“PERFECTING THE ‘FERTILE SEED’: THE COMPAGNIE DU SEL AGGLOMÉRÉ AND COLONIAL CAPITALISM, C.1890-1905”[*]

E. Ann McDougall

Department of History and Classics

University of Alberta

In 1893, the Compagnie du Sel Aggloméré pour Exportation (C.S.A.) was launched under the patronage of the French colonial firm the Compagnie Français de l’Afrique Occidentale (C.F.A.O.). Both were headquartered in the port of Marseilles, which in turn was the center of lobbying efforts by both businessmen anxious to expand colonial commerce, and politicians eager to carry the colonial flag in the French parliament.[1] One of the most outspoken of the latter, Jules Charles-Roux enthusiastically endorsed the interests of the C.S.A., and in the influential Journal des Débats (September 1894), argued for the ease and importance of penetrating such a lucrative market. “Salt does not exist in the Soudan,” he wrote, pointing out that markets were presently being supplied by Saharans bringing “inferior quality salts” (specifically, those from Ijil in modern-day Mauritania), which in turn were selling for exorbitant prices. “Many people have insufficient salt or none at all as a consequence.” He calculated this potential market as a population of 180 million Africans needing to consume a minimum of 6kg of salt per year. The French had barely tapped it – Marseilles was exporting only 400 tons of sea salt a year when there was clearly room for a million or more. Worse still, he taunted readers in full colonial colours, England and Germany were already ahead of them![2] He was therefore especially happy to announce that the physical impediments to transporting and marketing French sea salt – that is to say its granular form which left it vulnerable to heat and moisture and liable to loss when its sacs tore, had been removed. Thanks to the newly established C.S.A. under the directorship of one Pierre B.J. Vincente:

… salt can be agglomerated successfully into compact blocks, analogous in appearance to white marble, and it is proposed to make these in the same size as the salt of the Moors [Saharans], thusly rendering transport of it just as easy [as it is for them]. This invention is possibly the fertile seed of an industry whose importance should be promptly given special advantages by France, for whom [in turn] it is hoped the benefits [of industry] will be reserved for a long time. [my emphasis].[3]

I

The celebration of France’s industrial advances and colonial future ‘thanks to’ the C.S.A. proved premature. The product sel aggloméré never quite reached the standard of ‘perfection’ needed to equal, let alone supplant, Saharan salts in the markets of the Soudan.[4] Only a few years after its inception, the company was forced to seek both new patronage and new local African distributors. It reconstituted itself as the Compagnie Nouvelle du Sel Aggloméré, then literally dropped without a trace from colonial records and French business archives after 1905. The story of the C.S.A. therefore, is the story of failure: an individual failure which was nonetheless clearly revealing of a collective illusion of what capitalism and colonialism could accomplish in West Africa. As Richard Roberts' recent work on a longer-lived but just as unsuccessful colonial enterprise, cotton, shows,[5] the players themselves understood little of the dynamics undermining their respective efforts. Throughout most of France’s colonial occupation of West Africa, both colonial and commercial actors failed to realize (or to realize fully enough), the limitations of their ability to shape the African economic world to their making, let alone to become effective members of that world. The short lifespan of the C.S.A. presaged that twentieth century reality, while simultaneously articulating the culmination of precolonial, especially nineteenth century, dreams and aspirations. In concluding, we will return to Roberts’ work and its relevance for underscoring the significance of the C.S.A.. to colonial economic history; for the present, let us turn to the context in which this novelty company was born and the litany of woes which constituted its history.

The discovery of this ‘fertile seed’, the process patented by the C.S.A.’s Pierre B.J. Vincente in 1893 which allowed Mediterranean sea salt to be compacted into blocks, was really the culmination of a long-term involvement of French merchants in West African salt markets. Or, more precisely, a long-term attempted involvement by French merchants who early on had realized the centrality of indigenous forms of salt to the very African commerce they wished to penetrate -- the trade in gold and slaves.[6] In the early eighteenth century, the Compagnie du Galam, operating on the Upper Senegal River, was trying simultaneously to stem the flow of African trade towards the British-controlled Gambia River and to break into the gold, grain and slave exchanges carried on between peoples of the savanna, sahel and Sahara. It rapidly became clear that the key to accomplishing both lay in providing the ‘salt poor’ Soudan with a product comparable to the salts being supplied from the Sahara.[7] This bar salt, solid, easily transportable and largely impermeable to light moisture, came from sbakh (depressions) along the Sahara’s Atlantic coast[8] and from actual mines (of varying depths) in the interior – most notably Ijil (as Charles-Roux noted) and Tawdeni.[9] French efforts to tempt Soudanese buyers away from desert salts with imported sea salts which neither traveled nor stored well under West Africa's rude conditions were, not surprisingly, unsuccessful.[10] With increased French occupation of what was to become Senegal in the course of the first half of the nineteenth century, new options opened up, namely to take control of and exploit for their own benefit, African salts. The rich salines of Gandiole (near the mouth of the Senegal River) for example, produced both bar and granular salts for the local Cayor economy. An extensive report filed in 1861 suggested that the industry could be exploited for the benefit of the French. It described in detail the different pools of salt comprising the industry, their production potential if fully exploited, and the labour and transportation inputs required; it invited private commercial firms to bid for government contracts.[11] Perhaps it was still seen as risky; in any event, there is no indication that the report succeeded in generating the solicited interest. The river transport of salt, like that of the desert, remained firmly in the hands of the ‘Moors’. Whatever the reason for the failure of the Gandiole proposal, French efforts to traffic in salts closer in quality to those of the Saharans, and ‘closer’ (and more manageable) in transport terms, had made little headway in allowing them to penetrate local networks by the mid-nineteenth century.[12]

