TEA IN THE SAHARA“My sisters and I…”
The din of the souk filled the pause in Petra’s words.
“…we have one wish before we die.”
In the distance a ghaita sounded, the nasal reedy notes winding up a chromatic scale. Marti pictured a cobra rising from a basket.
“Don’t tell him that,” she said, certain the tall man had not been standing there in front of her and her sisters a second ago.
But there he was. Regarding them with his dark eyes; his skin an unreal shade of red-brown that blended perfectly with Marrakech’s mud bricks. He had to be real because his smell, something masculine and exotic, cut through the aroma of sweat, cardamom, and steaming hot mint pervading the outdoor café at the edge of the bustling souk where they stood waiting for a table. The smell reminded Marti of a colog
