Falling For a Moroccan Man in Marrakech

Christa Adams
Writers On The Run
Published in
9 min readSep 21, 2020

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Photo by CALIN STAN on Unsplash

He’s not what you might be picturing right now. He doesn’t wear a turban or a kaftan that goes down to his ankles — at least not on a typical day. No, in fact he prefers floral, short sleeve button-downs, black jeans, and leather loafers — all which hug his body perfectly. He’s got soft skin, a warm heart, and a wise mind.

The day we met

I came to Morocco with every intention of connecting with the locals, but I had never expected to meet a man romantically; it never even crossed my mind. But life can be funny like that.

I was immersed in a sea of copper lanterns, flowing carpets, and bustling streets— the very heart of Marrakech. It was loud, energetic, not for the faint of heart. I was holding a steady, focused pace, my attempt to avoid the inevitable hassling. Henna ladies, older Moroccans selling carpets, and young flirtacious men were all waving their hands and calling out to me. I had walked through these lively markets a number of times by then, but on this day I passed him.

“Do you know what this is?” he said as I continued walking.

I looked back. “Yep, it’s lipstick.”

“Ah, you’re wearing it,” he said as he pointed at my lips. I turned to move toward him.

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