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60 ORNAMENT 36.1.2012 Every aspect of life was affected, while the changes for the country's art and artisans had the magnitude of an unwanted cultural revolution. Kiffa beads underwent the same revolutionary changes, as other fields of art, material culture and, ultimately, culture in general. Once the old structures of tradition had fallen, the poor country had no power, skills and resources left to continue or start anew on the previous level. The new versions of Kiffas, to reach market a few years later, were hardly more than a sad reminder of the past. By 1985 most beadmakers were dead. Other artists had not survived either; first and foremost not the Mallemin, the country's independent blacksmiths. Surviving Mallem and beadmakers who had fled to the capital Nouakchott were now working as taxidrivers, security guards, nannies, or cleaning women, if they were lucky enough to find a job at all. The south, where most artists had been concentrated before, was now deserted. Artists were left without customers to demand the production of jewelry, tools and beads. Everybody was on survival mode in the alien environment of the city, far from their previous free, independent and happy life in the desert. Some artists had survived the years of drought, confirmed by a series of interviews I was able to conduct. Wearing Muraqad was no longer in vogue in this desert country and beadmakers were no longer needed—their skills became meaningless. Kiffa beads had fallen out of style and were no longer part of Mauritania's traditional female dress code. Around 1985, when bead-dealers from Gambia realized the market potential of Kiffa beads, they became the first buyers and unconsciously started their worldwide demand. Given the beauty and the novelty of these beads, these early sales were followed by a growing demand, pushing the beads close to extinction only a few years later, in the only country that had ever crafted them. Only years later did I gather enough information to make connections and link the various factors. What I transported from the Sahara to the Sahel since 1994—aside from occasional gifts for Hacen, my reliable friend and informant in Kiffa— was nothing but curiosity and questions I was hoping to get answers for. Without Hacen—the forty-year-old school teacher, whose father had given up nomadism around the time of his children's birth and settled his family in a hangar or tent—I had been luckless in attempts to locate any of the few remaining old beadmakers. He not only introduced me to Sidi Mohamed Mahmoud, head of the tribe, but also to other influential tribesmen in town. During one of our many excursions Hacen, Mohamedou (the translator), Sergio (the artist) and I, with a driver, arrived at a little settlement some eighty miles south of Kiffa, close to the Malian border (a hotspot of Al Qaeda activity). Photography was not allowed, but Sergio could sketch portraits and any scene of his choice. Mohamed Mahmoud, the new leader of the tribe, had arranged for us to meet with Fatimetou mint Abdallahe. She had been a well-known beadmaker in her prime; now in her nineties, Fatmetou was not only in reasonable shape, aside from a beginning blindness, but also the respected center of her family. Fatima, in her simple dress (mlahf), a single piece of dark-blue fabric that is wrapped twice around body and head, wore neither jewelry nor beads. She learned the craft from her grand-grandmother when she was just twelve. Fatimetou confirmed the production-process Raymond Mauny had described sixty-three years ago (1949: 116-18), added a few details to it, but remained steadfast in keeping a secret the ingredients of the glass-cream recipe that allows her to execute the fine designs of old specimens. The aged beadmaker shared more tales of beadmaking during the good days of the craft between 1931 and 1974. She made beads for herself, but also for family members and anybody willing to pay her price, often in exchange for products of daily use: a little goat or some chickens for a polychrome triangular, or pieces of fabric, perfume, tobacco, tea, household articles, or raw-materials to continue her work. Her prices ranged from five to twenty-five US dollars, depending on various factors: the type of bead ordered, the time it took to craft them and the status of the person ordering it. Friday, the Muslim equivalent to the Christian Sunday, was considered the best day to fire the beads of her recent production. Around 2006 I met Thomas Stricker, a well-known bead collector from Arizona. With an excellent collection of beads of his own, he shared my passion for Kiffas. Through time his collection surpassed mine. Both our collections combined contained possibly the finest assortment of the old specimens that became so scarce and expensive in the past few years. COMPARISON OF ANCIENT ISLAMIC GLASS BEADS AND KIFFA/POWDERGLASS BEADS, with upper strand of Islamic glass, mostly from Mauritania, while lower strand are Kiffas that are mostly based on these precursors. Beads have been arranged so that many Kiffas are in close proximity to their ancient precursors, like the morfias and their powderglass counterparts at top left of image. Photograph: Alex and Thomas Stricker.