Honourable mentions

ARIEON4873261

project by Ariane Baillargeon from Canada



"Roots of Memory Roots of Memory is a community center located in Enampore, a Jola village in southern Senegal, where sacred forests play a central role in cultural, social, and spiritual life. Numerous legends and beliefs are associated with these forests, making certain trees sacred beings that embody memory and heritage. In Jola culture, the tree is far more than a natural element; it serves as a place of gathering, knowledge transmission, and community rootedness. Rather than drawing inspiration from the tree’s form, the project is inspired by its phenomenology, seeking to recreate its roles of convergence, rootedness, and refuge through architecture. The project is located at the edge of the forest, near the village gathering spaces and the main sandy paths that connect them. Its roof extends above existing circulation routes and becomes a living support for vegetation that gradually inhabits it. To preserve the trees already present on the site, openings are integrated into the structure, allowing them to continue growing through the architecture. Piece-on-piece log walls constructed from locally reclaimed dead palm tree trunks create a sequence of thresholds between openness and protection, while the site layout preserves the existing canopy and generates shaded spaces that accompany daily movement. The project therefore acts as an extension of the forest landscape and encourages spontaneous community gatherings. The project is organized around three pavilions inspired by the symbolic roles of the tree: convergence, rootedness, and refuge. Together, they create a place dedicated to gathering, learning, and the transmission of knowledge. The Convergence Pavilion marks the main entrance to the project and serves as its community heart. Like the traditional palaver tree, it hosts meetings, exchanges, and collective activities. Trees rise through the roof structure and contribute to the creation of a vegetated canopy that provides shade and thermal comfort. Visible from the surrounding pathways, this space acts as both a focal point and a threshold between the village and the project, where residents naturally gather. It accommodates celebrations, dances, and festive gatherings, as well as discussions, community councils, and collective decision-making. Surrounded by sacred trees, the community gathers in a place where nature and culture meet. The Rootedness Pavilion is organized around a majestic kapok tree, a sacred species that holds an important place in Jola beliefs. Considered a living being inhabited by a spirit and carrying collective memory, it becomes the heart of the pavilion. Protected by its presence, the space supports the transmission of legends, ancestral stories, and forest-related knowledge. Residents can gather here to share stories, knowledge, and traditions in an environment conducive to listening, reflection, and renewal. Integrated into the pavilion, a woodworking workshop allows for the transformation of forest resources while respecting local beliefs, including rituals that must be performed before a tree can be cut down. The workshop promotes the responsible use of materials and values resources already available, fostering a sustainable relationship between the community and its environment. The architecture thus becomes an anchor connecting the inhabitants, the forest, and their cultural heritage. Immersed within the forest, the Refuge Pavilion offers a sense of protection and tranquility where the community can learn, gather, and reconnect with nature. It hosts workshops dedicated to the making of objects inspired by traditional craftsmanship and created in harmony with the forest. Participants learn how to produce musical instruments, ropes, woven objects, and paper from plant fibers derived from trees. The pavilion also includes educational spaces organized into two complementary zones: one encouraging collaborative work and exchange, and another more intimate area dedicated to reading and contemplation. Benches carved from tree trunks and shaped to fit the human body provide comfortable reading spaces directly integrated into the landscape. Nearby, an outdoor café is organized around an existing mango tree whose fruit can be harvested by the village children. A library completes the program. Bookshelves structure circulation and define areas of denser forest that are particularly suited to reading. Hammocks and suspended seats made from plant fibers allow users to settle within the vegetation itself. The forest becomes a place of learning, contemplation, and discovery, where the boundary between architecture and nature gradually fades away. The materiality of the project is based on a dialogue between the horizontality of architecture and the verticality of trees. The roof, composed of a dense arrangement of steel joists, acts as a support for vegetation, allowing it to grow and develop between the slats. In the Convergence and Rootedness Pavilions, these slats are oriented at 38 degrees to block western sunlight and function as large sun-shading devices, contributing to the thermal comfort of the spaces. In the Refuge Pavilion, vegetation extends above the roof and reinforces the feeling of immersion within the forest. This structure is supported by locally reclaimed dead tree trunks, while the piece-on-piece walls, limited to two-thirds of their height, preserve visual openness toward the landscape. Together, these elements create a porous architecture through which light, air, and vegetation move freely. The spaces remain naturally ventilated and shaded, reducing energy demands while providing a comfortable environment adapted to the Senegalese climate. Roots of Memory proposes an architecture that does not impose itself on the forest but instead reveals it. By transforming the phenomenology of the tree into a spatial experience, the project creates places of convergence, transmission, and refuge that are deeply rooted in Jola culture. Architecture becomes a framework for living systems, enabling the community of Enampore to strengthen its relationship with its environment, collective memory, and traditions while ensuring their transmission to future generations."

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ALEELE2500527

project by Alexandre Fidèle from Mauritius



"This project is conceived as an architecture of shelter, assembly, and organic growth. Its main idea is to create a built form that feels alive, fluid, and protective, while remaining clear in its structure and coherent in its spatial logic. Rather than relying on a rigid or monolithic volume, the project develops through a fragmented composition of interconnected elements gathered under a shared roof. This approach allows the architecture to express both unity and variation, giving each part its own identity while maintaining a strong overall harmony. The concept is rooted in the idea that a building can be both structural and poetic: precise in its construction, yet expressive in its form and atmosphere. The design process begins with morphogenesis, where form is not imposed but gradually developed through sketches, physical models, and digital studies. Each step of the process contributes to refining the geometry, proportions, and spatial relationships of the project. The form evolves from an initial intuitive gesture into a more controlled and buildable system. This progressive transformation is essential to the project, because it allows the architecture to move from abstract inspiration to constructive reality. The result is a building whose shape appears organic, yet is supported by a rigorous internal logic. Materiality plays a central role in the project. Bamboo is used as the primary structural material, not only for its technical qualities but also for its expressive potential. Lightweight, flexible, and strong, bamboo makes it possible to develop curved and dynamic forms while keeping the structure legible and efficient. It becomes more than a building material: it is also a design instrument that shapes the spatial character of the project. Earth is used alongside bamboo to provide mass, grounding, and thermal performance. In the walls and base, earth introduces solidity and continuity, balancing the lightness of the bamboo frame. This combination creates a rich dialogue between elevation and anchoring, movement and stability. The structure is conceived through a system of bamboo hyperboloid forms, which generate the main architectural framework. These forms create a sense of upward movement and spatial rhythm, while also allowing the building to remain open and breathable. At ground level, the geometry produces circular modules that organize the plan and give clarity to the spatial composition. Inclined earth walls and a rammed-earth base support this system, reinforcing the structural and material coherence of the project. The architecture is therefore not composed as a simple envelope around space, but as a carefully integrated system in which structure, form, and material work together from the beginning. The building process is equally important to the identity of the project. The project is developed through a constructive logic that values readability, assembly, and adaptation. Bamboo elements are treated as a visible skeleton, assembled in a way that expresses both precision and craftsmanship. The joints, supports, and secondary elements are designed to ensure stability while preserving the flexibility of the overall system. Earth construction complements this approach by offering a slower, denser, and more grounded mode of making. Together, these techniques produce an architecture that is both contemporary and rooted in a manual, tactile way of building. The roof completes the architectural system by unifying the different parts under one protective layer. Made of flattened bamboo shingles, it continues the material language of the project and strengthens its organic expression. More than a cover, the roof acts as a spatial device that defines the atmosphere of the interior and the transitions between spaces. It gives the project a sense of enclosure without closing it off completely, allowing light, air, and structure to remain visible and active. Overall, the project is defined by a close relationship between concept, material, and making. Its architecture is shaped by a desire to create a form that is expressive but also grounded in constructional clarity. Bamboo and earth are not treated as separate components, but as complementary forces that generate the identity of the whole. Through a process of gradual refinement, the project transforms an initial idea into a built system that is both structurally coherent and spatially engaging."

