Memorable moments

The loud gratifying voices of the local vendors broke through all walls. Their endless echoes waved in the alleys of the "souk" like prayer calls.
It was summertime but the living was not easy. The heat tightened its grip on the ancient place. Beads of sweat trickled down my cheeks. I could hear the sound of my own struggling breath as I lifted up my head towards the historical, high-decorated ceiling, scrutinizing its 1000 year old paintings.

Suddenly, a raspy voice reiterated hurriedly "To the right, to the right!!". A sound of wheezing wheels was then getting closer and closer. There was no time to look around. I leaped to the other side where I almost ran into a glass vase stand. I didn't fully realize what happened until an overloaded wagon, pulled by a hunchbacked old man, passed me. It was the source of that whistling noise. He turned out to be a roustabout. A worker whose job requires strength but little skill. He was gaunt and haggard with deep wrinkles on his face. His hands had the deep-creased scars from dragging laden chariots. He was looking down making the ground his only compass and companion. There were many of them trying to make their way through the crowd.

I pulled myself together and continued lumbering down the long narrow passage. There was a wide variety of goods on sale from antiques to engraved brass lanterns, traditional Tajine clay pots, Kellims, jewelries, clothing and spices. That scene was combined with a pleasant fragrance that has seeped out of a shop back at the entrance. The venue was a spring of vivacity and ebullience.

I began to be more curious about the place, about what I will see next or face. I was looking for details of an untold stories and hidden tales and while I was contemplating the exhibited pieces of art, a young boy stood next to me and offered me a scented Jasmine bouquet in the shape of a heart. He was barely 7 years old. He held, in his left hand, a palm frond basket full of Jasmines yet to be sold. I starred at him, making a memory of his innocent tanned face covered with dirt and dust. His wretched stained clothes were mostly torn. The scorching sun was stinging the uncovered parts of his skin. Misery came in the shape of that young boy. There was no sign of happiness or joy. Our eyes met and words were uttered "please, buy!".

I reached for my camera and snapped a shot. I later safeguarded it along with the jasmine I eventually bought.