MoroccoThe Jamaa el Fna was absolutely buzzing despite the torpid late afternoon heat. This famous square is the beating heart of Marrakesh; where locals compete to sell their wares to unwary tourists, from water and orange juice to trinkets and photo opportunities with snakes or monkeys. We made our way across the square under the cloudless sky, weaving this way and that to dodge tourists and locals alike. I spotted a movement out of the corner of my eye as a pretty Moroccan girl in her twenties approached.

She had honed in on me as a potential tourist target and started her spiel. ‘Hello, you very pretty, you got lovely eyes; I do you a lovely henna tattoo!’ I couldn’t think of anything I would like less at that moment than a henna tattoo so I said ’No’, reaffirming this with a shake of my head and walking briskly away.

However she wasn’t about to take no for an answer. With one swift motion she grabbed hold of my right hand and squeezed some kind of brown gunk all over it, saying ‘I do you a lucky flower, you very special, very lucky!’

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