When the pots are shaped, they are left to dry in the sun, then scraped smooth with a stone before being taken to a communal underground kiln. The fires are fed with dried sugar cane. Mansour leads me back to the area where the potters' wheel stands, and points to an open space on the ground. It has to be girls, because their hands are better suited to fine work. He looks at me intently while I write his comments down, wanting to make sure the details are correct.
Wholesale traders come to the area to buy the utensils, which are sold at local village markets.
People now want to buy stainless steel. The old craftsmen are dying, and the young no longer want to learn the profession.