A year of survival

The Take podcast spoke with survivors from major cities and remote villages, family members near and far, refugees and displaced people, aid workers, earthquake experts and many others to hear what it's meant to rebuild over the past year after one of the largest natural disasters in the region's history.

When the earthquakes struck, 36-year-old Emad Nasher was sleeping with his wife, their two children and his mother in their 13th-floor apartment located on the southern edge of Gaziantep.

He said the view from their living room window overlooked a park and used to bring him a sense of peace. But since the earthquakes, he can only think of the dangers he discovered about living so high up.

That morning, he was woken by the sound of his 13-year-old son crying after being thrown out of his bed by the strength of the tremor. A wardrobe also fell over. The ceiling chandelier broke from swaying so hard.

Emad and his wife ran to comfort their children, even as they were filled with fear themselves. Click on the video below to hear his story.

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This wasn't the first time people living in Turkey had experienced the ground suddenly shifting below their feet. The country sits at the meeting point of three tectonic plates, making it one of the most seismically active places in the world.

Ezgi Karasozen is a Turkish research seismologist at the Alaska Earthquake Center. She explained that Turkey is actually moving along two large faults: The North Anatolian Fault Zone that goes west and east of the country, and the East Anatolian Fault Zone.

As these faults continued to push against each other, pressure built - until suddenly, there was a rupture.

Karasozen explained that, in Turkey, there are many long inland faults that have the potential to create large-magnitude earthquakes.

Unlike some ruptures that happen under the sea, the February 6 earthquakes struck the land directly below people's feet.

"So these earthquakes are 'inland strike-slip', meaning the faults are within the land," said Karasozen. "Within the land, faults can be more destructive because the rupture is happening deep under the population centres."

According to Karasozen, one particularly interesting thing is that the first rupture of this earthquake happened on a previously unmapped fault. She said this will help scientists understand which areas need more research and better map the faults in Turkey.

More than 300,000 buildings collapsed or needed to be demolished after the earthquakes.

The UN said that's more rubble than any other disaster ever. It's estimated to be 10 times more than the debris caused by the magnitude 7 earthquake that hit Haiti in 2010, killing more than 250,000 people and destroying much of the capital, Port-au-Prince.

Alper Ilki is the president of the Turkey Earthquake Foundation, an NGO providing education for sustainable infrastructure in Turkey. He explained that the widespread destruction is largely down to Turkey's history of poor building standards and materials.

It's a problem that can't easily be fixed.

Ilki explained that as much as 90 percent of all buildings built before 2000 in Turkey were not properly constructed. "To convert all these buildings to a seismic-safe situation, you need a lot of money, you need a lot of temporary homes, you need a lot of engineering service, you need a lot of inspection effort, and so on."

New laws were introduced in 2000 to update Turkey's construction standards. But even some buildings that advertised themselves as "seismic-safe" crumbled during the February earthquakes. The government launched criminal investigations against more than 600 people suspected of violating construction codes. They included building developers, owners and even the mayor of a town near the epicentre.

But opposition parties have accused the government of contributing to the problem by failing to enforce regulations over the years.

Since coming to power in 2002, Recep Tayyip Erdogan has offered "zoning amnesties" nine times. The last one happened before his 2018 presidential re-election. These amnesties allowed illegally constructed buildings to be registered even if they hadn't met safety and design requirements.

Erdogan has called these amnesties "gestures of compassion" to help solve the country's housing shortage. In October 2022, the government said that more than three million households and companies across Turkey had been granted an amnesty.

After the quakes, Emad's apartment building was not safe to stay in. He and his family waited in their car in a local park for three hours.

But, as rumours of another big earthquake started circulating, Emad decided to return to the building by himself to get essential supplies: Money, clothes so they could change out of their pyjamas, heavy coats and blankets for the freezing weather.

From WhatsApp group chats and calls with their family and friends, Emad heard that emergency shelters and mosques were becoming crowded with other desperate people. So, the family decided to stay in their car. They also took in Emad's mother-in-law, who was living alone in another part of the city.

