Poisoned aluminum from Guinea at the Mobile World Congress

For the past few months, journalist Núria Vilà Coma and I have been conducting an investigation into how the energy transition is affecting two African countries: Senegal and Guinea. Guinea is the world's leading producer of bauxite and has the largest reserves of this mineral. Bauxite is first transformed into alumina, and then into aluminum, which allows for a significant increase in value: when it is aluminum, a strong and lightweight material, it is worth thirty times more than bauxite. Because the price is so low—a kilo of bauxite cost between 6 and 8 euro cents last year—Guinea increases its revenue by multiplying its production—it now produces ten times more than it did thirty years ago.

Aluminum is ubiquitous in our lives—cans, windows, cars—but it will become even more so with the essential energy transition. One of the concerns of electric car drivers is how many kilometers their battery will last. The answer, in part, lies in the amount of aluminum in the car: the lighter it is, the longer the journey will be on the same battery. Our mobile phones—the flagship of the industry that Barcelona will host once again this coming week at the Mobile World Congress, from March 2nd to 5th—are also major consumers of aluminum. Eighty percent of Guinean bauxite ends up in China, which is leading the race for electric cars and is the world leader in production of smartphones. Ninety percent of the bauxite imported by Spain, the leading European importer, comes from Guinea. Whoever controls Guinea will have a significant advantage in the technological battle. The more the demand for aluminum increases, the more bauxite mining expands in Guinea, and we visited the new mining areas to see how things were progressing. Since 2020, an Indian company has been operating a deposit near Bembou Silaty—where we stayed—and in Koussadji Dow, where we met Tala Oury Sow.

The arrival in Koussadji became an event. Everyone gathered in a courtyard for the interviews. I felt like an imposter: they were the last believers in the usefulness of journalism. They believed that by offering us their testimony, something would change. Since the mining company arrived, the river water was brown, dirty, and full of chemicals from the mining operations. The hierarchical order was respected: the older men spoke first, then the rest. Tala Oury Sow began speaking in a whisper as he showed us the kitchen utensils in his house—pots and basins—which he had filled with dirty river water. He took out a scouring pad and began cleaning everything with soap. He alternated his gaze between the utensils and the camera. As he continued, his tone rose, furious, on the verge of shouting: "Look at that water, this is the gift they've given us. Do you think we can live like this?" The background noise was the coughing of adults and children—air pollution is another major consequence of bauxite production—and some of the children ended up crying. It was too much of a commotion.

Tala and other women from the village had created an agricultural cooperative. As the mining company bought up land, it became increasingly difficult to produce crops. Pollution had decimated the soil's productivity. They banded together to resist. She and all the interviewees kept repeating this. Indian, the Fula word that means waterThey weren't asking for a revolt or to expel the mining company; they wanted drinking water, the ability to farm as before, and an education for their children—the promise of a future.