Interview with Amina, Marrakech’s Storyteller

The Riad Life: A Labor of Love

Amina’s riad, Dar Amina, is a labyrinth of narrow corridors, vibrant textiles, and carved cedarwood doors. It’s not just a guesthouse; it’s a living piece of Marrakech’s history, a 200-year-old home she inherited from her grandmother. “This place,” she gestures around the courtyard, “it’s my heart. But don’t let the pretty tiles fool you—it’s work.” Running a riad in the medina, she explains, is a balancing act. The medina, Marrakech’s ancient walled city, is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, a chaotic maze of souks, donkey carts, and motorbikes weaving through alleys barely wide enough for two people to pass.

Amina employs a small team—Fatima, her cook, who’s been with her for a decade; Hassan, the handyman who can fix anything from a leaking pipe to a guest’s broken heart; and her cousin Youssef, who handles bookings and the occasional lost tourist. “The medina doesn’t sleep,” Amina says. “Guests arrive at 2 a.m., pipes burst at dawn, and the call to prayer is your alarm clock.” Yet, she wouldn’t trade it. The riad’s eight rooms, each named after a Moroccan spice—Saffron, Cumin, Paprika—are booked year-round, mostly through word-of-mouth and glowing reviews on travel blogs like mine.

Her day starts at 6 a.m., checking on breakfast preparations (Fatima’s msemen pancakes are a guest favorite) and ends past midnight, ensuring everyone’s settled. “It’s not glamorous,” she laughs, “but when a guest says they feel like family, it’s worth it.” The riad’s charm lies in its authenticity—no corporate polish here, just Amina’s warmth and stories that spill out like the tea she keeps refilling.

Growing Up in the Red City

Amina, 42, was born in the medina, in a house not far from where we sit. “Marrakech is called the Red City because of the pinkish clay walls,” she says, “but for me, it’s red because it’s alive, like blood in veins.” Her childhood was a tapestry of sensory overload: the clanging of blacksmiths in the souk, the aroma of tagines simmering in neighbors’ kitchens, and the nightly drumbeats from Jemaa el-Fnaa, the medina’s main square. “I’d sneak out to watch the snake charmers and storytellers,” she admits, her eyes sparkling. “My mother would scold me, but I couldn’t resist.”

Her father was a carpet merchant, her mother a seamstress who embroidered kaftans for local brides. Amina learned early how to haggle—“a survival skill in the souk!”—and how to read people. “Tourists think they’re clever, but I can spot a bad deal from a mile away,” she chuckles. That instinct serves her well now, navigating the medina’s labyrinthine politics and the occasional pushy vendor trying to overcharge her for supplies.

School wasn’t her thing; she dropped out at 16 to help her father in the souk. “I learned more from the market than any classroom,” she says. “Every tourist, every local, has a story. You just have to listen.” That knack for listening shapes her work at the riad, where she’s as much a storyteller as a host, weaving Marrakech’s history into every guest’s stay.

The Medina’s Magic and Mayhem

Marrakech’s medina is a sensory assault, and Amina’s stories bring it to life. “It’s a city within a city,” she says, describing the 700-hectare maze of 10,000 alleys, home to nearly a million people. The medina’s heart is Jemaa el-Fnaa, a sprawling square where fire-eaters, henna artists, and spice sellers compete for attention. “It’s chaos, but it’s our chaos,” she says. “You can’t understand Marrakech without getting lost here.”

She tells me about her favorite souk, Souk Semmarine, where leatherworkers and jewelers hawk their wares. “It’s not just shopping; it’s theater,” she says. “Every vendor’s a performer, every sale a drama.” But the medina’s charm comes with challenges. Tourism, while vital, strains the old city. “Some days, the alleys are so packed you can’t move,” she says. “And the motorbikes! They’re a menace.” She’s seen the medina change—Airbnbs popping up, traditional riads turning into boutique hotels—but she’s determined to keep Dar Amina a slice of the old Marrakech.

Amina’s also candid about the medina’s darker side. “Pickpockets love tourists,” she warns. “And don’t follow anyone offering a ‘free tour’—nothing’s free.” She teaches her guests the art of saying “la, shukran” (no, thank you) with conviction. Yet, she’s quick to defend her city’s spirit. “Marrakshi are warm, but you have to earn their trust. Offer a smile, learn a word of Arabic, and doors open.”

