"Under the dim light of an oil lamp, in a soft semi-darkness, between shelves lined with vessels and bags. Between the smells of herbs and spices, stands little Sirte. Her eyes reflect fatigue as if she hasn’t known what real rest is for several days. Sirte squeezes her fingers around the wicker basket to prevent it from falling. Her gaze lingers on her uncle from time to time, as he gesticulates and smiles in front of noisy passers-by, luring them into the trading store."