In the narrow back alleys of Fez’s old city, a woman stands beneath a display of leather goods overhead, her face covered by a veil except for her eyes

Woman standing in street corner — Woman Standing in Fez el-Bali

I stepped into Fez, Morocco's oldest imperial city, and immediately found myself inside a living labyrinth. The ancient medina, Fez el-Bali, is a dizzying web of over nine thousand alleys, so tightly woven that the modern world—and its exhaust-spewing cars—is entirely shut out. Here, the humble donkey remains the undisputed king of transport, just as it has been for centuries. When one of these beasts approaches, heavily laden with cargo, the air splits with the frantic, repeating cry of "Balak!"—"Make way!" I navigated this tumultuous current of beast and humanity, trying my best not to lose my footing, or my way, in the ancient chaos.

Pushing through the dense, clamorous crowd, my eyes were drawn to a pocket of deep shadow beneath a weathered awning. There stood a woman, solitary and serene. Her face was completely veiled except for a narrow slit revealing her eyes—the traditional attire of Muslim women, where head coverings like the hijab or face veils like the niqab shift in nuance and name depending on geography and tradition. Her quiet gaze followed the rushing tide of passersby. Amidst the deafening roar of the market, she seemed entirely detached from the sensory overload, a silent island of composure.

As our paths crossed, I stole a fleeting glance at her profile in the shade. Hanging directly above her head were handbags crafted from the city’s famed Fez leather—exquisite, supple Moroccan goatskin, tanned using ancestral methods. Beneath these treasures of local craft, blending into the shifting shadows of the men passing by, she remained utterly motionless. It was a single, striking frame of absolute stillness in a city that never stops moving.

Fez on Google Map

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