Romuald Hazoumè: Cargoland, October Gallery, London As with all masks, there is a mystery behind them. Are they portraits, sculptures? What category would you class them under? They are both. People might look at them as contemporary work and say they're sculptures, but for me they're the real faces of people," he says. The way women style their hair traditionally indicates something about them - whether they're married, for instance - explaining the significance of the hair used to decorate the petrol cans. Hazoumè says: "now we forget [the meaning of the hairstyle] because we only use popular culture, which is something that makes no sense... That's why we change our hair in Africa - we want to be like white people. The hair we have is not the same as white people's hair - it's so stupid. And what I'm doing is bringing back this culture, saying to people "we don't need to forget our culture, because it is very important for us."" Hazoumè"s black and white photographs are incredibly affecting, but the panoramas, in colour, are bursting with life and energy, even with such a simple composition. He talks about how the panoramas capture a moment that will never quite be the same again - there might be the addition of a house or a market stall, and there would almost definitely be different people. Hazoumè says that this is the moment it becomes art. The two installations, "Petrol Cargo" and "Water Cargo," are made of real cargo scooters, made into art with "wings" of glass ("Petrol") and rubber ("Water") vessels, what the motorcyclists use in Benin to transport the respective materials. Hazoumè predicts that after petrol, which pollutes our oceans and we use in abundance, "tomorrow's problem" will be water, its purity, and its availability. He also points out the irony of the fact that in Benin, without petrol, the water in question would not be effectively distributed. While their symmetry makes the installations feel sturdy, it is also apparent that just a slight change could disrupt the balance. But their purpose is not merely metaphorical - Hazoumè says he "wanted to have something very aesthetic." They hold an incredibly majestic presence, and along with the masks, they represent the recycling of old or discarded materials that might not otherwise have had the chance to be beautiful. I ask him how much impact art has on Benin and its people - he tells me to "forget it." "The problem in our country is not the children, it's the old people, like our leader," he says. They don't mind about art, they don't mind about what we have better than anybody else. What we have better than anybody else is our culture - but for them it's nothing. For them, people like me are a trouble . . . But all of them are asleep now. One day they will wake up and it will be too late. Is there a fundamental difference between African art and Western art? He says: "Behind an artwork, you have a culture," says Hazoumè. The most important thing you have is culture...our culture works for community. What we call [Western] "modern art..." is something very personal. But we are working to talk to our people. Not only to provoke people. We can't talk about African culture. We can talk about a culture within Africa. Of course - Benin is just one, relatively small country, and just within that there are 55 different languages spoken. In its neighbour Nigeria, Hazoumè explains, there are 345. He says, "Your culture and community need to be inside [the art]." African culture changes within 500 yards, he adds. This is reminiscent of our discussion of the photographs - a moment is captured, then it's gone, forever. Romuald Hazoumè: Cargoland (October Gallery, Holborn, London, 28th June - 11th August 2012)