“Do you know why you are so sexy?” Nourrdem asked as he twisted a two-toned scarf around my head. I quivered a little bit, but couldn’t hold in my giggles when he said, “Is the hair on your arms. It makes you to be seeeeexy!”
Nourrdem got us into his shop by the way that most shopkeepers in the souls of Marrakesh do: calling out ridiculous words that will entice you in. Lauren, with her dark complexion and jet-blag 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.
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 scake 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!”