Moroccan earthquake: How women and girls carry on through grief

I am really impressed by what I see.

The tent is solid, waterproofed material and is constructed on steel poles. It is about the size of a classroom and is divided into two with a canvas wall. It shelters two families. Inside are a cluster of smaller tents which mirror a normal Moroccan family home. At the entrance is a basic kitchen set on one side. This has a one-ringed gas camping stove and a wooden pallet for storage. There is a small collection of pots and pans and a banquette opposite for sitting on. There is also a large, blue water butt. The floor is covered with gravelly pebbles.

There are three smaller tents inside. One is the sitting room, with banquettes around three sides with cushions and a Moroccan flag. There are rugs on the floor. The girls sleep here too. Next along is the main sleeping tent with blankets neatly folded up and mats on the floor. There are cardboard boxes acting as clothes’ storage. I am puzzled by the tiny blue tent in the corner which could only hold two people sitting down at most. "Oh, that is for when it gets really cold," Mostafa tells me. "You can sit in it, zip it up, and keep warm."

After the tour, I thank Mostafa and say, "Can I speak to Zineb and the girls now? We have women’s things to talk about." He smiles and goes off to the men’s tent outside. In this traditional culture it is important for the men and women to have separate areas where they can socialise and relax – more than ever when they are living in such close quarters.

Read more: Moroccan earthquake: Rebuilding lives and homes but trauma remains

I want to try and understand what everyday life is like for the women. It seems to me that they have been the worst-impacted by the earthquake. The gender roles are very clearly delineated in this culture: men do everything outside, provide for their families and protect them. Women do everything within the home and care for the children. A woman’s job, her self-worth and how society judges her are all wrapped within the home. How does that work when your home is destroyed and you are in a tent, not just for a few nights but for months?

Makeshift tents have now been home for months (Image: Alice Morrison)

"Thanks be to God," says Zineb but there are tears in her eyes. "My mother has gone. But Thanks be to God. We can stay here. We will rebuild. But we are not used to this. We have never lived like this. It is so hot in the day and cold at night. When the rain comes what will we do? The mud will be everywhere. We need pallets for the floor but they have run out."

Salma, a girl of around 18 chimes in, "And we are frightened."

A woman’s job, her self-worth and how society judges her are all wrapped within the home. How does that work when your home is destroyed and you are in a tent, not just for a few nights but for months?

What are you frightened of I ask. "Of everything. We are frightened to go out to the toilet at night. There may be people out there we don’t know. It is really dark. And we are still frightened about earthquakes." Her eyes glisten and the trauma of that night, when she escaped, but not all her family did shines bright in her young face.

Living conditions in tented village (Image: Alice Morrison)

Daily life has to go on and the women have organised themselves to make washing, cooking, cleaning and looking after the children as easy as possible. They have set up a series of communal facilities with the other families.

First on my tour with the girls is the toilet and shower. These are used by about 20 people and are at the entrance to the camp. "We take turns cleaning them," says Zineb.

Damage caused by earthquake in Morocco earlier this year (Image: Alice Morrison)

Driving here, I saw long lines of washing strung between the tents – living in dust and mud with children means lots of laundry. In other camps, the women have to carry the water down to the tents and then heat it on the gas and wash in basins. Here, they have set up a whole laundry room. There are some big plastic basins and a hose fitted to a tap and – miraculously - there is a salvaged washing machine. Electricity comes from the power lines that used to serve their homes. "Fantastic, I bet that makes life easier," I say and everyone nods proudly.

Best of all, though, is the communal cooking area. This is in a separate, big tent and houses a four-ring cooker and a camping gas-fired oven so that everyone can bake their bread, the daily staple. This is Morocco where life is lived together no matter what and there is a separate area with banquettes and a low table for socialising and eating. Everything is spotlessly clean.

Of course, I am invited for tea. A neighbour, Rachida, serves it, holding the teapot high to get a good froth on the top. A special plate of little biscuits with nuts and raisins is brought out in my honour. I am so touched by this kind hospitality and generosity from people who have lost everything. We sit and drink the sweet tea and chat more generally about the weather and when the rains are likely to come. The women want to know all about my family and about Scotland.

I am so touched by this kind hospitality and generosity from people who have lost everything.

I have to go and we start the long process of saying goodbye and I promise to come and visit again soon – which I will. I have one last question and it sounds insensitive. "Zineb, I am so sorry for all you have lost and I hope that soon you will be in your new home, but is there anything good about living like this?"

She thinks for a few seconds, "Yes," she says simply, "we are all together."

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