Building back home and dignity can work with local, sustainable materials

Somalia faces one of the world’s most persistent displacement crises, with millions uprooted by conflict, drought, and climate-driven instability. As emergency camps grow into semi-permanent settlements, the need for long-term, affordable, and culturally grounded housing becomes urgent. A new proposal, Shelters of the Future, offers precisely that: a mud-brick modular framework rooted in Somali building traditions yet designed for resilience, dignity, and community.

Developed by designer Rabie Al Ashi in Saudi Arabia in collaboration with Kengo Kuma & Associates, Shelters of the Future won first prize in an international competition led by Somalia’s Ministry of Public Works, Reconstruction and Housing (MoPWRH), the International Organization for Migration (IOM), and Young Architects Competition (YAC). It stands out for its elegant simplicity: a shelter system that relies on local materials, local skills, and local cultural logic.

With so much goodwill going into designing new refugee shelters from the western world –– see our 2014 article on refugee shelters from IKEA and designers in Jordan, we are still seeing Gazans and Somalis living under tarps.

Read our article: Refugee shelters we hate to love

Still, we celebrate ideas and appreciate this design because it works with vernacular materials and takes into account the local.

At the heart of the design is a flexible 4×4-meter module, a human-scaled unit pairing two enclosed rooms with a semi-open central space and a private garden. This small footprint is deceptively powerful: it gives each household privacy, a safe outdoor space, and the ability to arrange interior life according to Somali social norms. The module becomes a building block—units can be combined into courtyards, linear clusters, or circular compounds that echo traditional Somali settlement patterns. Compare this to the shelters Somalis have built in Yemen, below.

Materiality grounds the system firmly in place. Structures are built from mud bricks, acacia logs, palm leaves, and earth-based plasters—materials that are renewable, inexpensive, and readily available. Mud bricks in particular offer thermal mass, keeping interiors cooler during the day and warmer at night, an essential feature in Somalia’s hot, arid climate.

Construction is intentionally low-tech: shelters can be built by residents themselves, strengthening local craftsmanship and reducing reliance on imported humanitarian products that often fail in desert climates.

The design also incorporates passive cooling strategies—cross-ventilation, shaded openings, and breathable walls—to make life more comfortable without the need for electricity. Gender-sensitive layouts support safety and cultural expectations. Small gardens, livestock spaces, and shaded communal zones help rebuild livelihoods and social cohesion.

We’ve spent weeks in Sinai in the simple hushas there made from palm fronds and bamboo. They can be remarkably comfortable even at night when the cold winds blow.

Rather than treating displacement as a temporary emergency, this project is reframed as a human condition requiring stability, community, and dignity. By combining vernacular wisdom with adaptable modular planning, the project offers a model for refugee housing that is scalable, low-carbon, and deeply respectful of local identity.

For Somalia’s displaced families, a mud-brick home may be the most modern solution of all.

::IOM

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1. Anupama Kundoo – India’s Anupama Kundoo blends traditional Indian techniques with radical innovation. Her work in Auroville, including the “Wall House” and lightweight ferrocement structures, proves that low-tech can be high impact. Her philosophy centers around local materials, self-sufficiency, and zero waste, offering a path to sustainable urbanism rooted in community and place.

“My buildings grow out of the place. The idea is to make architecture a catalyst for social change,” says Kundoo.

2. AMUNT – Germany Winners of the AR Emerging Architecture Award, this German studio creates emotionally rich, low-carbon homes using passive design and recycled materials. Their JustK House shows how eco-housing can be beautiful, efficient, and emotionally sustainable, with hand-crafted timber and thoughtful details woven into every inch.

3. Alejandro Aravena / ELEMENTAL – Chile Pritzker Prize-winner Aravena leads ELEMENTAL, a public interest architecture studio famous for its incremental housing: homes that families can build onto as resources grow. These projects are affordable, expandable, and community-based—an essential counterpoint to the high-gloss, high-cost world of global architecture.

4. Patkau Architects, based in Vancouver, is known for their minimalist approach to eco-design, seamlessly blending architecture with the natural environment. They use innovative materials and sustainable techniques in a way that creates spaces that are at once functional and awe-inspiring.

Their projects, such as the Polygon Gallery in North Vancouver, showcase how sustainable design can elevate community engagement while respecting the natural surroundings.

Bjarke Ingels is the founder of BIG, a renowned architectural firm based in Copenhagen. His approach to architecture blends bold, forward-thinking design with sustainability and social impact. BIG is known for creating structures that balance aesthetics with environmental and social responsibility.

Their iconic projects like the Amager Bakke Waste-to-Energy Plant in Copenhagen, which doubles as a ski slope, and the 8 House, a mixed-use development focused on sustainable urban living, show how architecture can address climate challenges while being playful and functional. Ingels’ work embraces the idea of “hedonistic sustainability,” where green solutions are not only efficient but enjoyable. His website reads: BIG.dk, so you figure out where he’s going with this.

Green Prophet readers know that architecture isn’t just about buildings—it’s about systems, ethics, materials, and how we relate to the planet.

Curious about eco-architecture in the Middle East?

? Read about desert-smart Nubian vaults in Egypt

? Or the zero-energy oasis by Tamer El-Sawy that rethinks how we live with heat and scarcity.

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Nubian architecture, developed along the Nile River, showcases a harmonious blend of ingenuity, environmental adaptation, and community focus. Rooted in the challenges of a hot and arid climate, this architectural tradition offers timeless principles that remain highly relevant as architects strive to create sustainable, eco-friendly housing and communities today.

The Nubians are an indigenous African ethnic group native to the region along the Nile River, primarily in what is now southern Egypt and northern Sudan. They are one of the oldest civilizations in the world, with a history that dates back thousands of years. They believe in monotheism but some have converted to Christianity over the years.

