Echoes of Fear: Afghan Quake Survivors Refuse to Return to Rebuilt Homes Amidst Lingering Trauma

Months after devastating earthquakes tore through Afghanistan’s Herat province, a new and deeply troubling crisis is unfolding: survivors, still gripped by the raw fear of the earth’s tremors, are steadfastly refusing to return to their homes, even newly constructed ones. In villages like Chahak, once vibrant communities now lie in ruins, replaced by temporary tent cities that reflect a profound distrust and an unyielding psychological scar left by the disaster.

The initial series of powerful quakes, particularly one in early October that registered 6.3 magnitude, annihilated entire villages, claiming thousands of lives and rendering countless others homeless.

For those who endured the horror, the ground itself has become an enemy, and the very concept of a solid roof over their heads now triggers an instinctive, overwhelming dread.

Consider the plight of Gul Bibi, a 50-year-old widow from Chahak, whose home was completely destroyed. Despite the construction of basic, one-room shelters – often criticized for being too small or hastily built – Gul Bibi and many others like her prefer the vulnerability of a canvas tent.

“I don’t trust any house,” she states, her voice trembling. “The ground shook for so long. We are still scared. We can’t go into any house.” This sentiment is echoed across the affected region, where the memory of buildings collapsing around them is too vivid, too recent.

The survivors’ refusal isn't merely about the physical structures; it’s a deeply rooted psychological response.

Children cry out in their sleep, reliving the terror. Adults describe a constant state of anxiety, their bodies tensing at the slightest tremor, even the rumble of a passing vehicle. This collective trauma has eroded their sense of security, making the promise of a new, albeit small, house feel like a potential death trap rather than a haven.

Aid agencies and local authorities are scrambling to provide solutions, but the challenge is immense.

The new shelters, typically basic structures with mud walls and corrugated iron roofs, are intended to offer a modicum of protection, especially as the harsh Afghan winter approaches. However, for many, they represent a fragile compromise, not a true restoration of safety. They look at the structures, recall the incessant aftershocks that continued for weeks, and their resolve to stay in tents hardens.

As temperatures plummet and snow begins to dust the mountain peaks, the conditions in these makeshift camps are becoming increasingly dire.

Inadequate heating, poor sanitation, and the constant threat of illness loom large, particularly for the elderly and young children. Yet, for many, the palpable fear of another quake, another collapse, outweighs these immediate hardships.

The situation in Herat is a stark reminder that disaster recovery extends far beyond rebuilding infrastructure.

It necessitates addressing the invisible wounds of trauma, restoring trust, and understanding the profound psychological impact that such cataclysms leave in their wake. Until the ground beneath their feet feels stable once more, and their shattered sense of security can be gently pieced back together, thousands of Afghan quake survivors will remain displaced, caught between the ruins of their past and a future they are too afraid to inhabit.