The last quarter of the century witnessed the pushing of frontiers out of the Senegambian hinterland, across the Sahel and northward to the desert edge: first to Bamako (1883) and Segu (1891), then north to Nioro (in the west, 1891/2) and finally, the famed Timbuktu in 1893/4. This new territory was the Western Soudan. While most of the expansion was only grudgingly recognized by the French Government, those pursuing colonial economic interests were quick to promote more attention to mise en valeur.[13] But if the new territory was to yield economic benefits, which at the time were seen principally in terms of cotton and peanuts, the problems of transport finally had to be addressed. The most vocal among the colonial group (including Jules Charles-Roux), lobbied actively for the building of a harbour at Dakar in order to circumvent the seasonal problems of landing at Saint Louis.[14] They also fought for the construction of a railroad whichthat would eventually link one of the inland river markets of the Western Soudan (Kayes or Medine) with the new port.[15] The conquests and promises of infrastructural support in turn encouraged the emergence of new commercial houses like Devès, Chaumet and Cie, and Buhan and Teisseire (Bordeaux),[16] Peyrissac (Saint Louis) and the Compagnie du Sénégal et de la Côte Occidentale d’Afrique (Marseilles). The last, founded in 1881, soon reflected its growing geographical interests in 1887 by becoming the more ambitious Compagnie Française de l’Afrique Occidentale -- the same C.F.A.O. whothat was to support Vincent in his patent application and became the patron of his new company.[17]

As French business somewhat belatedly began taking real interest in French empire, the argument was increasingly made that the development of national commerce was dependent on the establishment and support of colonies. Otherwise, opined the principal mouthpiece for business interests in Marseilles, the Semaphore, French industry would “die of stagnation” (1887).[18] But just how committed the government was to colonialism in the 1880s and 1890s was debatable (and indeed, frequently debated); keeping funds flowing to the highly touted railroad project, for example, was a constant and often losing battle.[19] It was really the mid -1890s before the efforts of the colonial lobby materialized in the creation of a separate Ministry of Colonies (1894) and regional grouping of West Africa (the Afrique Occidentale Française, A.O.F., 1895). An autonomous office of financial control with an agenda to further economic development in the colonies was created in 1898.[20] Meanwhile, Charles-Roux and his colleagues argued that in the short term, emphasis should be on put on government backing for public works and small-scale businesses.[21] The latter, among which one must count the C.S.A., were quick to respond with demand for concessions, protection and state expenditures on their behalf.[22]

On the other side of the question was government obsession with protectionism and tariffs: the Meline Tariff (1892) foresaw subsuming all colonies to domestic French tariff restrictions in an attempt to keep out foreign merchandise and provide markets for domestic goods, especially agricultural products. But in the A.O.F., the interspersing British, Portuguese and German possessions made securing borders impossible. The compromise measure was a complicated package of customs duties that varied from one colony to the next and were collected to feed local coffers.[23] The colonial lobbyists' new public voice, La Quinzaine Coloniale, frequently accused the government of hypocrisy for demanding the colonies ‘turn a profit’ to repay the costs of conquest while simultaneously placing unrealistic encumbrances on colonial products. In 1895, Charles-Roux cited the case of Dahomey where “barely two years after the costly conquest” a government tax of 4FF per 1000 kg on imported salt had been levied: “This” he raged “in a colony noted for its shortage of salt supplies” -- or, put another way in a colony with a natural market for French salt.[24]

So the C.S.A. was born into a colonial climate in which the cleavages of the new political economy were already revealing themselves: metropolitan finances versus colonial cost-recovery; political priorities versus economic needs; European goals versus African realities. It was also a climate sown with optimism, as Charles-Roux’s ‘fertile seed’ metaphor articulated. The French could now approximate the salts of the desert, both in appearance and strength; therefore, they could supplant them. Moreover, the long commercial history indirectly linking French merchants with West African salt networks convinced many entrepreneurs, investors and politicians of the viability (and profitability) of becoming active suppliers to this seemingly insatiable market. For even as the twentieth century loomed, Saharan salt merchants and their movements continued to determine the dynamics of desert-edge trade – when, where and with what value exchange of principal goods like cloth, grain and slaves would take place; other commercial transactions still tended to follow in their wake.[25] So, the product was available and the market guaranteed -- the challenge of ensuring that the former penetrated the latter had simply to be met.

