I remember myself as a child constantly moving, constantly traveling, collecting images, different languages, flavors and manners. I remember—so vividly—holding my mother’s hand to cross through the market in Alexandria: the landscapes of gold- and silver-worsted fabrics in the stalls, the gemstones glittering, the brass serving plates, the hand-blown glass and me with a fistful of dates in my pocket. That is where I acquired my first piece of jewelry, a gift from my father.
Through the years my childhood memories recur now and then, without losing any of their colour. I close my eyes and feel on my hands and round my neck the jewelry people wear in Africa, where the smallest thing becomes precious.
