Arya News - When floods forced Ahmed El Habachi out of his Moroccan village, he thought the displacement was temporary.But the floods that battered northwestern Morocco in recent weeks have left evacuees like Hab...
When floods forced Ahmed El Habachi out of his Moroccan village, he thought the displacement was temporary. Weeks later, he broke his Ramadan fast in a tent, wondering when he would return home.
During the Muslim holy month of Ramadan, families traditionally gather over joyous feasts to break the daytime fast.
But the floods that battered northwestern Morocco in recent weeks have left evacuees like Habachi with little to celebrate.
"We prepare Iftar with whatever we can lay our hands on," the 37-year-old told AFP, referring to the fast-breaking meal.
"After all, it"s not like we"re home," he said, standing outside his blue tent marked "B190" in a makeshift camp set up by authorities near the city of Kenitra.
Just before sunset, women gathered around small stoves. They made do with no running water, and soon the smell of grilled fish wafted through the site.
The families then retreated to their tents for Iftar, with candles providing light for lack of electricity.
The heavy downpours have displaced over 180,000 people as of last week, authorities said, with at least four people killed.
- "Two or three months" -
Most evacuees in the region have been allowed to return home, but that was not yet an option for Habachi and his children.
"Where would we sleep? There"s still mud up to the knees," he said, showing cell phone videos of his home in Ouled Amer, some 35 kilometres (22 miles) away.
He said flooding from a nearby river swept away half of the walls of his house.
"We"ll need two or three months to get back to normal," he added.
The camp managers serve each family water and a bag of rice per day.
Fatima Laaouj, 60, said this year"s Ramadan was "nothing like what we were used to".
"We lack everything: bread, harira (traditional soup), milk... How can we buy anything when we have no money?" said Laaouj, who picks raspberries for a living.
"We don"t have work anymore. The farmland is all destroyed," she added.
Not far from the camp, in the town of Mograne which was swamped by the neighbouring Sebou River, villagers still waded through deep mud.
Several homes showed signs of flooding, with walls torn open and floors soaked.
Families had left their belongings stored on top of wardrobes out of fear the water could rise again.
- "Usually, there"s joy" -
After two weeks at the camp, 42-year-old Yamna Chtata returned to find her home turned into a pool of mud, with walls threatening to collapse.
Her voice choked with sobs, she said she was forced to observe Ramadan out of her own home for the first time in the two decades she has lived there.
"We are not celebrating... I have two daughters who are unwell because of the severity of the situation," she said.
Mansour Amrani, a 59-year-old factory security guard, was on his way to the local mosque to fetch drinking water.
That day, he planned to make couscous for his wife and three daughters to break the fast.
"Usually, there"s joy when we make couscous," he said. "Today, it"s no longer the case. We"re afraid the house will collapse on our heads."
Abdelmajid Lekihel, a 49-year-old street vendor, believed it would take time for things to return to normal.
"Food products are no longer available like before," he said, adding that shortages at the local market made preparing the traditional Ramadan meals difficult.
Plus, lingering mud "prevents us from going to see a neighbour, a family member, a friend", he said.
"We"re living one day at a time."
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