INTERVIEW with Alexandre Fidèle

Could you briefly introduce yourselves and share your academic background and approach to architecture? I’m Alexandre Fidèle, a 24-year-old Mauritian citizen who has just completed a Master’s degree in Architecture on 24 June 2026. Most of my academic journey has taken place in Mauritius. I completed my secondary education at St. Joseph College, where I followed an artistic and technical curriculum that sparked my interest in design and eventually led me to the (ENSA) École Nationale Supérieure d’Architecture de Nantes (Mauritius), where I discovered the world of architecture. After three years at ENSA Nantes (Mauritius), I obtained my Bachelor’s degree in Architecture. I then continued with my fourth year (Master 1), which I completed in Mauritius, before finishing my final year in France. I have now graduated with my Master’s degree in Architecture. Since my first steps in this field, my architectural approach has continuously evolved through my experiences, my vision, and my exposure to the world around me. I cannot say that I have developed a single, distinctive design approach that sets me apart from others. Instead, my process depends on the project itself, what I am creating, for whom I am designing, and how I choose to respond to each context. If I had to describe my approach, I would say that it is an artistic way of experiencing, expressing, and understanding what we call architecture. What was your reaction when you learned that your project received a Mention in the Kaira Looro 2026 Competition?

Receiving this recognition was a deeply personal achievement, and at first, I could hardly believe it. I kept asking myself, “Was it really me who received this distinction?” I felt both proud and humbled by the fact that the jury of the Kaira Looro Competition had recognized and congratulated me for my work. It was one of those rare moments of validation when I realized that my work had been appreciated not by just one person, but by several internationally renowned architects. More importantly, it gave me the confidence to believe that my ideas and my work could contribute to architecture through an innovative and meaningful approach.

During the design process, what were the main challenges you encountered?

The first step was finding inspiration. Once I had identified the village where I wanted to work and understood the program for the community centre, I began searching for something that could guide my design process. An idea that would inspire those first sketches, the first architectural gestures made with pen and paper. I explored numerous documents to better understand how people live in southern Senegal: their way of life, their local economy, their traditions, their culture, and what they are passionate about. Fortunately, I met several Senegalese friends who were also studying at ENSA. We had many conversations, during which they shared photographs of different regions of the country, as well as a publication by the Senegalese architect Patrick Dujarric, whose research focuses on rural communities in southern Senegal. I’ve got a lot of understanding but was not satisfied. My greatest challenge was my limited exposure of the village and its surroundings. At the same time, I was completing my Master’s final project, which made it impossible for me to travel there, experience the place firsthand, meet the local people, and truly understand how they live. Some people might think that this level of research is unnecessary for an architectural competition, but for me, participating meant much more than simply submitting a project. My entire design process depends on a deep understanding of the site, its context, and the people who inhabit it. Without that awareness and a genuine reading of the place, architecture loses much of its meaning. That was the real challenge.

This year’s theme focused on a Community Centre for rural communities in Sub-Saharan Africa. What aspects of this brief did you find most inspiring or meaningful?

What inspired me most about this year’s brief was its focus on architecture as a tool for people rather than simply as the design of a building. A community centre is more than a physical structure—it is a place where people gather, learn, celebrate, exchange, and strengthen social ties. Designing such a space for a rural community in Sub-Saharan Africa required thinking beyond aesthetics and considering how architecture could genuinely improve everyday life. What I found particularly meaningful was the opportunity to design for a context that is deeply connected to its environment, culture, and traditions. The challenge was not to impose an architectural language, but to understand the place, respect its identity, and create a project that could naturally belong to its community. This required researching local construction techniques, available materials, climatic conditions, and, above all, the way people live and interact. Ultimately, this brief perfectly reflects the kind of architecture I aspire to practice: architecture that is contextual, socially engaged, environmentally responsible, and rooted in the realities of the people who will use it.

Could you briefly describe the main concept of your project and its intended impact on the community?

The main concept of my project was to create a community centre that feels like a natural extension of the village rather than a standalone building. I wanted the architecture to emerge from the local context, drawing inspiration from the landscape, traditional construction methods, and the everyday lives of the community. A key source of inspiration came from the nests of local birds found in the Bois Sacrés (Sacred Forests) of southern Senegal. Rather than replicating their form, I reinterpreted their underlying principles, protection, adaptation to the environment, the intelligent use of local materials, and harmony with nature, to create spaces that respond to human needs. The project was conceived as a flexible and welcoming place where people could gather, learn, share knowledge, and celebrate community life. Passive strategies such as natural ventilation, shaded spaces, and locally available materials ensured both environmental performance and cultural relevance, allowing the building to be constructed and maintained using local skills and resources. To some extent, my goal was to create more than a building: a place that strengthens community life, reinforces local identity, and demonstrates how architecture can be both sustainable and deeply rooted in its context.

How did considerations such as local materials, sustainability, and construction feasibility influence your design approach?

