More than two months have passed but time seems to be standing still in the narrow streets of Amizmiz, a small town in the foothills of the Atlas Mountains, which was one of the hardest hit by the earthquake that struck Morocco on September 8 and claimed the lives of nearly 3,000 people, according to a still provisional official toll published on September 27. Piles of rubble, cracked facades and collapsed houses offer the same spectacle of desolation, as do so many buildings that are dangerously leaning but still standing, despite the bad autumn weather and the mild aftershocks that continue to shake the stricken region.

"You shouldn't stay there, it's dangerous!" warned Abdellatif Bejjar, in the ruined, working-class area of Regraga. The 55-year-old potter, who we spoke to the day after the earthquake, led us a few meters further on, to a field of olive trees he called his "campsite." This shantytown-like setting is where Abdellatif, his wife and their four children have taken refuge. This is where the survivors of the neighborhood have been surviving for the past two months, helping each other out by using their wits, while they wait for reconstruction to begin.

Around 60 makeshift tents were lined up here. Most of them were made of canvas, and the inhabitants have tried to improve them with whatever resources they could find: plastic sheeting, cinder blocks, sheet metal, bales of hay to protect against the rain and cold, and sheets and doors salvaged from the rubble for privacy.

'There's nothing left for us'

Abdellatif's shelter looked like any other. The tent, crammed with blankets and mattresses, served as a bedroom. An extension had been cobbled together with mats held up by bits of wood to make a "kitchen." For the shower, a bucket and a piece of plastic laid on the earthen floor. "Those who can afford it have left for the big cities. We have nothing left," he said. "My workshop is destroyed, we have no more work, no more money, only God!"

In the first few weeks after the earthquake, donations of food, medicines, clothing, blankets, etc. from citizens and associations poured into Amizmiz on a daily basis, and this vast outpouring of solidarity enabled the victims to organize their lives. For the sake of fairness, four people in charge of the Regraga camp scrupulously noted in a notebook what each family had received. A man from Casablanca delivered four toilets, and a Moroccan organization installed electricity and water," reported 53-year-old Abderrahim Nadir, one of the leaders. "But now, we're receiving almost nothing."

You have 70% of this article left to read. The rest is for subscribers only.