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Marrakech has three primary colors. The grey blue of the sky and the tiles, the dry green of the palms and plants, and the dusty red of buildings and of sand. Heat sweeps into the middle of the day and rolls back out again at night leaving hot stone buildings like glowing embers in the desert. In the medina, ritual battles nature. Shops close and children disappear into houses in the afternoon, and then reappear in the evening to go back to work and play when the sun hangs lower over the walls. Women, sometimes covered from their head to their fingertips to their toes, rush around in groups or with children, often tied to their backs, limbs bouncing in time with their mother’s strides. The men are sitting, working, meeting, waiting, watching, patrolling, everywhere, more present than anything else. You see them cleansing their hands and faces in the streets before prayer and rushing back to work afterward. They wear long white galabeyahs that look like old fashioned nightgowns, but more dignified, with pressed collars and shirt buttons down the front.