For the next four cold days and nights, four adults and two children lived packed into a Hyundai Elantra. Even meeting their basic needs became a challenge. Listen more in the video below.

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While life inside the earthquake zone was difficult, leaving the area wasn't easy either. Many roads were destroyed. Those that remained were overwhelmed with cars trying to escape the region.

An estimated 2.7 million people were displaced from their homes. Many left for bigger cities or went to stay with relatives in other provinces.

This was even harder for Syrians living in Turkey, who are required to obtain a travel permit any time they leave the city where their residency is officially registered.

One week after the earthquakes, the Turkish government announced that it would ease travelling restrictions for Syrians. Ammar Sammour quickly bought one-way tickets to Istanbul for him, his wife and her family.

But when the group of nine people arrived at the airport, it was a scene unlike anything he'd seen before. Watch the next two videos to find out what happened next for them.

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Two weeks after Ammar's family made it to Istanbul, he was approved for a residence visa for the UK. He and his wife moved to London, but the rest of the family had to stay in Turkey. Ammar cannot return to Turkey for the time being because of identity card issues.

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A month after the earthquakes, the Muslim holy month of Ramadan began.

It's usually a time for fasting, prayer and community. But for survivors, some of their favourite Ramadan traditions became sources of painful memories.

For some, going to mosque triggered fears about being in indoor spaces and collapsing buildings.

For others, Iftar - the meal to break the fast that's shared with friends and family - became a reminder of all the people they had lost.

And the feast of special dishes normally prepared for Iftar was replaced with handouts from emergency soup kitchens.

It gave Emad and Ammar a new perspective on Ramadan. Click on the video below to hear how they see things now.

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For more on what the Muslim holy month felt like for people in the wake of this disaster, listen to the full episode of Al Jazeera's podcast, The Take.

The ancient Turkish city of Antakya dates back to 300 BC when it was known as Antioch.

It has been celebrated throughout history as a meeting point of different cultures and religions, earning it the nickname, "City of Civilisations".

People from Antakya also share a deep pride in this heritage. They talk fondly about growing up next to the Orontes River with memories of cooking with their family using the region's famous red pepper paste.

But after the February 6 earthquakes, the region began to be described in a different way:

"Antakya bitti".

Antakya is finished.

Antakya was the hardest-hit urban area in the quake zone. More than 23,000 people in Antakya's province died in the disaster. That's equal to about 1 percent of the province's population and more than half of Turkey's total death toll from the disaster.

Historic landmarks that had stood in the Old Town for centuries - such as the Habib-i Neccar Mosque, believed to be the oldest in Anatolia - were reduced to rubble.

Anna Maria Beylunioglu has worried about what the destruction of so much fertile land could mean for Antakya's cultural heritage that's centred around its rich food traditions.

Beylunioglu is a trained chef who now teaches at universities in Istanbul about food, politics and society. She proudly described her family roots as "Antiochian in every sense".

Anna Maria said the region's farms, bazaars, restaurants, bakeries and street vendors have been the heart of Antakya's food culture for generations. However, concerns have grown that they may never fully recover from the earthquakes. Click below to see what's at stake.

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Environmental experts have also warned of another threat to the land coming from the earthquake rubble. Asli Odman is a lecturer on urban and regional planning and a founding member of the Health and Safety Labour Watch of Turkey. She said that in the rush to remove debris and begin rebuilding, many toxic elements from destroyed buildings may have been dumped together without being properly treated.

If inhaled, asbestos fibres can cause respiratory diseases and even lung cancer. Odman's group tested samples from around the earthquake zone, including the rubble, dust and shelter areas. She said the majority showed traces of white asbestos.

What's been especially worrying to Odman, though, is that Turkey has had strong legislation banning the use of asbestos since 2010. "The whole set of laws banning and also defining the safe removal of asbestos has been transferred into Turkish law," she said. "So the regulations about asbestos - they are very fixed. They are strong."

