldn't imagine there was a need for these. So many. It reminded me of the lettuce. It grows in such large quantities everywhere, but who is eating it all? Kodio assured me they were piggy banks and people bought them. Little kids all across Bamako saving up their 50 francs.
As the market grew around us, so did the hammering and pounding of metal. Everyone seemed to be working in tandem. We came to a large covered area, the ground black but also smoking. Small fires were lit here and there. A group of guys were busy pounding the tops and bottoms of the barrels. Next to one sat an impossibly smooth bowl. This was the end product. When I looked at the piece of metal he was pounding, I couldn't imagine that it would ever reach a smooth, shiny state, despite the proof before me.
Two other guys were pounding the same piece of metal, working in rhythm. One and then the other. Clink, clank. Clink, clank. Though deafening, the sound was pleasant. There was an energy in the air. It was jovial and, perhaps just slightly, competitive. When I remarked on this, Kodio told me the time was just right. People had recently arrived, had their breakfast and were beginning the day. I suspected in not too many hours, the effort combined with the heat would take its toll, and people would be resting.
We kept walking. As we passed a large container truck, Kodio explained it was being filled for China. Several men were loading it with flattened pieces of metal that appeared to come from cars. While once the metal market was a source of cheap goods, now everything was being shipped off to China, where it would be recycled into new metal goods. (and likely resold at higher prices to the very people who had shipped their scrap off int he first place. Irony at its finest.)
As we left, the guys at the metal storehouse called out to me. They were offering me some water to wash my hands, which, by that point, were a blackened mess of oil and soot. "You're going back to work. But me, I am staying to play." Kodio smiled with a twinkle in his eye. The tea drinker offered me some powdered soap and poured the water while I scrubbed my hands clean.
There were so many photogenic scenes. Even better, I could imagine a series of paintings that would really show the drama and magical aura. It would be easy to pass the entire day here, caught up in the artistic beauty of the place. The reality of the workers is a lot less romantic. It's hot, hard labor that doesn't pay much.
Despite this, the talk that the metal market may be displaced is discouraging. Many people rely on this place for their livelihood. It is much more than a day at work. There is a sense of community here that transcends the noise and dust and heat. And for us artistic types, there is plenty of inspiration.
