It was a cool spring day as we walked down the street past shops full of leather purses, scarves, woven blankets and jewelry. The city was built on a hill and the street ran up away from the small river we had just left. I stopped at the top of the hill and looked back, waiting for a couple of my friends to catch up.
Above the street was a small shop and in the doorway stood a man wearing a djellaba. He was drinking sweet mint tea and smoking a cigarette as he watched the people passing by. He saw my friends talking and laughing and watched them closely. They were obviously foreigners and were taking pictures as they walked.
I watched him as closely as he watched them, wondering what he was thinking.