Rubble blocking the window of a leveled home in the heart of Tiniskt

Following a day of constructing makeshift homes from sheet metal and rebar on a hill that overlooked a rubbled valley, I decided to take a sunrise walk around Tiniskt. A settlement about an hour and a half drive away from Marrakech whose route takes one through winding unmarked dirt roads and a picturesque desert mountain range. This village, among a dozen others, were affected by a 6.8 magnitude earthquake in late 2023. 46 residents lost their lives from seismic activity, a majority of these were children.

As I made my way from atop "New Tiniskt" I saw people still residing amongst the ruins begin to stir. Some decided to remain near their crumbled concrete homes in tents constructed of tarps and the remaining furniture they could salvage from the debris. Others fled the only village they had ever known, leaving their lives under seven feet of concrete, dirt, and miscellaneous broken home decor.

My feet shuffled through an echo of a community that once reverberated with the laughter of children reenacting the World Cup finale. On the same central street I imagined silhouettes of seated elders playing chess and parcheesi. With each fallen home I could almost see the memories of kitchens once boasting perpetual aromas of lamb Tagine and steaming pots of Moroccan mint tea. All were now replaced with the coarse pale earth that painted the untouched surrounding landscape.

Despite the open wounds of this village struggling to heal, her people maintained a smile and hospitality that would rival any first-world, 5 star hotel. Every individual I met ushered me into their homes to enjoy a cup of tea and their company. My sense of imposition kept me from accepting until the fourth individual, a gentle elderly man, broke my walls.

I now sat within a tent made from poles him and his wife managed to obtain from the village. They graciously welcomed me into their intimate space. He offered me a cup of mint tea, a staple of the country. With it he handed me a plate seating an array of different pastries meant to be enjoyed with the famous beverage. I expressed my gratitude for their kindness and not too long after my cup was poured, Brahim began to speak. Between my broken Darija, his broken English and Google translate, he was able to convey to me their story. With a forced smile and subtle tears, he explained that him and his wife had lost their two young children in the collapse of their home. He repeated this multiple times in succession. Maybe he thought that I did not understand what he was saying. Maybe he had to hear himself repeat it to accept this devastating reality. Maybe he wanted me to never forget their grief.

Regardless of his pain and tears, he meekly stated, “ٱلْحَمْدُ لِلَّٰهِ” (praise be to god.)

Brahim & Zara. Rest assured, your grief will not be forgotten.

Too often is grief a thing expected to be left within the rubble of life. It’s too messy to deal with, too magnificent an emotion to convey. But its an adversary that takes countless forms and one that no man can evade.

Your dog will die, your marriage will fail, your dad or mom will develop a terminal illness, your brother will deem his life unworthy, your children will rest in the rubble.

No matter his form, he will find us all one day, one way or another.

If this were the end of the story life would be pretty bleak. But there is one who chose grief as His portion. One who stared death, suffering, pain, agony, and the cross dead in the eyes and said “τετέλεσται” or “It is paid in full.” My Savior chose my suffering so that I might walk amongst celestial worship.

My time in Tiniskt reminded me of the anguish this earth experiences, in all it’s corners. But in a more hopeful light, it showed me that grief is an invitation into a realm of selfless compassion, a calling to sit and weap in the mud with those whose legs are too weak to stand. Grief tempts us to isolate from those around us. To believe that we are alone in our pain. And while no one will ever fully understand what we go through, we have One who went through it all, One who we can call upon to build our bridges of empathy.

So may my eyes well for those who are too tired to cry. May my prayers cry for those who know not what to say. May my feet reach those whose walk feels aimless. May my love ring out to those who no longer deem life reasonable. Just as the Son of man has done for me.

A Morning Amongst the Rubble

Benjamin Shaer