Why do medina walls feel like memory?

The short answer

Medina walls are made of tadelakt, pisé, and earth plaster that erode, patch, and re-erode visibly. Every repair leaves a mark. Walls display their own history—cracks, color shifts, patches—like geological strata. They age rather than decay.

Run your hand along a medina wall. The surface is uneven — not rough, exactly, but textured in a way that feels accumulated. Patches of different plaster, a bricked-up window, the ghost of an arch that once led somewhere.

Every repair is visible. Each owner used a slightly different mix, a different color, a different hand. Rain carves channels. Salt pushes plaster off in sheets. The layer beneath is always a different era. A single wall can show three generations of maintenance without anyone intending it as a record.

New construction in the medina looks wrong, and now you know why. Fresh plaster, sharp edges, uniform color — the eye rejects it because every other surface in view carries the weight of use. The walls around it have been absorbing smoke, moisture, oil from hands, and weather for decades. The new wall hasn't earned its surface yet.