It’s in markets and bazaars of Morocco that I feel most anonymous, with crowds washing up on both sides of me. In Casa Barata in Tangier, I wander in and out of stalls, eyes beneath demure lids, hair hidden under a richly patterned headscarf. Hand embroidered rugs and watercolor wraps in golds, olives, siennas, and crimsons intensify the patterns set forth by tiles that reflect light like Byzantine leaves.

Caftans are cuffed by bold bracelets, concealing the body and implying understated elegance, while complicated fretwork on gilded doors provides a dizzying backdrop for wrapped turbans. Lose yourself in the labyrinth of ceramic and carpet covered stalls in Khartit Mustapha, the winding, dye-filled alleys of the markets in Fes, the Habbous District of Casablanca. Completely alone amidst the masses, detached from any pre-established identity, and enthralled in the search. 

Once home, exploring endless New York City, I preserve the sensibility of the souk, reminded of captivating North African
whirls in the ever changing wares of the street stands.
-Lauren Finney