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By
: Jon Bugge, Picture by : Bobby Viceral.
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Tall drinking glasses: a fashionable
product in the West.
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During the
communist rule of the eighties, against a backdrop
of turmoil and conflict, ten people came together
to start anew. Their common goal was the establishment
of a glass factory. More specifically, they set
up a recycled glass factory.
Whilst recycling has been a trendy buzzword in the
west, the process is, more often than not, carried
out here without any second thought. Across the
country there are numerous examples of recycling
and reusing. In Phnom Penh, the only place that
actually completely recycles the glass, is a small
factory in Toul Kork district. The cause of the
collaboration was simply economic. In 1984, when
the factory began production, the market was too
small and underdeveloped to allow a single investor
to succeed. The result was that ten people came
together to create this industry. The economy in
Cambodia at the time was very stagnant and the lack
of bottles and glassware prompted them to |
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corner this niche
in the market. Since that time they have been at the same
site. Whilst nearly ten years have passed, Chea Bun, the
Accountant for Toul Kork Glass, recalls the first days
and the problems endured: "It was difficult because
of the times we lived in. Business was slow and starting
the factory was tough."
In Khmer tradition they slowly moved ahead step by step.
In the West, the socially conscious had recycled glass
atop their dining tables and the fad was for all things
eco-friendly, while Chea Bun and his colleagues struggled
to make a living from the industry. |
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The output form the last production
stint are piled into high walls of glass bottles.
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He seems
almost nostalgic when he reminisces about the beginning:
"It seems like a long time ago now. I cannot
remember how much we used to make, but we would
only work in the day, not at night, so it cannot
have been that many."
Whilst his memory may have failed him, the skills
of his factory are still alive and in ample evidence
around the site. Eight-foot high walls, made of
the characteristic green or brown glass bottles,
with the signature trademark bubbles, cover great
lengths within the compound. This is the stock from
the last production cycle. "We will work for
twenty days, then we take two months off.,"
explains Chea. The shelves are stacked high with
packaged glasses and jars, waiting for customers
to take them off their hands. Since last year they
still have the stock of glasses, which remained
unsold. They no longer make glasses and stick only
to making bottles. Nowadays the furnace is cold,
although they are still open. They have a backlog
of glass and have to wait for the stock to sell
before they can fire the furnaces again. Centre
stage in the factory stands the furnace. It is a
strange looking contraption: with a shield of pieces
of brown, rusted corrugated iron leaning against
the body of the great oven. |
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Even when not fired
it seems to radiate heat. The image of a furnace, with
seven industrial fans around it, is enough to make one
break into sweat. The heat in times of production must
be close to intolerable. Inside the furnace the temperature
reaches at least 800 degrees centigrade. Sometimes the
mercury is pushed even higher.
"We only have one furnace, but we have five machines
that the glass is fed into after the furnace." Chea
points out. When at full capacity, Chea estimated, that
during the twenty-day production cycle, they would use
approximately fifty tons of used glass. |
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A female worker chips off pieces
of the solidified river of glass.
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This is
collected from around the country, although he admits
most of it comes from Phnom Penh. The factory buys
it from the recycling middlemen, who do the actual
collecting. It is then sorted and crushed for firing
in the furnace.
Beneath the furnace itself, comes forth a stream
of glass. When cooled and hardened it is processed,
this was in evidence from the last production run.
A bright green cascade of liquid formations in solid
glass emerges from the center of the factory. A
woman is hunched over and slowly chips off the edge
of the glass river. Again and again, she fills the
basket with the jagged shapes of rich green glass,
empties it and begins again.
The history of the place is recalled in the extraordinary
amount of paraphernalia around the factory. Strange
looking twisted metal components and bizarre rusted
artifacts fill the area around the furnace. While
wizened and aged mechanics tinker and tend to the
needs of the machines, strange objects are visible
through the gloom. Their purpose unknown, their
origin unclear, simply amassed through |
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the years. The
process involves cleaning and melting the glass. After
an initial melt black oil is added to act as the gelling
agent. It is poured into molds and once again baked in
the furnace. What emerges is the finished is the finished
product. After cooling and cleaning it is ready to be
boxed, and hopefully sold.
The factory is essentially subsistence; they must sell
the last production output, to pay for the glass and fuel
to make more. It is a cycle that is difficult to break.
The 55 year old, Chinese Khmer, knows this all too well:
"It is difficult to sell at the moment and if I could
stop I would like to stop." Like the bubbles, which
make his glass so appealing, Chea too, is trapped.
A female worker chips off pieces of the solidified river
of glass.
The air of disparity is not helped by the constant sound
of smashing glass. The grinding, crushing, sorting, collecting,
chipping, processing and packaging, all produce a deafening
din. It seems to be a sound that you become accustomed
to: it seems not to faze the staff. Chea explains: "When
we are during a production cycle we employ 48 people."
As this was not the cycle of production around a handful
of people were working on the site. The finished product
is sold through, yet more, middlemen, who call in their
orders over the phone. This network proves to be slow
in the clearance of the products and all to often payment
is delayed: "The difficulty is that we must wait
for them to sell the glass and then we can get our money,
but that depends on the market," laments Chea.
In theory their number one product is Soya sauce bottles.
These are some of the most commonly used glass objects
in the country. Technically they should have the market
sewn up. Reality is more unfavourable and economic conditions
and circumstances dictate their fate.
In recent years there has been an influx of Soya sauce
bottles from Vietnam, they are allowed to simply re use
old bottles. This is, as opposed to having to recycle
them, naturally cuts the costs involved. This is slowly
choking the business out of the factory. On the market
a recycled Soya sauce bottle, from the Toul Kork Glass
factory, will cost 220 riel. However, a Vietnamese second
hand Soya sauce bottle (with one careful owner) will retail
for 180 riel. This thirty odd riel is enough to mean that
Vietnam now controls the market share of this industry:
a poignant microcosm of Cambodia attempting to compete
economically with her regional neighbours.
Chea is seemingly stoical about the problems, but allows
a glimpse at his feelings when asked what he saw as the
future of recycled glass in the kingdom. He simply puts
it: "I have no hope for the future."
No doubt the factory will struggle on, there are those
involved who have dedicated a great part of their lives
to this industry and are unlikely to let it slip away
from them, without some resistance. It is an example of
a contemporary craft using sustainable materials. The
factory does make sales on site: Street 337, house number
13. |
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Suite
B8, Regency Square, InterContinental Hotel, 294 Mao Tse Toung
Boulevard,
Phnom Penh, Kingdom of Cambodia.
Tel: (855) 23 213 133 Fax: (855) 23 213 033
E-mail:
editor@leisurecambodia.com |
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