Throughout my architectural studies, I had the opportunity to work with earth and bamboo in both Mauritius and India. Although these contexts differ from rural Senegal, they share similarities in climate-responsive design, local resources, and traditional construction techniques. Through workshops and hands-on experiences, I became familiar with rammed earth, adobe, wattle and daub, and bamboo joinery, which gave me a deeper understanding of these materials and influenced my design approach. I was particularly inspired by projects such as the METI School by Anna Heringer and The Arc at Green School, Bali by IBUKU. These projects demonstrate how local materials can express both technical innovation and architectural identity while remaining deeply connected to local craftsmanship. Sustainability also shaped my proposal through passive strategies such as natural ventilation, shaded spaces, carefully oriented openings, and climate-responsive design to ensure thermal comfort with minimal energy use. Construction feasibility was equally important. I wanted the project to be built and maintained by local craftsmen using accessible materials and familiar techniques. For me, sustainability is not only about environmental performance but also about creating architecture that is culturally rooted, socially meaningful, and realistically buildable.

In your view, what role can architecture play in addressing social and humanitarian challenges today?

I believe architecture has the power to improve people’s lives when it responds to their real needs. Beyond creating buildings, it can foster social interaction, provide access to education and essential services, strengthen local identity, and promote dignity through well-designed spaces. In humanitarian contexts, architecture should not be about imposing solutions but about listening, understanding, and working with communities. Even small interventions can have a lasting impact when they are rooted in the local culture, environment, and available resources. For me, architecture becomes meaningful when it serves people first.

How does this recognition influence your motivation and your future direction as young architects or designers?

This recognition has strengthened my confidence and reinforced my belief that architecture can have a meaningful impact beyond aesthetics. Knowing that my work was appreciated by an international jury motivates me to continue exploring architecture that is socially engaged, environmentally responsible, and rooted in its context. Coming from a small island like Mauritius, this recognition holds a special meaning for me. It is a source of great pride not only to have participated in such an international competition, but also to have been acknowledged and congratulated by a jury of renowned architects. It reminds me that meaningful ideas can come from anywhere, regardless of the size of the country we come from. As a young future architect, this experience encourages me to keep learning, experimenting, and challenging myself through projects that address real societal issues. It also reinforces my desire to contribute to the architectural development of Mauritius by bringing back the knowledge, experiences, and perspectives I have gained throughout my studies and international experiences. More than an achievement, I see this recognition as a responsibility and a motivation to continue growing as an architect, with curiosity, humility, and the ambition to create architecture that has a positive impact on both local communities and the wider world.

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Special Mentions

VICOLA3470743

project by Victor Iraola , Carlos Pesce , Gustavo Fuentes



"PROJECT CONCEPT REPORT The proposal emerges from the study of the traditional architectures of southern Senegal, particularly the dwellings organized around a central courtyard or impluvium. In these constructions, the central void serves both as the main space for family gathering and as a climatic device capable of collecting and managing rainwater. This close relationship between community, climate, and architecture becomes the conceptual starting point of the project. Rather than literally reproducing this typology, the proposal seeks to reinterpret its fundamental principles in order to respond to the needs of a contemporary community facility. The central courtyard thus becomes the generating element of the project, organizing the site layout, circulation, social interactions, and environmental strategies of the complex. The building is composed of four independent volumes that accommodate the main programmatic functions: administration and services, educational facilities, library, and community space. The fragmentation of the program provides identity and autonomy to each activity, promoting a clear organization that is easily recognizable by users. The circulation system established between these volumes ensures permanent connectivity among the different sectors and reinforces the perception of the complex as a unified whole. At the center of this composition lies the courtyard, conceived as the primary space for community interaction and exchange. More than a residual void, it constitutes the social heart of the project, a place where activities, views, and circulation paths converge. The incorporation of vegetation contributes to improving environmental conditions while creating areas for gathering and permanence that enrich the daily experience of users. The decision to keep the courtyard completely open to the sky reflects the intention to preserve its direct relationship with the natural conditions of the site. Sunlight, rainfall, seasonal changes, and vegetation become integral parts of the spatial experience, strengthening the connection between the community and its environment. As a reference to traditional impluvium, the project incorporates a rainwater harvesting and management system that collects precipitation for storage and later use, integrating environmental sustainability and cultural continuity within a single architectural strategy. The architecture adopts a predominantly inward-looking character, orienting its spaces toward the central courtyard and reinforcing community life around this void. At the same time, strategically positioned openings at the corners of the different volumes establish visual relationships with the surrounding landscape, allowing the building to engage with its context without compromising the central role of the interior courtyard. The building's placement was determined through the study of solar paths and prevailing winds. The environmental strategy aims to reduce excessive heat gain while promoting natural ventilation. Larger openings are therefore oriented toward the interior courtyard to provide diffuse daylight, cross-ventilation is encouraged throughout the building, and peripheral galleries complete the passive environmental system. Through these measures, the project seeks to achieve abundant natural lighting, reduced thermal loads, and improved comfort conditions. Flexibility constitutes one of the fundamental principles of the proposal. Large sliding openings allow the interior spaces to merge with the central courtyard, expanding opportunities for use and adaptation to different community activities. In this way, the boundaries between inside and outside become dynamic and permeable, enabling variable spatial configurations and encouraging diverse and evolving forms of occupation and appropriation. Within the interior spaces, folding partitions allow rooms to be integrated or subdivided according to the requirements of each activity. The overall organization is based on a 3.50-meter modular grid that governs the site layout, structural system, and construction methods. This logic provides compositional clarity, constructive rationality, and the capacity for future adaptation. Connecting the different volumes is an elevated steel structure composed of columns and beams that accompanies the exterior circulation routes and transitional spaces. Textile surfaces are suspended above this framework, creating shaded areas and climatic protection. Rather than functioning as a continuous roof, this structure acts as a connective element that links the different architectural components and creates a comfortable circulation experience around the courtyard. The alternation between open spaces, shaded areas, and enclosed rooms generates a spatial sequence that responds both to climatic conditions and to patterns of community use. The project is built upon the relationship between exposure and shelter, between nature and architecture, offering multiple possibilities for occupation and social interaction. The proposed material palette seeks to establish a balance between tradition and contemporaneity. Rammed-earth walls incorporate local resources and construction knowledge, providing thermal mass, sustainability, and cultural identity. The use of concrete and steel introduces a contemporary expression and a recognizable institutional image capable of representing the public and community-oriented character of the building. The proposal aspires to create an architecture deeply connected to its cultural and environmental context: a complex organized around a courtyard open to the sky, where the memory of traditional impluvium is projected toward a new form of community gathering, integrating public space, sustainability, and a sense of belonging into a single architectural experience."