Tales from the Riad
Over another glass of tea, Amina shares stories from her guests. There was the Australian couple who got engaged on the riad’s rooftop under a starlit sky, with Amina secretly arranging rose petals and lanterns. “They come back every year now,” she says proudly. Then there was the French writer who stayed a month, penning a novel inspired by the medina’s sounds. “He said the call to prayer was his muse,” she laughs.

Not all stories are rosy. A German guest once got so lost in the medina that Amina and Youssef spent hours searching, only to find him sipping coffee with a shopkeeper, unfazed. “He said it was the best adventure of his life!” she recalls. Another time, a pipe burst, flooding the Saffron room. “Hassan fixed it in an hour, but I spent the night apologizing and pouring free tea.”

Amina’s favorite guests? “The curious ones,” she says. “The ones who ask about Morocco, not just Instagram spots.” She’s hosted artists, backpackers, even a Moroccan-American family reconnecting with their roots. “They cried when they saw my grandmother’s old loom,” she says. “It’s moments like that—when the riad feels like home—that keep me going.”

The Soul of Marrakech
What makes Marrakech special, I ask. Amina leans back, her bangles clinking. “It’s the people,” she says. “We’re storytellers, traders, dreamers. This city doesn’t just sit there; it grabs you.” She points to the medina’s walls, glowing pink in the late afternoon sun. “Every brick has a story. Every alley has a secret.”

She talks about the city’s blend of old and new. “We have Wi-Fi and donkey carts, ancient riads and trendy cafés,” she says. “Marrakech evolves, but it never loses its soul.” She’s proud of its diversity—Berber, Arab, Andalusian influences woven into its food, music, and architecture. “Our tagine isn’t just food; it’s history in a clay pot.”

Amina’s own story reflects that blend. She speaks Darija (Moroccan Arabic), French, and enough English to charm her guests, though she’s quick to laugh at her own grammar slips. “I say ‘welcome my house’ instead of ‘to my house,’” she grins. “Guests love it.” Her daughter, Leila, 19, is studying tourism in Rabat, but Amina hopes she’ll return to run the riad someday. “This is her legacy, too.”

Challenges and Dreams
Running a riad isn’t all mint tea and storytelling. Amina’s candid about the grind—rising costs, competition from big hotels, and the medina’s aging infrastructure. “Water pressure is my enemy,” she sighs. “And taxes! They think I’m a millionaire because I have a riad.” She’s also navigating Morocco’s push for sustainable tourism. “Guests want eco-friendly stays, but solar panels on a 200-year-old roof? Not easy.”

Still, Amina’s dreams are big. She wants to expand Dar Amina, maybe add a hammam or a cooking school for guests. “I want them to learn Fatima’s tagine secrets,” she says. She’s also passionate about preserving the medina’s heritage. “Too many riads are bought by foreigners who don’t understand,” she says. “This isn’t just a house; it’s a way of life.”

Her biggest dream? “To tell Marrakech’s stories to the world,” she says. She’s started hosting storytelling nights at the riad, where locals and guests share tales over couscous and candlelight. “It’s like Jemaa el-Fnaa, but cozier,” she laughs.

Amina’s Marrakech Musts
Before I leave, Amina insists on sharing her insider tips for Marrakech. “First, get lost,” she says. “The medina’s magic is in its surprises.” She recommends visiting Jardin Majorelle, the Yves Saint Laurent-designed garden, but early to avoid crowds. For food, skip the tourist traps and head to Café Atay for lamb tagine or Amal, a women-run spot with killer harira soup. “And don’t miss the Bahia Palace,” she adds. “It’s like walking into a fairy tale.”

Her top tip? “Haggle, but with respect. It’s a dance, not a fight.” She also urges travelers to learn a few Arabic phrases—shukran (thank you), salam alaikum (hello)—to connect with locals. “It’s not about the words; it’s about showing you care.”

As the sun dips below the courtyard walls, Amina pours one last glass of tea. “Marrakech isn’t a place you visit,” she says. “It’s a place you feel.” Her eyes crinkle with a smile. “Come back, Alex. Next time, you tell me a story.”

I leave Dar Amina with a full notebook, a warm heart, and a promise to return. Marrakech, through Amina’s eyes, isn’t just a destination—it’s a living, breathing story, and she’s its best narrator.