Following the Footsteps Of Ancestors: GDF’s Mission To Restore and Protect Cultural Heritage Post Earthquake

BY RACHID KADDOURI

22 JANUARY 2025

PHOTOS COURTESY OF THE AUTHOR

My first field trip with the Global Diversity Foundation was an eye-opening experience, a journey that awakened childhood memories in the embrace of harsh and rugged mountains, brimming with beauty. Our trip took us to the communes of Tlat N’Yaaqoub and Ighil in the epicentre that trembled violently on the night of September 8th during a 6.8 magnitude earthquake, leaving devastation in its wake.

Nearly a year after the earthquake, we set out to visit sites for nomadic shelters, called Azib in the Amazigh language, as well as water mills, known as Azrg. As I drove along with GDF colleagues Abderrazak and Hakima, I learned that the organisation aims to protect this cultural heritage, restoring and rebuilding it not to remain as forgotten relics, but to return to its function, helping the local population and preserving their livelihoods.

On the side of the road, tents and houses made from containers were lined up, with much stillness broken only by the sound of passing cars and motorcycles. We met Hassan, a young man from the village of Tanzzat, who invited us for tea at his sister’s plastic house, her residence since her home had collapsed and cracked. The welcome was warm and generous. We entered the guest room, which was centered around a wooden table, a traditional rug beneath our feet, and a red cloth surrounding the room. Hassan briefly disappeared, returning with a tray of tea, oil, bread, and some almonds. During our conversation, Hassan reminded me of those I grew up with, who share a deep attachment to their land.

The next day, we set off towards the mountain, to the commune of Ighil, where the sites we intended to visit were located. The road became rougher, the speed slowed down, and rocky bumps shook our bodies in the car. This time, most of the villages appeared distant and isolated, their houses no longer lined up, but buried under rubble that stained the beauty of the traditional Amazigh architecture. We reached the village of Tchaoukcht, where we were welcomed by Abdellah, one of the residents. This village was fortunate, as the earthquake did not hit it as severely as others.

Abdellah and his family live off the land and springs. Walnut and apple trees surround the house, perched high above the river. Silence prevails in the village, interrupted only by the bleating of sheep and the trickling sound of water flowing through the channels towards the fields. For a moment, I realised that they still lived an authentic life, untouched by modern civilisation and its consequences, unlike many of the villages in my own region, which have lost their original essence due to factors like drought. I recalled my grandfather’s words, who accurately predicted, “Paved roads and modern transportation will steal our authenticity and self-sufficiency”. People replaced farming with shopping, water mills with electric machines, and donkeys with motorcycles. Yet here, Abdellah still carries his axe and returns home with muddy feet.

We made our way to the sheep shelters, more than an hour’s walk from the village. Abdellah and Abderrazak led the way, deep in conversation about agriculture and the land. Here, people still rely on the land’s bounty for honey, sheep, herbs, and natural fertilisers, alongside farming. We continued to ascend until we found clusters of nomadic shelters scattered across a flat surface. These structures had a unified architectural design: a small stonewall with a dilapidated gate where the livestock reside, and an upper room for the shepherd to live. Some shelters were destroyed and abandoned, while others were still in use, with the smell and quality of dung indicating this. We spent considerable time admiring the traditional architecture, built using interlocking stones that made it resistant to collapse. Around the shelters lay terraced farmland, which the shepherds use to gather fodder for their livestock. The farming here is limited to corn, clover, pumpkin, and apple trees, along with walnut trees that shade the riverbank.

We had lunch at Abdellah’s house after a long walk and then left the village of Tchaoukcht heading towards Tamsoult, a village a few kilometres away, where some of the water mills were located. Some of the town’s people seemed genuinely happy to see us, and when they learned that the organisation would be repairing the mills, they eagerly offered to help. Elderly men, having spent most of their lives as workers and builders, left their fields to show us the location of the water mills, which stood alongside a water channel near the river. The structures comprising two small rooms, one for the mill and the other used as a waiting area, had fallen into disrepair due to neglect, becoming a haven for stray dogs and wild animals.It is a traditional mill that uses the power of water to grind grains. Water is directed through a channel to a water wheel that rotates with the current, transferring motion to the upper millstone through an axis. The upper stone rotates over the stationary lower stone to grind the grains fed through an upper opening, and the resulting flour is collected below the mill. The water mill is a sustainable and economical tool used by traditional communities for grinding grains.

We sat by an irrigation tank to hear the opinions of the locals. Maalem Lahcen, who had just finished watering his fields, told us how much the people needed the water mills, as they saved them the trouble of going to the flour mill each time and the associated costs of transport and grinding. Having spent most of their lives as labourers and builders, they generously shared their knowledge of how to rebuild using traditional methods, passing on their expertise to the youth in their village to ensure that this craft does not vanish, as many others have.

We returned after our mission was complete, with many questions now flowing in my mind. I pondered how authenticity lies not just in stories of the past, but in a spirit that resides in the details, in these water mills and shelters that have stood the test of time and defied oblivion. To me, this trip was more than just a field visit; it was a living testimony of GDF’s efforts to restore cultural heritage threatened by extinction, maintaining the connection between people and their land and identities.