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MINONG9989404

project by Minh Ky Duong , Duy Anh Dam , Nguyen Khang Nguyen Vu from Vietnam



"1. The Community Impluvium The project is conceived as a Community Impluvium: a shaded civic courtyard where people, air, rainwater, knowledge, craft and cultivation are gathered under one roof. The design begins from a vernacular spatial archetype: a large roof, a central void and an enclosing ring of spaces. In traditional domestic architecture, this configuration protects everyday life while keeping people close to the courtyard. This project transforms that domestic logic into civic infrastructure. The closed ring is opened by a public flow, allowing collective life to weave through the building. The result is not an isolated institution, but a porous community landscape where learning, assembly, making, gardening and daily exchange grow around a shared shaded court. 2. Human Scale and Public Life The design is grounded in human-scale public life. Social life is not created only by large events; it begins with low-intensity contacts: passing by, waiting in the shade, watching children play, greeting an elder, observing a workshop, listening to a discussion, or sitting near others without pressure to participate. The architecture creates a sequence of approachable spaces rather than a single imposed hall. Public, semi-public, semi-private and protected zones are gradually layered, allowing different users to participate comfortably. Women, youth, elders, children, teachers, craftsmen, local leaders and visitors can enter the center without being forced into one fixed mode of use. The project gathers rather than disperses, integrates rather than isolates, attracts rather than excludes, and opens rather than closes. 3. Program as a Living Chain The required functions are organized as a continuous chain of everyday activities. The semi-open community hall forms the civic heart, hosting village assemblies, meetings with authorities, awareness sessions, celebrations, film nights, emergency briefings and temporary markets. Around it, classrooms support literacy programs, remedial courses and professional training. The public library and study area create a quieter environment for reading, self-learning and group study. The creative workshop opens toward the courtyard and garden edge, allowing craft, repair, agricultural learning and small entrepreneurship to become visible. Storage and restrooms are positioned as robust service cores, easy to access and maintain. The productive vegetable garden is not treated as decorative landscape, but as an active program: it brings people to the center daily, supports food culture, creates learning opportunities and connects knowledge with livelihood. 4. Semi-Design and Belonging The project avoids complete design. It provides a clear architectural framework—floor, walls, roof, drainage, shaded thresholds and service cores—while leaving many layers open to community appropriation. Benches, woven screens, mats, shelves, planted edges, craft displays, temporary partitions and teaching surfaces can be completed, repaired or changed by local users. This strategy of semi-design is not a lack of design; it is a method of transferring authorship. People are not passive beneficiaries of a finished object, but co-authors of a place that can evolve with their needs, skills and culture. Belonging is produced through use, recognition and creativity. Local identity is not turned into a static image, but renewed through making, repairing, planting, teaching and gathering. The building becomes a framework for self-esteem and cultural continuity. 5. Materials, Structure, Rainwater and Sustainable Construction The material strategy is based on local availability, low embodied energy, repairability and passive climate performance. The floor is paved with recycled slate fragments laid in an irregular pattern. This reused stone surface is durable, easy to repair, thermally stable and visually connected to the texture of the local ground. The walls are built with handmade local bricks. Some brick surfaces are solid, creating protection and thermal mass, while perforated brick areas bring natural light, cross ventilation and reduced heat accumulation. Double brick walls create an air cavity that reduces heat transfer and improves indoor comfort without mechanical systems. The roof uses a local bamboo frame with thatch covering. Its large inward-sloping form provides shade, protects the brick walls from direct rain and creates a high ventilated volume. A continuous upper gap allows hot air to escape, while the low shaded edges draw cooler air through the building. The roof also works as a rainwater harvesting device. Its circular collection edge guides rainwater toward a ring around the courtyard, where water is filtered and led into an underground tank. This stored water is used as non-potable greywater for garden irrigation, floor cleaning, hand-washing points and restroom support. In the dry season, it sustains the productive gardens; in the rainy season, it reduces uncontrolled runoff and protects the courtyard from erosion. The construction system relies on repeated elements and local craftsmanship, making it suitable for self-construction, community participation and long-term maintenance. 6. Climate, Phasing and Architecture in Space-Time The center is designed to work with climate before technology. The large roof creates a continuous shaded microclimate; the perforated brick walls filter light and wind; the double-wall cavity reduces heat gain; the raised slate floor and drainage channels protect the building during heavy rain. The project also responds to economic uncertainty through phased development. From the first phase, the center functions as a shaded hall for learning and assembly. As community resources grow, classrooms, library areas, workshops and service spaces can be added gradually. The ring expands in a controlled way, while the courtyard remains open, legible and central. The project understands sustainability as a question of time as much as space. A building is often judged as a three-dimensional object, yet community life unfolds through a fourth dimension: time. In the morning, the center can serve as a learning place; in the afternoon, as a workshop, garden and market edge; in the evening, as a meeting hall or cultural space. In the dry season, the courtyard becomes an open shaded ground. In the rainy season, the large roof becomes a refuge, an information point and a protected civic room. Its architecture is therefore not a finished monument, but a resilient space-time framework where social repair, education, livelihood, culture and climate adaptation can coexist in everyday life."

