Testimony: the last waterskin maker in the neighbourhood

A craft that was in every house, and now one man still knows it. A recorded testimony about a trade on its way to disappearing.

Sarah Alharbi
Sarah Alharbi An urban anthropologist specialising in place and memory in Saudi cities.
I learned it and I did not pass it on. That is all there is to it.

Editor’s note: a display text representing the form testimonies take in Anthro. Real testimonies are published with the narrator’s permission, under their own name or a pseudonym as they prefer.

The waterskin was a daily tool in every house: water was kept in it and milk was churned in it. Making one begins with the hide and tanning it with local plant materials.

Who taught you?

My father, and my grandfather before him. We would sit after the afternoon prayer and work until sunset. It was not a lesson — it was work we shared.

And why did you stop?

I did not stop. People stopped. Plastic came, and it was cheaper and lighter and needed no care. I do not blame anyone.

And did you teach anyone?

I learned it and I did not pass it on. My children studied and took jobs. This is not a tragedy — this is a life changing. But when I die there will be no one left in the neighbourhood who knows how a waterskin is tanned.

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An urban anthropologist specialising in place and memory in Saudi cities.

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