If there is such great exposure to one of the best-regulated toxins, Odman is worried that other hazardous materials which are not as well monitored, such as lead, mercury and silica, could be even more prevalent.

She said the list of potential toxins is long. As well as building debris, there's hospital waste, sewage leaks, agricultural chemicals and more that have all been mixed in the aftermath of the earthquakes.

Odman said, "If they're not isolated from each other, they come into interference with each other, then they create new hazardous materials in combination."

There have also been reports that these mountains of waste have been dumped near sensitive environmental areas instead of within designated safe zones. Odman's group has documented contractors illegally disposing of rubble near river basins, shore sites, water channels for agriculture, migration areas and olive groves. This could pose a significant risk if toxins seep into the soil and contaminate future crops and ecosystems.

For survivors, like Emre's family, a desire to be close to this familiar land brought them back to Antakya. Despite initially fleeing the earthquake zone, most members of Emre's family have now returned. Find out why in the video below.

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While adults struggled to cope with the intense trauma of the disaster, children in the earthquake zone were even less equipped to handle the shock of witnessing death and destruction up close.

Ceyda Yelkalan, from the humanitarian organisation Save the Children, reached Antakya just more than 24 hours after the earthquakes. For months afterwards, parents told her their children had become unrecognisable. Many became too anxious to leave their mothers' sides, started wetting their beds or had outbursts of aggression.

Yelkalan said these classic signs of acute distress can disrupt a child's development and, if not treated carefully, can carry on into adulthood. "It will lead to communication barriers between their parents and their peers. That could also mean that growing up as an adult, they won't be able to make meaningful connections with the people around them. In more severe cases, it could lead to mental health illnesses as well as even substance abuse," she said.

MSF and other aid groups set up programmes to support children in processing their grief and trauma. Other smaller volunteer groups tried simply to bring smiles back to children's faces. Theatre companies, circus acts and artists all travelled to the earthquake zone to provide distractions and allow children to feel like children again.

But Yelkalan said returning to the routine of going to school was one of the best remedies for trauma and shock. Even though many schools were destroyed or adapted into shelters for survivors after the disaster, classes largely resumed on schedule in September 2023.

Children, parents and teachers all said that despite the initial fears about returning to a normal routine, the feeling of being together in a familiar setting has brought relief.

One primary school teacher told Al Jazeera's The Take that he called each of his students individually to encourage them to return to school. He described school as "a medicine for the children to overcome their fear of earthquakes".

The trauma suffered by Antakya's children, adults and environment has forced many people to reconsider their futures in the region.

A major construction project has started in the hills further north that's expected to attract many residents. Developers said the site is away from the fault lines and apartments there will be more earthquake-resistant.

But the families of Emre, Anna Maria and others whose roots are in Antakya hope whatever rebuilding comes next will safeguard the original soul of their ancient hometown.

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To hear more about Antakya's history and what its destruction has meant to its people, listen to the full episode of The Take podcast.

The epicentres of the earthquakes were in Turkey, but the devastation was felt across the border in northwestern Syria, as well.

And while Turkey was able to mobilise a massive rescue effort and received aid from around the world, the people of northwestern Syria found themselves even more isolated and desperate.

"Whatever I can say, the situation is worse."

That's how Dr Zaher Sahloul described the disaster in his homeland, Syria.

He's the co-founder of the US-based charity MedGlobal and has spent more than a decade delivering humanitarian relief there.

Because long before the quakes hit in February last year, Syria was already in crisis.

Almost 13 years of war have displaced millions of people, destroyed basic infrastructure and pushed the country's health and emergency services to the limit. Here's how Dr Sahloul described the situation to The Take podcast just after the earthquakes happened last year.

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The northwest of Syria remains an active combat zone. Fighters loyal to Bashar al-Assad's government, Syrian rebels and various other factions have carved up the territory. This made rescue efforts in the immediate aftermath of the February earthquakes more complicated.