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AMYOCO5678901

project by Amy Tinoco Munoz from Colombia



"To the south of the Sedhiou region, in a village with about 55 households. Here, health care, education, and public services in general are not easily accessible. Therefore, a community center aims to serve as a gathering place that supports the community’s activities and needs. The project concept stems from an analysis of the movements inherent in various daily activities in Senegal, such as dancing, playing musical instruments, and agriculture. An analysis of multimedia content depicting these movements in the country revealed a series of choreographies composed primarily of repetitive motions. Among these movements were the ascent, the descent, compression, and expansion. These movements were therefore used to create the overall structure of the project. The center is organized to create a single enveloping roof that evokes the idea of a protective shell for its users. This roof is designed as if it were a piece of fabric laid on the floor that is lifted at specific points to create entrances and exits, referencing the movement of ascent and descent mentioned earlier. The compression and expansion of the project are most evident from the aerial view, where spaces designed for larger gatherings are more expansive, while more private spaces are more compact. The project’s structure is made of bamboo; each beam consists of three bamboo poles, 50 mm in diameter, which rest on the arches formed by the entrances. These arches are thicker and contain approximately six bamboo poles to support the weight of the roof. All of these loads are transferred to the 200 mm high concrete blocks, which come in three different sizes: the smaller ones, can hold three beams; others support four; and a third size supports four or more and serves as a rainwater collector thanks to its concave spaces. These blocks are mainly located near the rooms that use the most water, such as the kitchen and workshops. The project was designed to be located on the outskirts of a town close to Massaria in a spot surrounded by trees and close to farmland. Its location would be just a few hundred meters from the town center, making it accessible on foot but not situated amid the hustle and bustle of the population’s daily activities. The main entrances to the project were designed around the two access routes from the village. Likewise, the shape of the roof was designed with the direction of the winds during the dry and wet seasons in mind, so that on the north side the structure is closer to the ground to prevent water from entering the interior. The center has two main entrances on the south and east sides, which provide access to the community library and kitchen. The library features bookshelves integrated into the bamboo structure to create more open space inside. Bamboo poles approximately 50 mm in diameter are attached to the roof beams to create spaces for storing books and other materials. In the kitchen, part of the ceiling would be left unclad so that vegetation could be planted in the inner courtyard, which could then grow up the bamboo structure and serve as a source of food for the community. The kitchen is also located opposite a farm with a large entrance; this strategy aims to facilitate the production of local food. Near the kitchen is the workshop area, where bamboo elements would also be attached to the roof structure, which extends down to the floor on both sides to create supports for weaving, an activity that constitutes a major part of the country’s economy. The community hall would open onto the inner courtyard, as would the three classrooms. For acoustic reasons, these classrooms are the only spaces separated by walls made of 20 mm thick laminated panels attached to bamboo poles, to which wooden frame poles are fixed to support the panels. Finally, the project would feature an interior courtyard with circular seating steps. Through a cyclical flow, this center aims to create a unifying space for the community, while also seeking to become an integral part of the village by offering free services through its own facilities. It seeks to blend seamlessly with local materials, reinterpreting the daily rhythm of life for the town’s residents."

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MAXEDA9505297

project Eduardo Maximiliano Zepeda Ledesma from Mexico



"Clay is often associated with rural construction and, in many African villages, local communities still perceive it as a material linked to poverty. However, clay remains one of the most sustainable materials in architecture due to its adaptability to diverse climatic conditions. Elements such as rammed-earth walls and clay floors should not be understood as a local aesthetic, but rather as intelligent construction systems that contribute to sustainable building practices. Bamboo also enters the conversation as a highly valuable material. Its rapid growth, flexibility, structural strength, and natural resistance to humidity make it a compelling choice for construction. The commitment to crafting beautiful architecture from affordable, practical, and locally accessible materials is essential, particularly in social and community-based projects. Microclimates have long been recognized for their ability to mitigate extreme temperatures. Since ancient times, vegetated patios have been used to create more comfortable environments. This project embraces that principle through a modular linear arrangement that can be constructed in stages. A covered corridor connects the workshops, while each module is separated by green patios that generate shade, improve thermal comfort, and frame pleasant views from the interior spaces. The architecture seeks climatic responsiveness through sloped ceilings that allow hot air to rise, Low eaves that protect interiors from harsh solar exposure. The roofing system consists of easily installed tiles complemented by a strip of semi-translucent panels, allowing generous natural daylight into the workshops. The building is conceived as a semi-open structure that blurs the boundaries between indoor and outdoor space, inviting users to inhabit it as a sequence of terraces. Rather than relying on rigid physical limits, the spaces are softly defined by vegetation and clay vessels, evoking a subtle Miesian spatial sensibility."

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YUSAKR1234567

project by Yuseph Sakr , Alexander Jacobs , Ella Weeks from Jordan



"From ancient settlement on, the Lower Casamance has been inextricably tied to the cultivation of rice. Not only does rice remain the dietary and economic staple of rural Casamance life, but its cultivation is the basis upon which many communities are established. Today, the Lower Casamance region finds itself pinched between the closed-circuit subsistence farming of its past and an exodus toward the economic and academic opportunities of the north. In order to appropriately acknowledge these embedded traditions and reinvigorate rural life, this new center facilitates traditional rice farming, and provides infrastructure for the shared acts of discourse and education. Timeless wisdom of the past is amplified as a means for future communal growth. The programmatic intersection of agriculture and community space is formally articulated as an evolution of the vernacular Lower Casamance impluvium typology. Situated within a network of rice paddies, four distinct masses sit atop an elevated concrete plinth. This lifts the community center to the height of existing berms and dykes that compose a Casamancais rice field. The four masses stretch into the surrounding landscape and create axial entries at all four sides of the building. Through these entries, visitors are ushered from the rice field into covered passages lined with planters and benches. Between the masses sit four open and flexible spaces, each flanking an intimate communal gathering space in the impluvium. The masses and voids created by these moves are defined by a language of compressed earth block walls and slatted rosewood doors. The 40cm thick earth block walls denote service spaces such as the enclosed portions of the workshop and library, restrooms, and storage. Meanwhile, sliding doors enclose the open space between masses allowing for flexibility of use and enclosure. These two languages are unified by a singular exposed rosewood roof structure that is wrapped in traditional textiles. Much like a clerestory, the raised and sloped roof allows indirect light, softened by translucent fabric, to enter all sides of the building. Similar to the traditional impluvium structure, the roof slopes inward, and water collected in the impluvium is routed through channels in the ground towards wells at the edge of the site. At the heart of these design decisions is the central principle of flexibility. For example, what might ordinarily operate as a dedicated library with quiet seating, or a workshop with productive workstations, can be absorbed into a large event space. Or, if the workshop is occupied by a training event, two dedicated classrooms to the north and south may open up into a broader lecture hall with views out to the fields. When fully closed, the traditional impluvium becomes an intimate semi-sheltered courtyard that places civic discourse at the heart of community activity. Here, a sunken amphitheater hosts meetings with elders, officials, and other smaller groups – beneath an opening in the roof. Its central location and transparency present an accessible quality to decision-making. Construction begins with the removal of soil. From here, compacted laterite aggregate creates a firm base for the forming and pouring of steel-reinforced concrete stem walls. Additional compacted aggregate is then filled within the stem walls and topped by a thin, finish concrete slab. This completes the elevated plinth and allows for existing berming to tie into the established points of entry. Atop the stem walls, compacted and chiseled earthen blocks create thermally massive walls rendered self-shading by their repeated groove pattern. A steel-reinforced concrete bond beam wraps the top of the brick walls, provides lateral stability and creates anchoring points for the roof structure. The modular roof structure consists of an assembly of small rosewood members that, together, form a space frame. The space frame is tied to the mass walls through embedded wood members, and is supplementally supported by columns where spans are at their longest. Weaving together doubled horizontal members increases the spanning capacity and allows vertical members to create moment connections at each intersection of the structure. These vertical members are comprised of four individual rosewood posts that nestle around the built-up cruciform columns. Once fully assembled, the roof structure’s tensile capacity is further-reinforced by ropes that tie together its outer modules. This roof frame is then striped with rosewood purlins that create fastening points for the corrugated metal roofing above. The final step in the assembly of the structure is fastening of woven textiles around the outer elevation of the frame. Lastly, the sliding doors are built of a simple rosewood frame and slat system. Fabric is attached to the frame of the doors, and the doors are placed on tracks that are neatly nestled within the horizontal members of the roof. Both in plan and section, every element of the construction adheres to a factor of the overall 2.4m x 3.0m module. Made from a simple toolkit of locally-available materials, the resulting building is both simply constructed and historically sensitive. Its composition allows for a clear, modular construction process, which can be easily undertaken by local builders and the community. Designed around its flexible operability, the building’s configuration is placed in the hands of individuals, rendering the community the author of its own space."

