You apply the anthropotechnological approach everywhere in the world. Can you tell us about the project with salt producers in Guinea?
“The project in Guinea was unusual in that it did not originate from the local people, but from French salt producers in Guérande (western France). They wanted to transfer their technique of producing salt in salt marshes to Guinea, to stop mangrove deforestation, while at the same time ensuring this technology met the needs of the local Susu salt producers.
I stayed there for fourteen months. While it’s true that traditional salt farming uses wood, once on the spot I soon realised that producers were in fact very effective in implementing their expertise regarding the management of mangrove wood. They knew how to manage this resource. In fact, there wasn’t any deforestation. The problems lay elsewhere. At that time, the Susu people had other needs. They particularly wanted to improve the harsh working conditions they had to endure to produce salt, such as the high temperatures of the stoves, large numbers of mosquitoes in the mangroves, poor access to water, isolated camps and no school for the children for 4 months etc., and to put technology in place that would at the same time help them protect their paddy fields and, as such, guarantee their rice production.
From the technical point of view, the local clay was different to that of Guérande. It wasn’t impermeable enough and the salt marshes produced salt that was unsuitable for consumption. The creation of salt marshes also came up against a complex land system where not all the producers could benefit from this type of arrangement. Many salt farmers didn’t own the land, but only had a right of use for an undefined length of time, meaning they had no guarantee of being able to stay on the land they were using from one year to the next. This didn’t favour investment in large-scale work to build salt marshes.
The reality in the field was therefore far removed from that of the Guérande salt workers who wanted to implement their style of salt marshes in the Susu region. Technically, economically and socially, it just could not work. My role as an ethnologist was to report back what the Susu producers were looking for and to show the limitations to the exportation of the Guérande salt marsh system when ‘confronted’ with local realities. We then embarked on designing a process together with the future users.”
As an ethnologist, did you also study the role of representation?
“Absolutely. It was important to ask what salt represented for the Susu people. The Susu traditionally produce salt by mixing salty soil with seawater to obtain brine. This is then heated in pans until salt crystals appear. The Susu told me that, from their point of view, the salt produced by the Guérande salt farmers was not salt. It lacked what we in ethnology refer to as a catalyser, meaning that, for the Susu, it lacked the salty earth they believe is essential to make salt. We were going to have to design technology that would enable them to produce salt which was in keeping with their system of representation. That is one of the reasons we abandoned the Guérande system of salt marshes and instead turned towards a system using plastic sheets, and brine produced beforehand from a blend of seawater and salty soil. Quite simply to ensure it worked with the Susu representation system. We know that, whatever the technology or the product being made, if it doesn’t fit in with the representation system in place, it won’t work. Importing technologies, including food technologies, very often fails for reasons that are purely symbolic and representational.”
Was the production of salt on plastic sheets a success?
“Yes it was! This solution turned out to be much better for this population than the Guérande-style salt marshes. Plastic sheets were already used by the Susu, particularly in the rainy season, and they are cheap and so the initial cost is soon paid off. There are no land issues with this system as it’s mobile and so, if necessary, can be set up quickly or moved from one plot of land to another. The sheets are also very easy to use: Brine is poured over them and, thanks to the action of the sun and the wind, salt crystallises in a matter of hours, without needing someone to watch over it. As the women no longer need to stay and watch the stoves heating the salt, they can spend time smoking fish and selling it on markets, while still producing salt at the same time. This means more income for women. Some women have even started to buy land around Coyah to build houses which they rent out.
The men no longer need to cut wood for salt production. They remain in the hamlets to protect the rice growing areas from the rise of salt water. Rice production has increased considerably and the hamlet of Wondewolia where we worked has grown from around one hundred inhabitants in 1991 to five hundred inhabitants today!
This new technology has also benefited the children. With the old method of salt production, the whole family would leave to live on the salt production camps for four or five months. Now that salt production requires less labour, only the women go to the production sites. The children stay behind in the village with their fathers. Staying in the village means having access to school, enabling children to be schooled for longer. In the end, this small plastic sheet has had unbelievable repercussions!”