Nivash Sterk

Hatay-On February 6, 2023, two powerful earthquakes struck the Samsur/Marash region, measuring 7.7 and 7.6 on the Richter scale. The twin quakes caused a massive humanitarian catastrophe, especially in Antakya and several cities across Northern Kurdistan, leaving thousands dead and injured.

Nearly three years have passed since the Samsur/Marash earthquake disaster, yet its impact remains deeply felt. According to official statistics, the death toll in Hatay province alone reached 50,783 people. However, local residents believe the real number is much higher — estimating that no fewer than 100,000 people may have lost their lives.

Hatay was completely devastated, with most of its buildings reduced to rubble. Thousands of people were trapped under the debris for days awaiting rescue. The city still bears the scars of the earthquake — it has turned into a massive construction site filled with dust, smoke, and suffocating odors, amid a clear absence of sustainable solutions.

“I’ve endured until now, but I’ve reached my breaking point.”

Several women who continue to face daily struggles adapting to life inside small containers — no more than 20 square meters — spoke about how the earthquake changed their lives and their hopes for a more stable future.

Among them is Ayfer Ordik, 55 years old, who now lives with her brothers and sisters in a prefab room. She shared her story:
“We were around 20 people, including my siblings’ sons and daughters. At first, we were given tents, and we stayed in them for a long time. Later, we were transferred to the container cities. That period was extremely difficult, especially in terms of bathing, hygiene, and the children’s mental health, in addition to the challenge of providing them with healthy food.”

She mentioned that her daughter began suffering from a drop in white blood cells after the earthquake:
“I stayed for a long time in Dilok, then moved her to Adana, and later to Iskenderun. The situation hasn’t improved, and we still haven’t managed to handle it properly.”

She continued,
“I can’t work because there’s no one to take care of her. I live on my father’s retirement pension and try to gather whatever food supplies I can. I’m doing my best to support my daughter — her father doesn’t contribute much. She’s now working and looking for a house, asking us to move, but I keep wondering: will we be able to meet our basic needs?”

She added,
“Those who moved into TOKİ housing projects face huge expenses, and I’m not sure I could even pay water or electricity bills. There are many women like me, separated from their husbands, struggling to provide a decent life for their children. We desperately need genuine government support that meets our basic needs and allows us to live with dignity.”

She pointed out that rent has become a real crisis:
“High rental prices force many people to stay in temporary containers, waiting for their turn in TOKİ housing projects instead of moving into apartments they can’t afford.”

Ayfer expressed her pain with heartfelt words:
“If I rent a house, my income won’t be enough to cover the rent. I don’t know what to do. I don’t feel well anymore — I’ve reached my limit. I’m thinking about seeing a psychiatrist and asking for help. I’ve endured until now, but I can’t go any further.”

She explained that she received some limited external aid after the earthquake:
“There are still a few donors providing assistance, though small. But their help is what’s kept me standing until now. My daughter has a chronic illness, and I constantly accompany her to the doctor. I have many expenses — for school, treatment, food, and more. I’ve lost all hope. I feel like I’m living only for my daughter, not for myself. I don’t know what awaits us — the future feels dark and uncertain.

 “We live in a plastic box where the heat is unbearable and the cold is merciless.”

One woman, who preferred not to reveal her name out of fear that she might be forced to leave the container she lives in, spoke briefly about the harsh conditions she faces:

“Life here is extremely difficult. We came to this place three years ago — about seven months after the earthquake — because we had first moved to Mersin. After that period, we came here. But life and the available opportunities are very limited. Simply put, everything is hard.”

She continued:
“We are doing our best to provide for our children, but we live in a container of only 21 square meters. We do what we can within our limited means.”

She added:
“As far as we know, all the containers are already occupied, which forces families of four or more members to live together. As I mentioned earlier, moving out from here is extremely difficult. If you have the means to move elsewhere, it’s fine, but if you don’t, the situation becomes very complicated.”

She explained that power cuts are frequent:
“The electricity goes out often, especially on Sundays and public holidays — everything stops working. Since we live inside what’s basically a plastic box, we suffer unbearable heat in summer and freezing cold in winter. Staying inside the container feels like being in hell, especially when the sun hits directly. We try to go outside, but where can we go? During summer, it’s so hot there isn’t even a fan to help us cool down.”

She went on to describe:
“When the electricity cuts off, the air conditioner we recently received stops working, forcing residents to step outside their containers seeking relief from the heat — sitting in front of them under any bit of shade, or driving to cooler places if they own cars. But those who have no transportation or face tough financial conditions just sit in front of their containers, hoping for a bit of fresh air.”

She described how four people are crammed into a space not exceeding 20 square meters:
“The situation is extremely difficult. We have children who go to school, and we must hire private transport for them because the roads are in bad shape — especially when it rains, and the ground turns muddy. Their clothes and shoes get ruined. Rainwater leaks inside the container, so we use blankets to block the holes, and when that fails, we place pots or anything we can find. We struggle every day under constant financial and psychological pressure.”

At the end of her testimony, the woman expressed her hopes in a trembling but determined voice:
“I just hope our wounds heal soon, that everyone can return to their homes, and that a more organized, stable life can be built. I want everyone to live in safe homes — homes strong enough to withstand earthquakes — together with their children

“I’ve spent two years waiting, and I still don’t know if I’ll ever leave.”

In another container, İlim Hazmetçi, 47 years old, has been living there for two years. She began to recount the details of her daily life amid these harsh conditions.

She said that when she first arrived, she believed her stay would be temporary and that she would soon return to her home. But she soon realized that the scale of suffering was far greater than she had imagined:

“As days passed, problems kept increasing. We can no longer go out freely or talk with our neighbors as we used to. Some people have become completely unable to adapt. Every day brings a new challenge.”

İlim explained that she has lost hope in the future, and her only wish now is to leave the container as soon as possible:

“Unfortunately, I’ve spent two years waiting. I had hoped to stay in my own house, but when that became impossible, I had no choice but to register for the housing project, even though I don’t want to live there.”

She added:

“The registration period, which lasts 40 days, has just begun, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to leave or not. Winter is approaching, and they keep telling us, ‘You’ll be relocated this month.’ It’s clear that’s what they’re planning. If we must be moved, let it at least happen in the summer, not in the winter — moving in the cold and rain would be incredibly hard.