Staff Writer
A hole-filled desert environment may be seen at the fringe of an oasis that is nearly completely swallowed by dunes and where the occasional caravan still travels.
With their swaying lines of camels, the salt pans of Kalala, near Bilma in northeastern Niger, were once a crucial stop for traders.
A successful industry, salt digging was passed down from generation to generation and involved a valuable product that was traded all over the Sahara and beyond.
The diggers currently struggle to survive in this remote desert area that is plagued by armed gangs and smugglers.
To extract salt from the native rock, hundreds of pits were manually dug over many years and then filled with water.
Ibrahim Tagaji and a coworker were squatting in the black- and ochre pits and using a crowbar to collect the bonanza, an extraction technique that has remained largely constant over time.
It was the end of a scorching day when the temperature in the shade hit 45 degrees Celsius (113 degrees Fahrenheit).
The two men excavated salty chunks while barefoot in crystal-filled saline and ground them into grains that they then scooped out with a gourd.
The salt was then poured onto slabs that were prepared for sale using date palm molds.
It is punishingly difficult employment, with income that varies depending on the buyers who happen to be passing through town.
“When someone with money comes, you earn a lot,” remarked Tagaji in between shovelfuls. Otherwise, it’s hard work and the pay isn’t great.
However, there are few options in the area’s economy, and according to local officials, about half of the population of Bilma still works in the pits.
Omar Kosso, a seasoned professional in the field, declared that after you leave school, you must begin working here.
Every family has a salt pan of their own. You come to work while accompanied by your wife and kids.
The environment has altered.
In Bilma, where the majority of people live in traditional homes with salt and clay walls derived from neighboring quarries, the camel caravans still halt.
Here, the traditional ruler known as the “mai” decides who gets to dig where and how much it will cost.
Kiari Abari Chegou comes from a long line of chiefs, each of whom has passed on the title and its accoutrements—a ceremonial sword and a parchment leather battle drum—to his successor.
A vintage black-and-white photograph of his grandfather holding the same white flag decorated with surahs from the early 1920s is posted to the wall of the family house.
To prevent inadequacies, “sea salt must be iodized,” he advised. “Since our salt is 90% iodized, we can eat it without worrying about getting sick.”
Unfortunately for Bilma, the outer world has evolved.
He listed other ethnic groups in the area, saying, “In the past, the caravans came — the Daza, the Hausa, the Tuareg.” “Now it’s different from before.”
For instance, the Tuareg traders eventually abandoned their nomadic lifestyle in favor of settling and farming the lush foothills of the neighboring Air highlands in the north.
Abari Chegou said, “You make more money that way than wearing yourself out traveling 10 days to get to Bilma, then 10 days back.
He argued that it made more sense to purchase a block of salt for 2,000 CFA francs ($3.25) in Agadez, the region’s capital, than to go the 550 kilometers (350 miles) to Bilma to barter for it for a third of the price.
illicit market
The travel through the desert is challenging and risky.
Traffickers and other criminals take advantage of the Kawar oasis’ open borders with Chad and Libya, a nation torn apart by civil war since 2011.
In order to protect themselves against attacks, civilians must travel through the area armed and, whenever feasible, in convoys under military protection.
The thieves break into our trucks, steal our money and phones, and then allow us pass, the driver, who identified himself only as Ahmed and was about to leave with bags of salt, claimed.
Customers were hard-bargaining merchants, passing dealers, or traffickers, according to salt worker Omar Kosso.
“We don’t have good customers,” he declared.
The inhabitants in this underdeveloped area find it difficult to decline offers because of all of this.
In an effort to open up the communities that produce salt, the European Union did purchase a number of trucks.
However, the fleet of vehicles was destroyed by the heat, rough roads, and disputes between cooperative members.
The head, Abari Chegou, claimed he had visions of a “well-knit” cooperative that could purchase trucks and have a location to keep goods to support pricing.
He waited for the lone caravans to pass across the dunes in the interim.
