It’s dark outside, the sun hasn’t peeked from over the horizon quite yet, but it’s calm and a little windy. At the local market, the sound of a crate containing eggplants slips off a table hitting the ground breaks the silence for the day. It only gets louder from here as everyone, market-goers and vendors, fill the empty space with indiscernible dialog and footsteps of the locals trying to find the perfect musac or bag of onions for their musakhan. Beyond the stillness of the outside lies a layer of mucky air and water, Mahmoud Zaqout rubs his eyes open …