Through the winding back streets of the spice market, my friend led me to a hidden set of stairs she visited the previous day on a walking tour.
“We can see down into the mosque from the roof,” she said as we climbed flight after flight of stairs with large, open windows overlooking a residential area.
“Are you sure we can be up here?” I asked—I asked the same thing when we entered a hotel a few minutes before for the purpose of washing our hands.
She waved me off, “It’s fine, it’s fine. We did it yesterday.”
On the third floor, a man stood peering out the window and halfway turned to watch us as we continued our journey.
Finally on the roof, we were met with a remarkable view over the entire market, the mosque, the people int he distance, and the rows of spices down below. The man followed us.
A few other tourists milled about with large, expensive cameras shooting the concrete landscape.
One’s guide roughly shoved his backpack into his hands. “Don’t leave this lying around,” he said. “Someone could steal it.”
We climbed onto a huge concrete platform to get an even better view of the city as all left but one man and the man who followed us.
I stood on one side of the platform taking pictures until I heard my friend explain, “Hey! Why is your light on?”
Indeed, the man who followed us was boldly trailing after my friend with the flashlight on his phone turned on—to peer through her skirt.
“Hey,” I said, “Leave her alone.”