henna does not make any more recipe

Houcine snatched most of his henna plants: the cultivation of this precious thorn, considered as the red gold of southern Tunisia, retreats in the face of water scarcity and the disenchantment of this traditional dye for the skin and the hair. Houcine Akrout, a farmer in the oasis of Chenini, near Gabes, is at work very early on this sunny morning: it is his turn to water his land. The lack of water has forced the ministry to plan irrigation. "I stay 15 to 20 days waiting for my turn, it's very long for the henna plant that requires a lot of water," laments Houcine, leaning to loosen the ground with a small spade. "Gabes is dying because of lack of water, our city lacks officials who defend it and seek solutions," he complains.

In the middle of summer, waiting to irrigate can last 40 days, says Amel Ghiloufi, a manager of the plant department at the regional office of the Ministry of Agriculture. Irrigation is organized by agricultural development groups (GDA) that sell water 2.8 dinars (0.93 euro) per hour, says AFP Ridha Rejeb, one of the water managers. Houcine cultivates more than a small plot of henna: on his ten hectares, which were dedicated from father to son to this plant with medicinal and cosmetic properties, he now cultivates mainly grenadiers. "Henna does not make me any more money, (…) and I need to live and support my family," says the farmer.

Smuggling and pollution

In 2016-2017, 645 tonnes of this strategic plant in the local economy were harvested –over 430 hectares in the region–, down significantly from the previous season, which recorded a production of 810 tons on 540 hectares, says Ms. Ghiloufi. The abandonment of land in the coastal oasis due to pollution by a chemical complex has accelerated the decline in henna production. In addition, this culture suffers from the lack of manpower and the rise of parallel trade which has led to the entry on the Tunisian market of henna "express", imported from Yemen, Sudan and India, among others. says Ms. Ghiloufi. This product contains chemical substances that limit the penetration of henna into the skin and can be washed away by washing hands.

For centuries, henna leaves have been dried and reduced to a very fine powder, which mixed with water, is used to color the hair or adorn the palms of the hands and feet with simple patterns that will last more than a month. At weddings, her ready-to-use dough is distributed in small boxes decorated to the guests of "houtya", the evening of the bride. During family celebrations, henna has long been the main cosmetic ornament, enhanced by "harkous", an ink made from henna, clove and walnut. Henna was also used to relieve migraines, purify the skin or heal wounds: remedies of grandmothers, unknown to new generations.

"Old-fashioned"

In Jara, the main tourist souk located in the center of Gabes, huge stalls overflowing with henna or "bkhour", local incense. But the streets are empty. If the harkous is still popular with tourists who get "henna tattoos", Tunisian women use less and less traditional cosmetics. "Wicks, dye and manicure have replaced henna today," says Ismail, a 49-year-old trader. "Tunisian women have changed their habits and turned their backs on their traditions – henna is old-fashioned for them now". "Henna was sold all year long and our souk was always run by customers from all over Tunisia!" Says Hssen Mrabet, 85, a farmer and henna salesman for five decades. "Now, his sale is limited to the wedding season, in July and August."

For Amel Ghiloufi, "the only solution for the revival of this sector, which could even cross the borders", is to make known " the medicinal use of henna and its natural benefits ". In Tunis, organic henna sachets and shampoos based on this plant are beginning to be sold in health food stores. The export of henna is limited to personal initiatives without institutional support, and remains "very minimal compared to the good quality of the henna of Gabes," says Ms. Ghiloufi. "The henna of Gabes, it is the red gold of Tunisia, devalued by the State", regrets Mohamed Mrabet, a farmer.