On Feb. 6, 2023, Türkiye was shaken by the most destructive and deadly natural disaster in its modern history, an event that would forever be known as the "Disaster of the Century.”

In the early hours of that winter morning, at 4:17 a.m. local time, a magnitude 7.7 earthquake struck the Pazarcık district of Kahramanmaraş. Just nine hours later, at 1:24 p.m., a second powerful quake measuring 7.6 hit Elbistan, deepening the devastation. The twin earthquakes caused massive destruction across 11 provinces, directly affecting nearly 14 million people.

The disaster claimed 53,537 lives and left 107,213 injured. In the days that followed, Türkiye entered seven days of national mourning, as the scale of loss became painfully clear.

"I thought we were going to die in that second earthquake,” said Seher Belkıs Arıkan Ural, a 56-year-old high school teacher and resident of Kahramanmaraş, whose firsthand testimony captures the terror, loss and endurance experienced by survivors.

"At around 4:15 in the morning, I woke up to a horrifying jolt and jumped out of bed,” she recalled. "Before I could even leave the room, the tall bookshelf collapsed onto my bed. If I had been there even a few seconds longer, I wouldn’t be alive.”

Seher fled into the living room with her two daughters as their home shook violently. "We had never experienced an earthquake that lasted so long or was this strong,” she said. "Everything was breaking, glass, porcelain, furniture. The kitchen was a complete disaster.”

When the violent shaking stopped, the electricity was cut. In the darkness, Seher searched for her cat Maya but could not find her. She then rushed to check on her elderly parents who were living in the next-door flat. "I begged them to leave the apartment,” she said. "But they calmly told me, ‘If we are going to die, we will die at home.’”

As dawn approached, the scale of destruction emerged. "When I walked outside, I saw that two huge apartment blocks nearby had completely collapsed,” she said. "A close friend of mine lived there with her family. Later, we learned that no one survived.”

A city turned silent

Across Kahramanmaras and neighboring provinces, most notably Hatay, entire neighborhoods were flattened. Hospitals, pharmacies, roads and shopping centers were destroyed. Makeshift morgues appeared in public buildings.

"By the third day,” Seher recalled, "the voices from under the rubble stopped. Some people didn’t die from the collapse, but from the winter cold, as it was snowing. Rescue efforts were conducted. Some people left the city. Those who stayed crowded into mosques and schools. Immediate help and aid began to arrive. People queued for necessities. Tents were set up, and hot meals were distributed. May God reward the government and everyone who rushed to help, materially and spiritually.”

She spent days living in her car with her children, running the engine intermittently to stay warm as fuel supplies dwindled. "The city was completely dark,” she said. "No one stayed in the buildings that were still standing. We were alive, but it was hard to feel grateful when so many others weren’t.”

One of Seher’s most emotional moments came days later when she returned to her damaged apartment. "When I opened the door, I heard a faint meow,” she said. "Our cat, Maya, had been trapped between the wall and the closet. She was hungry, thirsty and barely alive. I had to dismantle the drawers to rescue her.”

Reflecting on the disaster, Seher spoke with painful clarity: "This earthquake didn’t choose. The rich died. The poor died. Professors, doctors, students, all the citizens , everyone was equal under the rubble.”

"Living spaces were created using containers and tents. For a long time, people lived in tents within container cities,” she reflected.

She added: "The hardest fate wasn’t dying. It was surviving without your loved ones, or living on after losing your limbs and your health.”

Healing and rebuilding

Now, three years later, large-scale reconstruction has reshaped much of the region. In Kahramanmaraş, Hatay, and all affected provinces, new housing projects have been completed and handed over to citizens, while many construction efforts continue. Entire districts have been rebuilt, though dust and unfinished works still dominate the skyline.

Yet the psychological wounds remain deep. "The city where I spent decades became unrecognizable. Over the next three years, rubble was cleared, and the city turned into a massive construction site. Heavily damaged buildings were demolished while new ones rose. Living spaces were created using containers and tents. For a long time, people lived in tents within container cities.” Seher said. "Some people who had left returned. Many never did.”

As Türkiye marks the third anniversary of the Feb. 6 earthquakes, the nation continues to mourn its dead while striving to rebuild its cities and lives. Survivor accounts like Seher’s serve as a stark reminder that beyond statistics and concrete numbers, the true cost of the disaster is written in human memory, one tremor, one loss and one act of survival at a time.

In the face of unprecedented destruction, the resilience of the people has become one of the most enduring legacies of the Feb. 6 earthquakes. Communities that lost homes, loved ones and livelihoods have continued to rebuild their lives with remarkable determination, drawing strength from solidarity, faith and collective memory. Alongside this social resilience, the state’s reconstruction policy has focused on rapid, large-scale housing delivery, infrastructure renewal and the restoration of essential public services, aiming not only to replace what was lost but to build safer, more resilient cities. While challenges remain and the emotional wounds are far from healed, the combined efforts of citizens and public institutions reflect a shared resolve: that they will rise again, stronger, safer and more prepared for the future.