A clap of thunder breaks the solemn silence inside Fatima's house. He puts his hands on his head. Click with your tongue. Between the spaces of the roof, covered with tree branches and dry leaves, filter the drops falling from the overcast sky of Tafeghaghte, in the Moroccan High Atlas. It is raining hard. The woman advances inside her cabin and raises her head, surveying each space: above the refrigerators, between the kitchen utensils and under the void that separates the corridor from an improvised room equipped with blankets that simulate a bed. Suddenly, it stops raining: “Alhamdulillah” (“Thank God” in Arabic), he sighs. It smells like rain and the birds are chirping. Silence reigns.
A year ago, Tafeghaghte was shaking the worst earthquake in Morocco's recent history and North Africa. Since then, Fátima, who lives in one of the cities with the highest number of deaths in the Al Houz region, has been waiting for the reconstruction of her house, which was completely destroyed by the earthquake. “There are only two people working on the reconstruction. Out of 140 families, two are living in their new homes,” he says. In the dim light of the makeshift shed, the 51-year-old points to two windows on the ground, dismantled and without glass. “They haven’t been able to put them in yet,” he explains. On the door of his future house, which he has not yet been able to buy, he says: “If I have to, I’ll put a rag down. I’m not going to wait any longer. I’m tired.”