Tamenrasset Tuareg
"Lalla makes Tuareg silver jewelry in Tamenrasset. When art dealer Franz arrives seeking authentic pieces, she shows him that true silver carries more than hallmarks. 'El fadda t'aref sahabha' (الفضّة تعرف صاحبها) - Silver knows its owner."
Tamenrasset's silver carried desert—sandstorm patterns, star designs, Tuareg philosophy hammered into metal.
"Authentic pieces," Franz sought.
"El fadda koulha authentique." All silver is authentic. "El mas'ala miin sana'ha."
The question is who made it.
Lalla's workshop glittered with crosses, pendants, rings—each piece a story.
"How do I know which to buy?"
"El fadda t'aref sahabha."
"Silver knows its owner?"
"Dima."
She was substantial—hands that bent metal, body adorned with her own creations.
"You've made how many pieces?"
"Ma n'addch."
"For insurance—"
"El fadda ma tetamenech."
Days watching taught him. Franz saw silver respond to her—warming, shaping, becoming.
"It moves for you."
"El fadda t'aref."
"Knows what?"
"Wach ykoun."
"Silver knows what it will become?"
"Koulech y'aref wach ykoun."
Night brought her private collection—pieces she'd never sell, silver too personal.
"Hadi wach?"
"Hadi el hob."
"A love piece?"
"Koul piece hob."
"Lalla..."
"El fadda qaltli."
"Silver told you?"
"Tqoul you're ready."
She kissed him silver-adorned.
"Hada..."
"El fadda el jadida."
She undressed leaving only silver, her curves metalwork.
"Mashallah," he breathed.
"El fadda," she said. "Ana fadda."
He hammered her like shaping metal—patient, precise, transforming.
"Franz," she moaned.
"Hna." He found her pattern. "El rasm."
She took form beneath him, pleasure crafted.
"Dkhol," she gasped. "El shaghel."
He worked her, and understood what craft meant.
"El fadda t'aref sahabha," she cried.
"W ana 'raftek."
Their rhythm was hammering—beat after beat, shape emerging.
"Qrib," she warned.
"M'aya." He shaped into her. "El fadda t'aref sahabha."
They finished together, pleasure silver. Franz held her through the cooling.
"El pieces?" she asked.
"Not for sale."
"Wach dir?"
"Commission you instead."
His gallery shifted—craftspeople over products, relationships over transactions.
"El approach?" art world asked.
"El fadda t'aref sahabha."
Now he crafts beside her, learning what dealing missed.
"El dealer w el fadiya," they say.
"El fadda jab'tna," Lalla smiles.
"El fadda tkhallina," Franz adds.
Some silver chooses its people.