Nourrdem got us into his shop by the way that most shopkeepers in the souks of Marrakesh do: calling out ridiculous words that will entice you in. Lauren, with her dark complexion and jet-black hair, was called beautiful in Portuguese, fish and chips was common, an invitation in French for Bri and “Cuantos Camellos, María José?” for me. I don’t look Spanish in the least, but it made me laugh. There were also choruses of “Goodbye, fat girl! You’re ugly!” when we passed yet another lantern or mirror shop.
But his invitation was not denied, and the four of us enjoyed tea for an hour before dinner. Before leaving, Nourrdem invited us for lunch on the rooftop of the store the following day. “Come between 12 p.m. and 2:30. I will wait, then we eat, then we all pay the cost.”
I also asked him about taking pictures of people and why every time I reached for my camera, the people in souks or in the markets started to shake their fingers at me. He told us about the time a man was sneakily taking pictures of him. “I don’t mind,” he said, “but just ask! I work with tourists everyday, is ok!
Man, Lucia told me that it was because they believe you’re stealing their soul through some voodoo-Lecia lens magic. That actually became a running joke on the trip.