The C.S.A., it should be noted, was not alone in its efforts to break into this West African market. Another French enterprise acquired rights only three years later to begin exploitation in Tunisia. The Société des Salines de Tunisie (1896) had plans for significant expansion into the West African market, and it too looked to the Government for support – in this case for construction of a port like that of Dakar which would allow for full exploitation of the salines.[26] And only a decade after Vincente launched his company, another enterprise based on the aptly named Ile de Sal of Cape Verde found itself floundering. It had anchored its commerce in the Brazilian market, but import taxes recently levied by the government had virtually destroyed its commerce– ironically, playing out the fears earlier expressed by Charles-Roux with reference to Dahomey. Indeed, while it was to Dahomey specifically that the company looked for its revival, the West African market as a whole was regarded as potentially even more valuable than Brazil had been![27]

This late nineteenth-century optimism also derived from a firm belief in la mission civilisatriçe, whichthat in turn rested on the celebration of ‘civilisation’ as the French knew it. By 1900 M. Vincente’s initial expectations had been disappointed; he had improved the production process by importing samples of the African original from Ijil and literally trying to imitate it. Of course by using European ‘know how’ (chemical and industrial), he was by definition improving upon it. He proposed displaying his sel aggloméré next to that of Ijil at the great Universal Exhibition of 1900. As he wrote in 1899, “it would be interesting to place next to them the Moorish [Saharan] salt bars in order to show the progress of our product which will be, between now and next year, perfected especially from the point of view of solidity [my emphasis].”[28] Implicit in this straightforward statement of ‘progress’ is the belief that the Frenchman’s superiority could be measured by such direct comparisons – this Saharan ‘Moorish’ salt was no more, no less an example of the ‘oriental’, than the other exhibits whichthat brought the world to Paris in these great colonial celebrations of ‘universality’. The Tunisian salt society exhibited in a similar fashion, winning a silver medal for salt displayed at the Liege colonial exhibition in the early 1900s.[29] Implicitly, these competitive 'exhibitions' recognized and rewarded the improvements ‘progress and civilization’ brought to natural ‘primitive’ colonial produce.

II

In this optimistic climate, Pierre B.J. Vincente was probably typical of many ambitious entrepreneurs, especially in Marseilles. Since the opening of the Suez Canal in 1869, Marseilles merchants and businessmen sought to profit from opportunities to fill empty steamship holds with new exports. Salt was one such export possibility. In 1877, an anonymous observer called the port a “boom town”, noting in particular the extensive “all conquering” salt works bourgeoning along its shoreline.[30] The Marseilles-based Compagnie du Sénégal gave this salt considerable attention in its own commercial promotions. In 1889, a report on Mediterranean salt industries made much of “unfair” competition from British salts and “unfair” competition from the eastern industries on the Meurthe Moselle -- the Compagnies de Midi were particularly vocal in their complaints. And the tariffs on all incoming salts had also become an issue of widespread concern. In this context, salt marketing by the Compagnie du Sénégal and then by its successor, the C.F.A.O., was not succeeding as well as had been initially anticipated.[31]

Personally convinced that the potential remained and that the problem lay in the packaging of the product,in February1891 Vincent broached the subject directly with the then Undersecretary of State, Eugene Etiènne in February1891:

Our [French] importation of salt [to West Africa] would be much more considerable if the product were easily able to penetrate the interior. …salt in sacks is exposed to too many changes [in taste and colour] or in loss either by rain or accidental tearing of the bags … .For this reason the caravans which frequent the markets of the Soudan prefer to carry rock salt in blocks which they procure at great cost … although it is less desirable from the point of view of purity and resale (as it must be sold at very high prices), from the perspective of handling it is much easier to deal with than granular salt and is not vulnerable to loss in transport.[32]

These problems were hardly news to merchants and transporters in 1891 but what was new was that Vincent offered a solution to the problem.. He had invented and patented a process to fabricate ‘agglomerated salt’ -- sel aggloméré -- from the loose Mediterranean variety that would be strong enough to be shipped without costly, weighty packaging. He proposed that the Undersecretary arrange for samples of his new product to be distributed in the Soudan, a request which met with an immediate affirmative.[33]

When the C.S.A. was launched in 1893, its value was fixed at 180.000F, divided into 360 shares worth 500F each.[34] By comparison, the Société des Salines du Midi consisted of 14,076 shares also valued at 500F each (in 1907), and the capital of the Société des Salines du Cap Verte, established much later in 1919, was fixed at 1,500.000F, divided into 15,000 shares worth 100F each.[35] While it is true that the C.S.A. was indeed only a ‘compagnie’ as opposed to a ‘société’, it would seem that it was nevertheless, a relatively small enterprise. According to the company’s published statutes, Vincente held title to twenty of its shares and he was to receive 33% of the profits, after stipulated deductions. The Conseil d’Administration was entitled to 17% and the remaining 50% went the shareholders. The Company, with headquarters in Marseilles, was licensed for twenty five years.[36] The C.F.A.O. (whichthat had supported the patent application) was to market the French product through its West African commercial outlets; in return it received 50fifty company shares.[37]