ON’HIPITI
(ILHA DE MOÇAMBIQUE)
2019 #photography #mixedmedia
On’hipiti evokes an island of layered identities—colonial memories, lived present, and imagined futures. My photographs enter into dialogue with archival postcards and engravings, exposing continuities and fractures across a century of representation.
As a white European photographer, I question my own gaze: do I inevitably repeat the gestures of those images that preceded me? Can the camera resist the legacies of power it carries within?
This project does not seek answers, but to hold open the space of tension—between past and present, self and other, memory and invention—where new ways of seeing might emerge.
2011 — Alaba thrives as West Africa’s largest second-hand electronics hub. Informal repair dominates; regulation is minimal.
2015–2018 — Global attention grows: studies document Lagos as a primary e-waste destination; concerns rise over health and environmental risks.
2019 — Worldwide e-waste reaches 53.6 million tonnes; only 17.4% is formally recycled. Alaba symbolizes both opportunity and crisis.
2020–2022 — Imports intensify. By 2022, the world generates 62 million tonnes of e-waste. Lagos remains a key entry point, redistributing across the region.
2023 — Authorities temporarily close Alaba Market over waste management failures; it reopens under stricter environmental rules. Unsafe structures are demolished, marking the beginning of tighter oversight.
2025 — Alaba endures as Nigeria’s largest electronics market: a crucial node in the global afterlife of technology, embodying both resilience and the unresolved challenge of e-waste.
But the shadow was never far. For every device restored, another lay beyond repair, stripped for parts or left to decay in the heat. What could not be salvaged often found its way to dumpsites like Olusosun, where smoke and toxic dust blurred the horizon. Alaba existed at the fault line of the global economy: between the abundance of discard and the scarcity of access, between innovation and residue.
Today, more than a decade later, that balance continues to shift. The world produces ever more electronic waste, Lagos remains a critical gateway, and Alaba still hums with the stubborn creativity of repair. Yet the pressures of regulation, health, and sheer volume of discarded technology have begun to reshape the market. The story of Alaba is the story of our times: how we choose to deal with what we throw away —and what we can still save.