“Aïcha from Iskatafen: a slip of a woman carved out from brown wood. A determined face, black slits for eyes. Wrinkles, already, add their tattoos to those of her choice. A thin nose, its bridge slightly hooked. A proudly arched nape. Square hands. A small taut body ever on the move. Always well dressed and made up, she’s attractive. She laughs and speaks loudly, her voice is rusty. She doesn’t miss a single souk. It’s said that she’s an orphan.” Extract from Onze lunes au Maroc, text by Karin Huet. Éditions Gallimard 2012