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SEOYUN2021888

project by SEONGBIN BYUN , YONGSHUN DENG from South Korea



"The design responds to how rural Senegalese communities actually live. People gather, rest, and exchange stories in the cool shade of the village's great tree rather than within enclosed rooms, which can feel dark, heavy, and stifling. Yet while dwellings are scattered widely across the land, shared spaces for collective rest, learning, and activity remain scarce. In response, the project gathers the required functions—assembly, education, library, and workshop—into compact earthen masses of local laterite and compressed-earth block, materials the community already knows and can build with by hand, without heavy machinery. Between and above these masses, a lightweight timber frame carries shading louvers that reinterpret the canopy of the village tree, casting cool, dappled shade over the spaces in between. These shaded thresholds become the true heart of the center: places where people linger, talk, learn, and work together. Construction follows simple, repeatable steps suited to local labor. The earthen walls go up first as stable, self-contained volumes, using familiar blocks and masonry techniques. Timber posts, beams, and roof structure are then installed to link the separate masses and form shaded outdoor rooms. Finally, wooden louvers are fixed above to filter the sunlight and temper the heat. This clear construction logic allows the building to be understood, repaired, and expanded by the community itself. Rather than depending on complex systems, the project relies on passive strategies such as shade, thermal mass, natural ventilation, and layered thresholds to create comfort in a low-tech and sustainable way. At its core, a central courtyard anchors the composition—a place that feels familiar and rooted in tradition, yet calm, ordered, and adaptable. Two trees are placed at the center of the courtyard, bringing the everyday life and local identity of the region directly into the architecture. They recall the village tree as a place of shade, gathering, rest, and conversation, turning the courtyard into a familiar communal ground rather than a purely formal open space. As they grow, the trees change with the seasons and continue to shape the atmosphere of the courtyard, making the building feel alive and connected to its surroundings. Over time, this courtyard can become more than a circulation space: it can host informal classes, evening meetings, small markets, children’s play, and quiet moments of rest. In this way, the architecture remains open to daily life and future change. The result is an architecture that does not impose itself on the village but quietly extends the life already unfolding there, turning shade, gathering, timber, earth, and trees into durable and welcoming common ground."

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YASOUR7749215

Yasaman Sayadipour , Zahra Nejadfard , Amir Tosan , Sheida Ghelichkhany , Nasim Bakhshinejad from Iran



"Our project never begins with the ""building."" A building, in its conventional sense, is an object that imposes itself upon the land; a heavy mass that stands against both climate and people. But in the rural villages of southern Senegal, in Casamance, public space was born — before it ever took architectural form — in the form of ""shade."" Before any structure existed, it was the tree that created the village's first collective space. People gathered under its shade, talked, learned, told stories, exchanged goods, and made collective decisions. In this culture, shade is not merely a climatic response; shade is a social institution. For this reason, this project too does not begin from the idea of a building, but from the idea of shade. The fundamental question of this project was also not an architectural one in the conventional sense. The greatest challenge of these villages is the gradual migration of the young generation to the cities; a process that not only reduces the population, but also erodes the cycle of transmitting indigenous knowledge, traditional skills, and collective memory. The root of this migration is not only a lack of income; it is the absence of economic sustainability and the absence of a setting in which people can trade, offer their agricultural produce, and sell — or at least make visible — their handicrafts, such as pottery, basket-weaving, and other indigenous arts. When the art and skill of a generation has nowhere to be shown and offered, that generation inevitably leaves. So the issue is not building a new structure; the issue is building the conditions in which a young person can imagine their future within the community. We define this community center not as a building, but as a ""social infrastructure for staying."" From Shade to Mass Our design process moved against the common habit. We did not start from a dense, unified mass in order to decorate it; we split that mass apart. The initial compact volume was broken so that shade, air, and movement could pass through it. What remained was a collection of smaller solid volumes, connected to one another through open and semi-open spaces. In this project, the space between the volumes matters as much as the volumes themselves. Architecture is defined not in the built mass, but in the relationship between spaces. The bamboo canopy that results from this process is not merely a roof; it is an ""artificial social tree"" that gathers people of different ages, genders, and activities under a shared cover. In the culture of Casamance, shade — before being a climatic phenomenon — is a social geography. People are naturally drawn toward shade, and wherever a lasting shade forms, it quickly becomes a collective center; a place for sitting, talking, waiting, trading, and decision-making. For this reason, public space in these villages cannot be defined by walls; public space is wherever shade defines it. Denser shade creates denser gathering, while scattered shade creates passage and movement. In this way, the intensity of shade effectively draws the map of the village's social behavior. Our project turns this behavior into a principle for organizing space. Rather than a uniform surface, the canopy produces a pattern of varying shade: where gathering and stillness are needed the shade grows denser, and where movement is needed it grows thinner. Without any sign or wall, people are guided toward the collective spaces simply by following the shade. This same logic also shapes the sequence of arrival: Village Path → Tree Shade → Veranda → Workshop → Market → Gathering. A person enters from the open sun into the first shades, and the closer they come to the heart of the complex, the denser the shade and the collective presence become. Instead of a compact mass, the form of the project holds within it a social path. Tectonics: A Structure Born from the Human Hand This project rests on the belief that architecture must be of the substance of its place and must be built by the very same people. For this reason, the construction system is deliberately simple, layered, and modular. The main skeleton is formed from a bamboo structure; a material that is light, available, and workable by hand, without the need for heavy machinery or specialized labor. Between the solid volumes, bamboo tunnels are placed, which through their twist rise from the wall to the roof, and along this very path, create shade; the twist belongs only to the bamboo. The solid volumes are built from laterite — the region's native red earth — and tie the project to the color and texture of the Casamance ground. The floor is concrete, but even the concrete remains hidden: a layer of laterite covers it, so that the building, even beneath a person's feet, is of the substance of earth. The repetition of modules means that the community can build, repair, and in the future expand it themselves. This is architecture as process, not as object. Ecology: A Shade That Solves Both Climate and Economy The climate of southern Senegal — high heat, humidity, and intense radiation — does not allow architecture to rest on enclosed, energy-dependent spaces. Rather than fighting the climate, this project collaborates with it. The twisted bamboo tunnels produce maximum shade, and the tall roofs and porous shell allow air to pass; warm air rises and exits from beneath the canopy, while the wind continues to flow throughout the whole complex. The building is not a heavy object, but a breathable structure that acts more like a climatic filter. But shade does something else as well. By producing maximum shade, people are guided toward gathering, and this gathering creates ""thresholds"" at the edges of the building — open and semi-open spaces that turn into a local market. These thresholds connect directly to the creative workshops; spaces in which the locals learn skills, make their own handicrafts, and right there, in the shade, offer and exchange them."

