Over The Danakil

Tell me about the arch of Bab al-Yaman, whose colored stones used to make me feel when I crossed it embracing me. Are the scents of spices still in the old market? Tell me about the hustle of passers-by you have. The stillness of the alleys at night and the upbeat faces as they walk the paths of the morning. The decorations that we saw together from the roofs of the copper brokerage, the Ottomans lodged...