The Syrian government and its ally in the war, Russia, sent emergency teams to areas under their control, including Aleppo and Latakia. But they restricted aid from crossing into the province of Idlib, which is the last opposition-held region.

The only UN-approved entry point for international supplies into northwestern Syria is through Turkey. And for days, trucks carrying those critical supplies had to wait to cross the border because the roads were so badly damaged.

Instead, residents relied mostly on volunteers from the Syrian Civil Defence, better known as the White Helmets.

The White Helmets have years of experience of pulling people out from under the rubble left by air raids. But without much heavy machinery, people were forced to pick through debris for hours with their bare hands - often without yielding any results.

Rescue efforts were called off after five days because rescuers said they didn't have the resources to save any more lives. One member of the White Helmets said he's still haunted by the voices he heard from under the rubble that called for help, but could not be reached in time.

Almost 8,500 people were killed in Syria. Approximately 14,500 others were injured and half a million were displaced.

Al Jazeera correspondent Zeina Khodr was on the ground inside northwestern Syria. Survivors told her that after enduring so much hardship already, they now faced "eternal displacement".

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With so many crises occurring at the same time, women and girls in Syria have often found their needs sidelined, says Hiba Ezzideen, CEO of the Equity and Empowerment Organisation, which focuses on women's rights in northwest Syria. Even basic health supplies like sanitary pads were hard to find in the first days after the earthquakes. Ezzideen worries that other progress Syrian women have made over the years will be undone.

"Because of the earthquake, the situation went back to block number one," she said. "So first of all, we went back to the stereotypical roles of women as caregivers. In addition, we have a lot of women who lost their husbands, and they're responsible for their family now."

With less access to training and fewer job opportunities, however, Ezzideen said many women and girls are in a vulnerable position.

For example, many people who lost their houses are now being hosted by other families. According to Ezzideen, this has led to a rise in the number of early marriages in cases where daughters are married off to sons from the hosting family in order to avoid conflicts.

Families living in the displacement camps also face difficult decisions. "They prefer to give away their girls in order to decrease the economic burden," she said. "This is very notable after a year of the earthquake. It's very notable."

We spoke to another survivor named "Mohammed" (he asked not to use his real name out of fear for his safety in Syria). The 36-year-old had been forced by the war to move to Idlib with his wife and five-year-old daughter. They had slowly begun to rebuild their lives there - until the earthquakes struck.

Their home collapsed, killing Mohammed's wife and daughter. He was trapped under a concrete slab for three days before rescuers found him.

He had to have his right leg amputated. He told Al Jazeera that, in some ways, surviving the disaster has been worse than death.

"After the earthquake, I felt like the whole world left me, and the whole world turned black, and there was no one to ask about me," he said. "I only wish to die. I don't want anything in life after my wife and daughter."

Mohammed said that he's trying to adjust to his new reality, but without a job and in constant pain because of his amputation, he added that he doesn't see any hope for his future. "I'm hoping to die and go to be with my wife."

Mohammed had a message for anyone who hasn't faced a tragedy: "Hold on to your loved ones, your friends, your family and everything you love around you, and spend more time with them than before because, at any moment, you might lose them and regret the moments you couldn't be with them."

In the aftermath of the earthquakes, Dr Sahloul from MedGlobal said he hoped the global spotlight would be brought back to Syria's plight. "People don't sympathise with the victims of wars. When we talk about geopolitics, the American public and Westerners in general don't understand," he said. "But now it's very clear. You have earthquakes and you have victims, and it's easy to sympathise."

In a promising early sign, US President Joe Biden mentioned Syria for the first time since being elected in a tweet about the earthquakes. Dr Sahloul said he wanted this to be one silver lining from the tragedy. "I'm really feeling happy because of this sympathy to the Syrian people that suddenly outpoured because of this earthquake."

But that optimism didn't last for long. In fact, even as people in northwestern Syria were digging for survivors, the bombs kept coming.

Less than two hours after the quakes hit, Assad's forces shelled the rebel-held town of Marea. They've continued to launch more than 1,200 attacks in the months since, according to monitoring groups.

