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Indigo
Rob Arnhem stains his hands with the history of the complex chemical compound we still prefer today

When you squeeze yourself into your latest pair of Levi’s, you are unwittingly showing a colour and fashion preference that has been around for at least 5,000 years. That carefully designed washed-out shade of blue is heir to a long tradition. Its use probably began in India, as its name indicates. The Greeks imported the dye from there, calling it ‘Indian’ (dye) – hence ‘indikon,’ and through Latin to Portuguese and Italian ‘indigo.’ It was associated with power and ritual throughout the ancient world – in an ancient Egyptian tomb, a piece of cloth dyed with indigo was dated to 3,500 years. Indigo was among the valued ‘spices’ that reached Europe from the east from Roman times until the late 15th century, when Europeans reached the Indian Ocean and the Americas.

In Arabic, indigo is ‘neel,’ pointing again to its ancient Indian roots: ‘nil’ is Sanskrit for ‘blue.’ In Oman, indigo has been around a long time too, but it's not as evident as it would have been a century ago. Half the community of Ibri’s fingers and faces were stained with indigo in 1899, according to a British political agent there. Although about 300 species of the plant indigofera occur, the two of the six cultivated species commonly used in the industry are indigofera tinctoria and indigofera suffructiosa. The former is an Asian plant, the latter a tropical American native. The plant looks rather like lucerne, or alfalfa, and it belongs to the huge family of leguminous plants which include peas, beans and lentils. Its small red butterfly-like flowers make the family resemblance to peas clear. Its Latin name indigofera means 'indigo-bearing'. The plant is known as udhlam in the sultanate.

Indigo needs a hot climate both for optimal growth and the complex process of extracting the dye. Bunches of the oval leaves and pods are cut after they have flowered in summer, and allowed to steep in clay jars full of water. In the heat, the plant matter ferments and the process is helped along by vigorous stirring and macerating with a special whisk every 30 minutes. Introducing oxygen in this way enables the dye to be extracted: first the water turns green, then gradually deepens to dark blue. The solid residue collects at the bottom of the jar, from which it is drained off as a thick paste and allowed to dry. The dried dye is then cut into small flat blocks and sold locally or kept for dyeing. The dye itself, indican, is actually colourless and a complex chemical compound of carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen and oxygen – C16H10N2O2. How early man’s knowledge of chemistry devised the complicated processing needed to produce the dye itself, and then to make it dye cloth, is a riddle lost in time.

Dyeing fabric with raw indigo is again a traditional process. Raw indigo doesn't dissolve in water, so another liquid has to be used, or the dye will just reverts to its colourless form through contact with oxygen. In Oman the secret was dissolving the indigo in water with baked limestone, ash and sugar-rich brown dates – locals even swear by the fardh variety. The concoction brewed for ten days. The smell often involved in indigo dyeing was a distinct disadvantage. The cloth to be dyed is steeped in the solution for as many times as it takes for the desired degree of intensity to be reached. The most expensive fabric is so thick with burnished indigo beaten or rubbed into it that it gleams with iridescence and rubs off on the skin. Indigo powder is systematically rubbed into the cloth with a smooth pebble until a rich velvety sheen appears. In the past burnishing had to be done in darkness, away from any malicious jinns that might spoil the efficacy of the charm.

The mystical nature of the dye now becomes clearer too. Somehow its talismanic character was enhanced by this special treatment. There was a belief that the colour itself, whether on clothes or on the skin, ‘rubbed off’ on one and thus protected against evil, bad luck, the cold and illness in general. It was supposed to have anti-inflammatory and astringent properties, and soothe bites and stings. Especially at critical rites of passage – birth, marriage and death – indigo played an important protective role. Some Dhofaris had their upper gums tattooed with indigo ‘to strengthen the teeth,’ and newborn babies’ heads were powdered with an aromatic mixture of indigo, aloes and myrrh to enable them to survive those first critical weeks of life. New brides used to have their shaven heads anointed with a paste of indigo, butter and myrtle leaves and covered with a cap impregnated with indigo and enhanced with silver, and this wasn’t washed off until the hair began growing back. Mixed with aloe sap, or with saffron, indigo was used as a cosmetic, imparting a blue tinge to the skin. Every bride’s finery included a gown of polished indigo called zemmar, or mkebkeb in Dhofar, and a gauze veil similarly coloured, while the groom wore an indigo-dyed sabigha or kharket loincloth and another matching one over his shoulder and chest like a toga. This is still produced today in Salalah – a three-metre long tasselled affair called a subuqah. Part of every woman’s trousseau would be at least one burnished indigo dress, made with the best quality and longest-lasting dyestuff. Indigo's ritual protection followed a woman into her grave, as her shroud would be of the same cloth. Nowadays, Bedu women still favour indigo, but more often the synthetic variety for adorning their gleaming burqa masks. These can vary in style and colour to indicate both personal preference and tribal affiliation.

Recently, in a bid to preserve Oman’s ancient craft heritage, the last few indigo producers of the Dhakhliya region of Oman have been encouraged by the Ministry of Heritage and Culture to continue their age-old craft and teach the younger generation their skills. Here, centred around Nizwa and Bahla, their craft happily continues. The days when the air of villages like Firq was blue with indigo may be over, but fortunately, both the extraction and the dyeing techniques survive. Modern indigo-burnished items like Bedu masks and Dhofari cloth can be bought at outlets like the Omani Heritage Gallery in Qurm, but beware – the colour is contagious!