Marrakech Jeema el Fna day time. What I like best here are the story tellers. Stemming out form a millennial tradition they have a particular fascinating role in the miraculous atmosphere of the place. Part African oral tradition, part man old need to share and bare witness, and part response to the strictures of Islam that forbids or makes difficult other form of storytelling using images, these mostly old man are fascinating actors, creators and social readers. They use old scripts and new stories alike and are followed with equal fascination by kids, students, policemen, and, with the same bewildered eyes, by tourists that understand little if any. It does not matter, the mixture of Berber and Arabic, the body moves, the expression on their faces are all a powerful mix. I followed this particular old man from the terrace were I was seeping the customary mint tea following a great Moroccan salad and tender pigeon pastillia> he started with just his little chair and within minutes he gathered a constantly growing audience. He made people forming a curious mix of a crowd. Several stopped in their tracks in the middle of the day. Minutes later they were following him intensely. Then, out of nowhere, an unexpected gust of wind brought about a terribly strong downpour. It almost seamed that the movements and intensity of the old man brought it upon the crowd in support of whatever story he was sharing. People run away and the group scattered. Within fifteen minutes the old man was back at his work with a new group. To me, for days, this old man has been the most attractive thing happening on the vast expanses of Jeema el Fna and amid its continuous string of wonders.