A bustling street market hosting a plethora of mixed aromas and temptations. To the left, a jovial moroccan street vendor pedalling freshly squeezed orange juice, promising the beautiful young lady that his price is best. To the right, a toothless grinning snake charmer urging her to indulge in the wonder of his performance. Directly ahead, an endless maze of hidden treasures waiting to be discovered. Her eyes lock on a particular stand. She sees an elaborate explosion of colours and textures and prints. Her heart skips a beat. She is drawn as if by some unknown force to this wondrous display of wares. Her eyes glance at a lone garment hanging near the back— a djellaba: a traditional gown worn by the men and women of the area. This item calls to her, begging her to come closer, to caress the soft silk fabric, to admire the intricate embroidery and craftsmanship, to hold the delicate and unique construction in her hands. She must have it. She can visualize the draping of the fabric on her frame as it cascades down from shoulder to floor. The outfit is already starting to materialize in her mind as she pulls a few durham out of her purse and hands it to the vendor. “Merhaba” she says, her prize preciously tucked away, she continues to wander lustfully through the souqs of Marrakech.