Ahmad Hallak has seen the rescue and recovery efforts in Syria up close. He's an aid worker who has volunteered with the White Helmets and now works for a charity that delivers supplies to people living in tent camps. Hear some of the stories that have stayed with him from the past year in the video below.

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To hear more about the impact of this earthquake on a country that's already been in crisis for more than a decade, listen to the full episode of The Take podcast.

It has been a year since the earthquakes that shook Turkey and Syria.

For those trying to rebuild their communities, that time has seemed short given the scale of the damage. For survivors who lost loved ones in the disaster, on the other hand, a year has felt like an eternity of grief.

The Kurt family in Kahramanmaras, who filmed themselves from under the rubble, have struggled to fill the void left by the death of their youngest son, Bilal.

Bilal's mother, Fatma, told Al Jazeera that her husband's hair and beard have turned completely white, while her two surviving sons have not recovered emotionally from the loss of their brother and their constant fear of more earthquakes.

Fatma said she cried every day over Bilal, imagining what they would be doing if he was still alive. But then she discovered a letter from one of her teenage sons that said he wanted to die, too, because he missed Bilal and had no one to share his pain with.

"When I saw this letter, I started to hold on to life again for my children." She recalled a line her son wrote in his letter: "God gave us this life. We have to live."

Fatma said she now feels more determined to get through the grief, for the sake of her family. "I cry without showing them. I'm sad without showing them. I tell them that Bilal is in a good place. They know - but it's hard."

One year on, the Kurt family is living in a temporary apartment block built by the government along with about 400 other quake survivors. They still don't know what will happen to their previous home or where they will end up.

Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan promised to rebuild the affected areas within a year. He pledged to deliver 319,000 new homes in the earthquake zone by February 2024 and a total of 650,000 by the following year. However, according to figures from the Turkish Ministry of Urbanisation, only approximately 46,000 units had been completed by the end of last year, while construction had started for about 260,000 others.

Al Jazeera's podcast The Take approached the Turkey Disaster and Emergency Management Authority (AFAD) for comment but did not receive an answer.

Anxiety about housing has rippled across Turkey as fears about building safety have spiked in the country's other seismic zones.

Istanbul, Turkey's largest city with a population of approximately 16 million people, launched a new programme to test the earthquake resistance of apartments and offices.

Those considered beyond repair were ordered to be demolished, while the municipal government offered loans and grants to reinforce other vulnerable units. But a cost of living crisis, which has included soaring real estate prices, has forced many residents to choose between making expensive repairs themselves and remaining in buildings at risk from earthquakes.

Outside the major cities, in the rural parts of the earthquake zone, the choices are more limited - and the consequences more stark.

Seventy-year-old Aysel Tasin has spent more than half her life in the village of Zey. The tiny community in Adiyaman Province had a population of about 700 people who mostly farmed the land and raised animals. Her husband built their home himself using stones and mud bricks. When the earthquakes hit, the house crumbled. "He opened his eyes and said, 'Aysel, run away, save your life. The earthquake is happening,'" she recalled.

Aysel didn't make it out of their house before it fell down, but she survived and spent days trapped next to the body of her husband before her neighbours finally managed to pull her out. She then dug a grave by herself and buried her husband. Rescue teams were unable to reach the village for more than a week.

Almost every house in Zey was destroyed by the earthquakes. Like her neighbours, Aysel has no money or resources to rebuild her home. She stayed with her daughter in Adiyaman city for a week after the quakes, but decided to return to the village where she felt at home.

The government has provided steel containers for them to live in near Zey. Each unit measures little more than five square metres and contains basic furnishings with extra items like carpets and clothing either salvaged from the ruins of their old homes or received as donations.

Aysel occasionally visits the site of her old home. The hillside path is covered in stones that can make it hard to climb. But she still goes, walking slowly, to remember. "I'll go there during the day. I'll eat and drink tea, and at night, I'll come back and sleep here."