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JUNENG8142601

project by JUNWEN DENG , Zeta Koukiou , Hitoshi Takahashi , Anastasiia Koshkarova , Matas Janusa from China



"In the rural Senegalese village, communal life often gathers first in the shade of a tree. Beneath its canopy, people sit, speak, listen, repair, teach, observe, and pass knowledge across generations. This simple condition — shade as shelter, gathering as learning, and everyday exchange as a form of education — becomes the starting point for the project. Rather than treating learning as something confined to classrooms, the proposal reimagines the community center as an architectural extension of this familiar gathering space: a place where knowledge, social life, and communal identity are continuously shared. At the center of the building is a circular courtyard that translates the logic of the tree into built form. Like the shaded ground beneath a canopy, the courtyard becomes a collective interior landscape: open, visible, and accessible from all sides and inspired by the communal entry spaces often found in Senegalese architectural traditions. More than an entrance, the courtyard becomes the social heart of the community center: a centripetal void that organizes movement, draws collective life inward, and forms a shared civic core where gathering, discussion, teaching, celebration, exchange, and everyday encounters naturally overlap. The program is organized around this circular space according to different rhythms of communal life. Active functions such as workshops and public gatherings are positioned where they can open directly toward the courtyard and extend into it when needed. Quieter functions like reading areas, study spaces, storage, and more focused learning rooms are placed along more protected edges, allowing concentration while remaining visually connected to the shared center. All movement through the building passes through this central courtyard, reinforcing the idea that communal life and learning are inseparable. The space is designed to remain highly flexible. Surrounding walls and thresholds can open to extend activities outward, allowing the courtyard to expand according to the needs of the community. Workshops, performances, discussions, celebrations, markets, and large public gatherings can transform the space in different ways over time. In this sense, the project operates as a flexible communal framework, adapting to changing social needs while maintaining a strong sense of openness and accessibility. Water collection further reinforces the building’s role as a center of daily communal life. In the village, the act of collecting water is not only practical; it is also social, bringing people together through a repeated rhythm of waiting, carrying, sharing, and conversation. The project places this everyday act at the heart of the building. The roof and courtyard are designed to collect, guide, and store rainwater, transforming the process of collecting water into a shared spatial event. As people come to draw water, they also meet, speak, rest, teach, and exchange news, allowing the courtyard to bring the community together through one of the most ordinary and necessary acts of daily life. Extending outward from the courtyard, a permeable façade operates simultaneously as support, shelving, study space, storage, and environmental protection. Rather than acting as a conventional exterior skin, it becomes an inhabitable threshold between the building and the village. Its configuration responds to the activities within each area, allowing books, workshops, conversations, and moments of learning to become visible from the outside and inviting the wider community to participate. Layered shelving systems, movable screens, and selectively enclosed storage elements are integrated into the façade to protect books and learning materials from Senegal’s intense sun, dust, humidity, and seasonal rains. Environmental performance is therefore embedded within the architectural language itself. The building uses a lightweight truss system to create large, column-free spaces capable of supporting diverse community activities. By integrating the truss with the shelving system, the structural members remain modular, manageable, and appropriate for local construction. Like a living organism, individual components can be repaired, replaced, or adapted over time, allowing the building to evolve alongside its users. Through its openness, flexibility, and community-centered organization, the project is conceived as a living framework for the continuous exchange of knowledge, culture, and social life."

