6 a.m.: the alarm clock rings. I get out of my bed and head into the streets of Chefchaouen, the blue city of Morocco. It is empty. The town is still sleeping. The hustle and bustle of the day is far away. However, I can hear footsteps somewhere. I speed up. A black shadow, an illusion caused by a djellaba, weaves in and out of the walls. I follow a ghost. It is the right time to press on my camera’s shutter-release button. I look at the screen: I was dreaming, he is just a man. Emerging from my hallucination, I look up to call him. But he has already disappeared. I am lost in Chefchaouen.