Skip to main content

Beads Forever

As I have mentioned before, I design book covers as a favor to a non-profit organization that sells books to stores in Africa, mainly Nigeria and Kenya from what I understand. The organization is based in Illinois but maintains a close relationship with the store owners and distributors in Africa, so I get plenty of input as to what kinds of imagery is popular there that might not be popular in the States and vice versa.

I learned, for example, that a in good of bit of Africa, wedding rings are not a recognized symbol of marriage. They are seen as a white man's invention, so when I design book covers for books on marriage, I have to use something like hearts instead of rings. And big, hairy, ugly spiders are admired. It's been an educational experience.

Several weeks ago, I asked my contact person in Illinois if she knew where I could get antique African trade beads similar to what my husband bought while in Nigeria a few years ago, and she set herself on the task. It turns out the founder of this organization was going to Nigeria soon, and he agreed to shop. He knew of a reputable dealer, and since these beads are inexpensive when you buy them at the source and not from an importer, we decided to barter—book covers for beads.

Just this week I received my package of beads, and I am overwhelmed. I was expecting a couple of strands, but I was given seven full strands of pre-colonial beads, and they are all beautiful. From what I understand, the term "pre-colonial," when used in Africa, refers to the colonization of Africa by the Europeans, so these beads date back to the late 1800s and very early 1900s.

I can't explain my fascination with these things. Maybe it's because the world where they were made is so foreign to me, so far removed from anything I have ever known. Maybe it's because the process of making these beads out of old glass ground into sand is hundreds of years old and has been passed down from generation to generation. Craftsman still make these beads using the same process, but this is no hobby. This is their livelihood.

Mostly, I use these beads to make earrings, and I have been asked to make a pair for one of the people responsible for sending me this mother load. It will take me days just to sort through all the options and choose the perfect combination of colors.

Comments

Gosh they're so pretty! They certainly appeal to me as I have just had my ears pierced. Beautiful. By the way, can we see some of your book covers please?
Scout said…
Lynn, I'll see about gathering some book cover images and making a post or two out of them.
That'll be great.
dive said…
Those are beautiful, Robyn! Boy, you're going to be one busy girl.
And yes, your book covers would make great posts!
savannah said…
sugar, where are you selling your earrings? (i'll also look on your site as you've probably posted it somewhere!) i want some!

Popular posts from this blog

Happy Birthday...

to me! Update: Since you have asked, I only got one actual packaged gift, a beautiful hand-made bracelet from a friend, but both girls were home for the weekend, and we had dinner at the lake and a relaxing weekend. Thanks to all of you for your lovely wishes!

My Sitemeter is All Bloated and Not Quite Itself

I'm tempted to let it sit on the couch with its feet curled up under a blanket, a hot cup of coffee in hand, a block of cherry almond bark Chocolove within reach, and An Affair to Remember spinning in the DVD player. I'm one of those obsessive bloggers, the kind who checks her sitemeter as often as possible throughout the day, the kind who gauges the quality of her writing by the number of readers who regularly stop by. I've become less interested in the overall number of hits and more interested in the number of repeat hits. The return visitors are the ones I long for. When my sitemeter reads forty at the end of the day, and the majority of those hits are webpals who have conversed, I'm happy. Forty may seem low to many of you, but I've only been at this since August. To me, forty is a jackpot. A few days ago, I sat down at my laptop and discovered a number somewhere in the eighties. Eighties! Yippee! Yeeha ! Hoo-rah ! I've been discovered by the webworld , o...

Ish People

Tell an Ish person to show up around 9 a.m., and you'll see them somewhere around 9 a.m. Tell them to show up at 9ish, and you'll see them anywhere from 9:05 to 9:20. You have given them license to dilly dally, and who wouldn't take advantage of that? The other night at the big shindig dinner party, one of the drummers said the rehearsal the next morning would begin at 9ish. "I am an ish person," he says. Immediately the clanker goes off in my head--oh, good, I thought. I can deliver my daughter a little late. No Ish person is early, so if you say 9ish, that does not mean give or take 5, 10, 15 minutes. It's exclusively a taking phrase. Take an extra 10 minutes to drink your cup of coffee. We won't mind. We're Ish people. Sunday's rehearsal started at 2:00. Because it was conducted by the same people who conducted the Saturday rehearsal, my understanding was 2-ISH. My daughter is worse than I am about taking liberties with Ish time frames, so she d...