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JIAANG1531531

project by Jiayou Zang , Mengzhe Li , Hongyu Tan from China



"Senegal breathes football. Yet in rural villages, the energy of the game often remains disconnected from daily life, while textile weaving—the economic backbone of southern Senegal—stays confined to individual households. What if football and weaving could empower each other? Critically drawing from the reality of rural sports infrastructure, we embed football directly into community life. The result is a new typology: a community center that fuses sport and craft, catalyzing economic, cultural, and athletic vitality. We build on the edge of an existing football field. Our forms derive from two local archetypes: the circular gathering space under a large tree and the linear grandstand. These merge into a long, stadium-side building that separates dynamic activity zones from quiet workspaces. On non-match days, the center operates as a weaving hub—workshops, a library, and educational spaces all feed into textile production. The woven fabric becomes the architecture itself, acting as facades, partitions, and shading devices. It also becomes a product: flags, jerseys, and accessories for the local team, closing a local value chain. On match days, the dark-green woven facades slide open. The entire building transforms into a grandstand and warm-up area, pulling the community into the game. Thus, every thread ties sport to livelihood, and every goal weaves a stronger village. The material palette is deeply rooted in the vernacular landscape of southern Senegal, utilizing locally abundant resources while introducing a refined structural logic. The primary framework utilizes Bamboo Vulgaris, a fast-growing and resilient local material. To ensure both flexibility and structural integrity, the bamboo joints are secured using a hybrid method of traditional sisal rope lashing and modern M12 steel bolts. The load-bearing walls are constructed from local red laterite earth—utilized both as monolithic rammed earth and compressed laterite bricks. This heavy mass provides excellent thermal inertia against the West African heat. The defining architectural feature of the building is the long-span bamboo truss system. This lightweight, sweeping structure not only establishes the building's primary rhythmic facade but also guarantees a generous, column-free interior space necessary for accommodating both the wide weaving looms and the grandstand seating. The roof is finished with traditional straw thatch laid over white wood decking, offering breathable shading, while steel U-channels are integrated for efficient rainwater drainage during the wet season. Finally, the ground plane is composed of stabilized rammed earth topped with a durable concrete surface layer, providing a hard-wearing, level floor for workshops and foot traffic. The construction methodology is intentionally designed to be accessible, low-tech, and participatory, empowering the local workforce and fitting seamlessly into the rural Senegalese context. The process begins with groundwork. Iron tube foundation piles are driven into the earth, followed by the pouring of concrete ground beams and the construction of rammed earth foundations. This robust base elevates the structure, preventing moisture ingress and termite damage to the bamboo. Next, the vertical elements are established: load-bearing rammed earth walls are incrementally formed using modular timber formwork, while the primary bamboo columns are erected and anchored to steel plates on the foundation. To minimize the need for heavy lifting machinery—which is scarce in rural villages—the complex, large-span bamboo roof trusses are pre-assembled flat on the ground. This allows local craftsmen to comfortably cut, drill, and bind the bamboo framework using bolts and sisal rope. Once assembled, these lightweight trusses are manually hoisted into position by teams of villagers, turning the installation into a collective act of building that mirrors traditional rural barn-raising. Following the structural framework, the timber roof deck and straw thatch are applied. In the final stage, the locally produced woven textile panels are installed on sliding tracks to form the dynamic facade, completing a building born from the hands of the community it serves."

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IHYARK1234567

project by IHYEON PARK , HYUN JE KOO from South Korea



"IN-WEAVE-ITABLE Kaira Looro Architecture Competition 2026 Community Center — Badiari, Sédhiou, Casamance, Senegal CONTEXT Southern Senegal's Casamance region is alive with craft, agriculture, and collective knowledge. Women weave Manjak cloth on hand looms passed down through generations. Farmers process millet, palm oil, and cashew. Artisans work wood and laterite stone with tools their grandparents used. Yet these activities remain isolated — each household surviving without a shared structure to connect production to learning, or learning to trade. Skills exist but are not transmitted. Goods are produced but not efficiently exchanged. Communities gather but lack a common place that holds their identity. Our answer is not simply a building that hosts these functions. It is a building that embodies the logic connecting them. It is, in every sense, in-weave-itable. CONCEPT — MANJAK ""Manjak is not just weaving. It is a system of social interweaving."" Manjak is the traditional weaving practice rooted across Casamance and Guinea-Bissau. In Manjak cloth, every thread is a relationship. Every crossing point stores memory, builds protection, and makes connection. Remove any thread and the fabric collapses. The community center is designed on this same principle, translated into architecture through five spatial principles: UNIT — Every space begins as a minimum repeatable unit. Rooms, stalls, and workbenches are sized as self-contained cells that function independently. NETWORK — Units connect along shared axes, forming a structure greater than the sum of its parts. LAYER — Boundaries are filters, not walls. Louvred screens, woven canopies, and sliding timber panels allow space to breathe — separating inside from outside while keeping them in conversation. EXTENSION — The system is designed to grow. New modules can be added as the community's needs evolve, without disrupting what is already there. INTERWEAVE — When all four principles operate together, the building ceases to be a collection of parts. Market, Maker, Learning, and Community weave through one another — production feeds sale, sale sustains learning, learning returns to production, and the community holds the whole. The warp and weft are no longer visible as separate threads. They are fabric. SPACE PROGRAM Four hubs are woven along a single public axis running from the main entrance through the heart of the building to the landscape beyond. THE MARKET HUB stretches as a linear canopy market — a direct-trade zone where producers sell without intermediaries. Sawtooth roof bays create individual stalls oriented for natural ventilation. The entire front facade opens on market days; on quieter days it becomes a covered outdoor room for informal gathering. THE MAKER HUB anchors the production end. A large workshop accommodates agricultural processing alongside craft workbenches for weaving, woodworking, and ceramics. The workshop faces the market directly — production is never hidden from sale. THE LEARNING HUB pairs a community library with a vocational classroom. The library is designed for independent use: open shelving, reading tables, and natural light. The classroom runs skills training in agricultural processing, traditional craft, and basic literacy. A flexible dividing wall opens both rooms into a single space for larger workshops. THE COMMUNITY HUB holds the center. A shaded courtyard with a rain-fed pond anchors the village's daily social rhythms — from everyday gathering and market assembly to seasonal ceremonies and collective prayer. The courtyard is not a room with a program; it is a place that holds whatever the community brings to it. MATERIALS AND CONSTRUCTION All materials are sourced from within the region. Laterite-cement brick forms the structural walls — its high thermal mass passively moderates interior temperature. Perforated clay brick screens on the east and west facades filter sunlight and drive cross-ventilation without mechanical systems. Foundations use compacted laterite stone in place of concrete, requiring no specialist equipment. Interior floors are compacted laterite earth throughout, with ceramic tiles only in washrooms and kitchen. Structural columns are assembled from Rosewood sections small enough for two people to carry and lift without machinery. Four 100×100 mm members are bound together to form each 250×250 mm column — a construction logic derived directly from Manjak weaving: combining small units into a stronger whole. Rosewood also provides roof rafters, door frames, folding and pivot doors, counters, shelving, and all furniture. One locally sourced species performs every timber function in the building. The roof consists of two layers: a lower louvre layer of white wood slats for ventilation and an upper solid deck for complete weatherproofing. A minimal iron pipe grid collects rainwater — the only metal element in the structural system. Total material cost: €45,556, well within the €100,000 limit. Most significantly, 250 m² of Manjak woven cloth and traditional handmade carpet are integrated as architectural surfaces — corridor canopies, sales ceilings, production dividers, and floor coverings. These textiles are community-produced at zero material cost. The building is not decorated with local craft; it is a platform for its continued production, display, and sale. Construction and livelihood are the same loop. SITE The site in Badiari sits at the intersection of residential fabric, commercial strip, and surrounding farmland — a living core where daily life already converges. This building does not impose a new center. It finds the one already there, and weaves it together."

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