Architect Selma Zerhouni lived through the Al Haouz earthquake in Wawizeght, the village where she lives. The author of the book “Earthen Architecture in Morocco” spoke to TelQuel about the challenges of reconstruction and…
Architect Selma Zerhouni lived through the Al Haouz earthquake in Wawizeght, the village where she lives. The author of the book “Earthen Architecture in Morocco” spoke to TelQuel about the challenges of reconstruction and of preserving the region’s architectural heritage, one year after the disaster. An interview.
TelQuel: You live in a village directly hit by the earthquake of 8 September 2023. How did the stages and the coordination unfold when it came to rebuilding homes and infrastructure?
Selma Zerhouni: After power, internet and all essential services were restored, there was His Majesty’s speech, a very important moment for the village’s inhabitants. It is an isolated village, little used to interacting with the State. People here self-regulate through solidarity with one another. Even without hospitals or facilities, they organise themselves; everyone strives to fill the gaps. This isolation is a particular mindset developed in these villages — a kind of wariness of easy solutions, preferring autonomy and resourcefulness. It has shaped a specific way of life. But the State’s intervention upended this mindset, because everyone ended up seeking help.
As an architect, what interested me when I settled here was the coherence of the buildings and the utterly wonderful whole of the local architecture. The earthen buildings here have a lifespan of at least 200 years. The patina of time, the forms and the unique way of dwelling in this region are fascinating. Architecture is an integral part of life here. I myself avoided the arrogant-architect attitude, insisting on building with the inhabitants, using modest materials that blend into the village landscape so as not to disturb the existing harmony. This village uses the local earth — an almost white, slightly beige soil — cleaned and used to build or restore the houses.
After the earthquake, an interesting initiative was set up: offering inhabitants 2,500 dirhams a month to live on, plus a subsidy to rebuild. The State took the opportunity to regularise existing situations. As you know, in the countryside you do not always need a permit to build. Rooms are added to houses as needs arise — for instance when a child marries. The central space of the house remains a meeting place for all. Daughters-in-law often live with the parents, creating a very rich social life inside the houses. This introverted, intimate way of life is perfectly suited to their setting.
With the new administrative organisation, it was necessary to seize this opportunity so that these houses would be entered in the land registry and officially recorded — both for building permits and for title deeds.
How was the reconstruction organised with the authorities?
There was a dual process involving the Ministry of the Interior and the Ministry of Housing. The Ministry of Housing recruited architects to redefine property boundaries with the help of a surveyor and to create plans compliant with the new anti-seismic regulations. These plans included solid foundations down to firm ground, reinforced columns and 14-mm rebar — an excessive measure for villages where no one builds four-storey blocks.
The anti-seismic regulations in force take no account of existing traditional systems. As a result, the Ministry of the Interior ordered the demolition of damaged houses, regardless of the extent of the damage. To reach stable ground, everything must be destroyed, and the new buildings require concrete columns. Today the village looks more like Gaza than a peaceful place — everything is concreted over.
The regulations take no account of existing traditional systems. For example, Salima Naji used local materials for an anti-seismic approach in Agadir. She reinforced the walls with wood, making sure each wall was firmly connected to the others to prevent cracks or gaps during an earthquake.
Why weren’t these preservation techniques used to rebuild the Al Haouz region?
I think it is due to the strict, non-negotiable deadlines that had to be met. The moqadems went through the villages, and the stress of meeting deadlines pushed them to apply anti-seismic rules that did not account for building with local materials. This made it impossible for inhabitants to keep their houses while complying with the regulations. Yet around the world there are countless places made earthquake-resistant with techniques that are easy to implement, even without concrete.
— Selma Zerhouni
The issues in this kind of reconstruction are many. We should have taken time to think carefully before acting, rather than acting in haste. We are talking about villages that each, in their own way, represent a universal heritage — or at least should. When you see stone buildings in the mountains that have crossed the ages and are magnificent, and they are asked to demolish them simply because of a crack, it is outrageous. We are wasting a local heritage that could develop a very promising rural tourism, with passive buildings.
It is essential that people understand that a stone or earthen wall of this thickness needs no air conditioning. It is healthier, and roofs, when well made, testify to a know-how that exists everywhere. By destroying that, we destroy not only ancestral know-how but also a landscape that will be completely disfigured.
Meaning?
When you talk with the people concerned, they tell you this is their way of entering modernity. They prefer concrete because it reduces the women’s workload. You have to understand that the “tbreta” is a deeply rooted annual tradition, in which women coat the walls of their house with a specific white earth. It is a gesture of pride: every year, women compete with their neighbours for the most immaculate walls. This ritual, testimony to a long history and a local culture, is disappearing.
All of Morocco’s peri-urban spaces are affected by standardisation. Traditional houses are being replaced by an architectural uniformity found in the R+2 blocks on the outskirts of cities. When you enter these modern houses — a kitchen, two bedrooms, a living room and a bathroom — it seems completely at odds with rural life. It makes no sense.
The village of Wawizeght.
This imported way of life is modelled on the F1, F2, F3 layouts found in France. The architecture and town-planning regulations, established practically at the same time as the Protectorate, deeply influenced this way of life. It is high time to question all of this. It is up to us to rethink the new way of life we want to create.
Specialist architects were nonetheless approached after the earthquake to begin a reflection on this reconstruction…
We were approached and gave a lecture at the Mohammed VI Academy. We were listened to carefully, but once it came to action, our recommendations were ignored. The reason? Deadlines and money. Preserving the heritage while rebuilding would have required extra time.
After the earthquake, we had strongly advised favouring rehabilitation and restoration over reconstruction. The walls themselves did not need replacing, but the corners had to be redone and the structure could be consolidated. Everyone knows how to do this. We should have restored and rehabilitated, not rebuilt. Many villages deserved this approach — mine in particular, which should have been rehabilitated using the resources available on site. The old site, once made up of old houses with pedestrian alleys, a little like a medina, is barely inhabited today. Only a few people, with nowhere else to go, choose to rebuild on site — but in concrete.
One year after the earthquake, is there still room to avoid a total loss of this heritage, this “postcard Morocco” that also holds great tourism — and therefore economic — potential?
All of this deserves real work: accepting that we have lost the buildings and some of the traditional character, but agreeing that these villages can come back to life differently — through work on the outdoor spaces, the restoration of old facilities, and giving all these abandoned houses a cultural, sporting, educational or health vocation. Housing can be secondary when we speak of heritage and tourism. If the State led by example, building in earth or stone with local materials, it would make a great deal of sense and could have a significant impact. Rather than lamenting the past, we must think about the future: paving roads with beautiful stone, integrating the amenities needed for daily life, reviving neglected elements such as an old oil press or a small mosque replaced by concrete. Rehabilitating infrastructure, pipes and roads is crucial. A coherent waste-collection system and the cleaning of rivers are also needed so that inhabitants can enjoy their environment. Let us not leave these villages to fall into ruin, for that too degrades the built environment.
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