Halidi Abdallah holds a wooden pole in each hand. “This is the door to our house”explains the fifty-year-old, who has lived for several decades in a district of Mamoudzou, in Mayotte. All the sheet metal walls that formed his house were blown away by Cyclone Chido on Saturday, December 14. But a few days later, part of these metal partitions are already straightened. “Where will we live with the children if we don’t rebuild now?”asks the Mahorais.
All over the island, the same staccato noises echo through the shantytowns. Hammer blows. Along the roads, residents, sometimes very young, carry large pieces of metal on their heads. Some neighborhoods have already regained part of their gray-blue color, characteristic of the “bangas”, these corrugated metal houses which spread out over the hills of Mayotte.
After the passage of the cyclone, which almost completely destroyed this precarious habitat, many voices were raised to demand the construction of healthy and resistant housing. During his visit to the archipelago, Emmanuel Macron affirmed that he wanted “to end” to the slums and “remove habitats that are both unworthy and dangerous”, in which around 100,000 people live, or a third of the Mahorean population.
A will which already clashes with reality. As soon as the wind decreased in intensity, Halidi Abdallah left the mosque in which he had taken refuge to return to his devastated land. He collected the scattered sheets of metal and began to rebuild his house. Five days later, the master bedroom already has a roof and fragile walls. Her 7-year-old son is lying on the mattress, with the few toys he has left. “It’s filthy, they look like pigs”the father apologizes while showing his plot.
“We would like to rebuild permanently, but with what means?”
Halidi Abdallah, affected by Cyclone Chido in Mayotteat franceinfo
The belongings of the family spared by Chido are stored in the only room sheltered from bad weather, while the rain has returned to the island. Among the most precious objects: a pouch with identity papers and a packet of pasta, three-quarters empty. The freezer miraculously survived, but it is no longer connected to electricity. “There’s still ice inside.”assures the father, who takes a little meat and fish every day to feed his family.
The oven, refrigerator, washing machine and TV decoder are all out of order. “Before, I even had wifi here!”assures this electrician. All his family photos were also gone, adds the man who says he has already survived four cyclones before Chido.
At the mention of the declarations of the Head of State, the man stops smiling. “I don’t even want to see him.”he whispers, before apologizing for having used these terms. “Are we in France?”he asks, pointing to his devastated neighborhood, but in turmoil. Around his home, several “bangas” have already emerged from the ground, while others remain scattered in a thousand pieces. “We are well aware that sheet metal is not ideal, but we have no other choice”slips a neighbor.
Several residents also denounce comments, sometimes mocking or threatening, made by police officers or gendarmes during their visits to the slum after the cyclone. “They tell us: 'Ah, you rebuild quickly!' Or: 'We're going to have to come back and destroy everything!'”assures a resident. Many people already feared, before the cyclone, of being dislodged as part of Operation Wuambushu. A fear that is all the greater for undocumented immigrants, to whom no lasting rehousing solution is offered.
After the devastation of the cyclone, the challenge of building healthy housing is more relevant than ever on the island. But Halidi Abdallah and the other residents can't wait any longer: “We are afraid of another cyclone.”
