Mohamed Zerhouni

For over ten years, my shop in Granada, Spain, has been a slice of Morocco amidst the Spanish stone. Originally from Marrakech, I brought pieces of my homeland here—handcrafted lamps, intricate ceramics, woven rugs—and arranged them on my shelves, usually waiting for tourists who flock here in the warmer months. Winter, however, turns my store into a quiet gallery of untouched wares. Yet, yesterday broke the lull in an unexpected way.

The woman who entered looked like she was on a mission. She examined everything—lamps, baskets, even the painted plates that often go overlooked. She checked a list and nodded, gathering items as if curating a vision. Finally, she approached the counter, her arms full, and the stack she’d amassed was unlike anything I’d sold in one go. I’m 40 now and know that sales this big rarely happen outside peak season, so I couldn't help but be curious.

We started chatting, and she told me she was sourcing items for a film set in Morocco but shot here in Spain. Her list made sense now. She explained how they wanted every detail to look authentic. After I’d wrapped up her purchases, she surprised me by suggesting I might be a good fit for a small role in the film. Apparently, there was an under-cast character, and though she wasn't handling casting, she could introduce me to the right people.

I’d acted once, years ago, but I left that path for the practical demands of running a business. Yet, hearing her offer rekindled something I’d long buried. She paid the bill without a word of haggling, adding a generous tip when I loaded her bags into the car. I went home that night with my mind spinning, caught between the routine of my quiet shop and a small spark of possibility.