What It’s Like To … Run A Creative Cocoon In Benin Republic

Bamboo Numérik is an artist enclave. It is a beachfront resort, cafe, and library. On certain days, it's also a large music festival ground; on other days, it's a space for intimate sound sessions staged inside its sizable studio. More than anything, though, Bamboo Numerik is an intelligently modular space and a rare gem in the heart of Cotonou, Benin. Kamal Radji, a Beninese artist and slam poet, founded and runs the multidisciplinary creative space. Radji, who describes himself as “an artist of the stage and of the streets’ began his artistic practice by organizing poetry slams under Benin Slam, which ran for eight years beginning in 2003. In his own words, “I am an artist who tells stories about different worlds through human encounters.”

This inquiry into human encounters is embedded in Bamboo Numérik's infrastructure and programming. The space is built with an open-plan sensibility that mirrors the communal language of African architecture and encourages exchange and communication. Bamboo Numèrik opens out with a stone and garden walkway that leads to the front of the house, which hosts a library and cozy performance space. To the far right of the building is a large stretch of blonde beach sand where music concerts usually take place. Next to the bookstore, you will find Bamboo Numérik’s outdoor restaurant, which leads to the back, where its guest house is built of wood and brick. Beyond its architecture, Bamboo Numérik's modularity lets any corner of the space adapt to a performance.

Bamboo Numérik’s expansive vision for gathering has made it an indispensable part of Benin’s art and music scene since 2011. It fits into a country increasingly interested in merging its expansive spiritual traditions with contemporary art culture. Below, Radji talks to OkayAfrica about Bamboo Numérik’s early beginnings, Benin’s art scene, and what it takes to run one of the country’s most unconventional creative spaces.

I am an artist who tells stories about different worlds through human encounters. I am interested in the street because it is a space of life, confrontation, movement, and the circulation of ideas and imagination. After founding Benin Slam, I became deeply involved in the emergence of this intellectual and artistic movement in Benin and across the continent. Then came my album in 2011, and particularly the song  ASSUME TA JEUNESSE, which introduced my work to a much wider audience. My work eventually took on a broader form: creating spaces where people can meet, think, learn, create, and pass knowledge on to one another. The Beninese artistic scene is incredibly dynamic. It has an energy you don't always expect to find from the outside.

So many artists, creators, musicians, visual artists, craftspeople, writers, and young people are experimenting with new forms. So the problem is not a lack of creativity; it's often whether that creativity can find the spaces, resources, and mechanisms it needs to be properly valued. But something is changing. In recent years, understanding has grown that art is not simply entertainment. 

I would also say that Benin is truly a land of inspiration, particularly powerful in our relationship with tradition. We have managed to preserve something fundamental: a part of our cultural soul.

You only have to look at our music, our songs, rhythms, drums, dances, ceremonies, our visual arts, or the way some artists draw inspiration from the imagination surrounding Vodun. We also have an extraordinary heritage in sculpture and craftsmanship. The legacy of the sculptors of Abomey, for example, continues to be passed down.

Bamboo Numérik was born out of the conviction that a country that wants to develop its culture must build the places that allow that culture to exist. Cultural infrastructure is expensive. It requires land, investment, vision, and above all, patience. So, beginning in 2011, we decided to start building cultural spaces ourselves.

Bamboo Numérik began as a library and a café, and gradually became a place for encounters and creation. The first Bamboo was located at Place du Champ de Foire, in the heart of the city. We invested an enormous amount of energy and resources into it. Then the realities of land ownership forced us to leave. Today, Bamboo Numérik is located in the Djominhountin neighborhood — a name that literally means “the place where you take the plane.”

I love that idea because it ultimately reflects what we want Bamboo to be: a place from which you can take off, travel through ideas, music, books, encounters, and imagination.

Bamboo Numérik has now existed for more than thirteen years. And despite the moves, the financial difficulties, and the need to start over, the philosophy has remained the same: to make culture a place for human connection.

We started with a library built from shipping containers. Then came the café, the restaurant, artist residencies, concerts, exhibitions, and different creative spaces. We developed a model in which the space can host artists in residence, organize events, provide places to work, and, when artists are not staying here, accommodate travelers. Accommodation is therefore not Bamboo's purpose. It is a tool that allows the cultural project to keep living. Bamboo is also a personal story. Beyond my artistic and cultural commitment, I have spent a great deal of time questioning the society in which I live.

I spent an important part of my adolescence around alter-globalization movements and people from all over the world. That shaped my political and ideological education and led me very early on to think about the role I could play in my community. That reflection naturally found its way into my music.

For many years, I deliberately made politically engaged music, taking positions on society, young people, and civic life. I believe an artist should be allowed to have issues that matter to them. An artist should not only produce entertainment; they should also be able to question their time. 

The first challenge in building Bamboo is one many cultural projects in Africa face: funding. Building cultural infrastructure requires considerable resources, even though culture is still difficult to finance as a genuine industry. In our case, we often had to create our own funding mechanisms. I remember my banker asking me why I wanted to invest so much money in a cultural project whose profitability was far from guaranteed. From a purely financial perspective, he probably had a point, but I was convinced that the question was not only: “Will this make money?”

The question was also: “Does this need to exist?” It was a financial challenge, but above all, it was a human challenge, and I do not regret it. Because, in the end, Bamboo has also become a kind of informal embassy: a place where people from different backgrounds can meet, discover Benin, discover artists, and create connections.

Today, an artist can come and work here; a musician can rehearse; a writer can read; a traveler can stay; a child can learn piano; someone can come for a coffee; or simply sit down with a book. A day at Bamboo begins almost like a journey. You enter through the garden, walk among the bamboo, and arrive at the library. You pick up a book, then you might have a coffee or tea, sit down, look toward the beach, read, or talk to someone. Later, you might have lunch and discover a local specialty. Nearby, a piano lesson might begin. Someone might be working on an artistic project. Another person might arrive for a residency. In the afternoon, you might meet an artist. In the evening, you might find an exhibition opening, a rehearsal, or a concert.

And if you are here at the right time, you can simply walk along the beach, swim in the Atlantic, watch the sunset, and come back to finish your book. That is what is special about Bamboo: you do not necessarily come here for one specific thing.

We primarily organize artist residencies which will generally lead to a public presentation: a concert, exhibition, performance, or another form of artistic sharing. We also welcome artists who don't necessarily have a venue to present their work. There are book events, literary gatherings, storytelling performances, exhibitions, and musical programming. For example, we have the Great Night of Storytelling, events celebrating Bob Marley, concerts tied to national celebrations, Independence Day programming, and, every year, a cultural season opening. This cultural season marks the return of our programming: music, the library, studios, classes, talks, exhibitions, and book-related events.

Above all, I want people to leave with something immeasurable: a connection, a desire, or an idea.

You can find yourself sitting at the same table with an artist, an entrepreneur, a traveler crossing Africa, and someone who simply lives in the neighborhood. And on Sundays, when thousands of people gather on Djominhountin Beach, you understand that Bamboo is located in the middle of a living territory.

I would like Bamboo to continue becoming a network of cultural spaces rooted in different territories across Benin.

Our experience has shown us that the need is enormous. I want Bamboo to become a place where people discover the next great Beninese artist and can also meet an established African or international artist. Above all, I want us to continue building spaces for creatives across all disciplines.

Different disciplines need to interact. A musician should be able to meet a writer. An architect should be able to meet a visual artist. An entrepreneur should be able to talk to an artist. A child should be able to discover a musical instrument.