The foundation of Nubian architecture lies in its use of locally sourced, natural materials. Sun-dried mud bricks, made from Nile silt mixed with clay and straw, provided excellent insulation, regulating indoor temperatures. REadily available palm tree wood and reeds can be used for roofing and reinforcement, while mud or lime-based plaster finished walls, offering durability and a natural aesthetic.

Related: archeologists find pregnant Nubian woman with late-stage fetus stuck in her womb

A hallmark of Nubian construction is the Nubian vault, a technique for creating arched roofs without the need for timber or modern scaffolding. This gravity-based, pressure-stabilized structure was not only resource-efficient but also incredibly durable.

Rounded and domed forms further optimized buildings for thermal comfort, reducing heat absorption and ensuring even cooling. See Hassan Fathy.

Design Principles and Environmental Adaptation

Nubian builders mastered passive cooling techniques long before modern technology. Thick walls and small, strategically placed windows insulated interiors from extreme heat, while buildings were oriented to harness natural ventilation. This design minimized reliance on artificial cooling, making it inherently energy-efficient.

The Nubians also prioritized community-centric layouts. And this is why modern architects like Hassan Fathy thought that this ancient building tradition could solve many problems in Egypt. Homes were arranged around shared courtyards, fostering social interaction and communal living. Resources like water wells and shaded open spaces were shared, reinforcing a sense of collective responsibility and resilience.

Integration with nature was a cornerstone of Nubian architecture. Structures were often built on elevated ground to mitigate flooding, and materials were biodegradable, leaving minimal environmental impact. This synergy with the environment ensured sustainability across generations.

Buildings were often adorned with symbolic patterns and decorations, painted using natural pigments. These artistic touches reflected the community’s cultural identity and spiritual values.

Today there isn’t such a thing as a Nubian territory but you can visit Nubian people in Egypt and Sudan, living in their villages, preserved in time. Want to find a colorful Nubian village to explore? Check out the travel vlog of Kevin and Miranda and get going.

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We got so much international attention when we wrote about the Iraqi mudhouse called a mudhif built with US veterans and Iraqi refugees in the US. You can read the story here. Vernacular architecture is that built without a plan by local people is taking the world by storm as people consciously and subconsciously are drawn to simpler times when design was functional and from materials that nature made.

The proof is in the pudding at Dubai Design Week where a designer from Kuwait, with Mesopotamian origins, recreates an Iraqi or Mesopotamian mudhouse. Don’t you feel like you’d like to step inside?

In the US they were constructed of phragmites, an invasive reed grass, and built on the grounds of the Schuylkill Center for Environmental Education in Northwest Philadelphia.

Ola Znad, the designer, turns the traditional gathering place for Marsh Arab communities into a multi-sensory experience. The buildings were designed, of course, for centuries before without any one person taking claim. She says they were crafted in Iraq from locally sourced reeds and mud: the materials that have supported Marsh Arab communities for generations.

According to the paper The Ecology of the Mudhif, the mudhif was built and used, by the Marsh Arabs of the region, until 1993 when Saddam Hussein began to drain and dam the marshes, in an attempt to destroy the life and culture of those Arabs. But after his defeat 10 years later in 2003, the Arabs dug up his dykes, canals and damns, re-flooded the marshes and began to resume their ancient way of life.

Inherently nomadic, the author muses: “the prejudice against a fixed life is strong, only the lowest of the tribe will condescend to remain stationary; but change is in progress.”

Related: What is Vernacular Architecture

The paper notes that mudhifs were built by the culture which not only developed the world’s first cities, with their great mud-brick ziggurats and temples; it also invented writing, for the keeping of temple records. And of course, for sustenance, the cities had to be surrounded by agricultural villages hence, in the marshes, buildings constructed entirely of reeds. Is this why our pull toward them is strong?

Related: read about the origins of writing in Iraq

By portraying the Mudhif as an open and inclusive space, Znad says she “reflects the traditional architecture of the Marsh Arabs and emphasizes the contemporary need for sustainable design.”

This is true in every culture everywhere especially the UAE which has designed itself out of the desert from scratch over the last 50 years. It may be why cardboard was also featured this year. We are all going back to the basics.

Enjoy the photos and if you are at the Dubai Design Week this week drop us a line.

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Environmentalists have been stressing the problems of modern construction and architecture for decades. Some of the biggest concerns are the use of concrete ––  its impact on sand and carbon emissions, and its poor thermal capabilities. Or the fact that local materials just aren’t used enough. If you look at the rapid expansion of cities like Dubai, the problems are obvious: starchitects brought in from abroad to build a glittering city meant to support “the high life” and create a feeling of abundance among the sand dunes. As though sand dunes and deserts aren’t glorious enough.

Dubai has created the Palm Jebel man-made islands with un-circulating swamps and a Burj mega-tower that is built so trucks need to pump out sewage daily. These are examples of unsustainable architecture. Can architects, and students of architecture do better for planet and people? Yes, and the answers are somewhere in the bible of vernacular architecture called Habitat: Vernacular Architecture for a Changing World, edited by architect Sandra Piesik with contributions from about 100 architects who specialise in geographic regions, climates, and local materials. 

What you get in Habitat, updated just last year, is a world of possibilities as we look forward to new sustainable practices that mesh with nature and the humanity in us. You get proven examples of low-cost sustainable architecture for every geographic and climatic region on this planet. You also get modern takes of vernacular values, and applications providing inspiration for architecture firms young and old.

Your life as an architect or student can not be complete without owning a copy of this masterpiece of a book.

The problem I see in architecture today is a disconnect between architects, the investors in architecture and the approach to culture and place. Big firms still get the highest bids for so-called sustainable architecture, with firms like Foster + Partners and Zaha Hadid‘s firm winning the bids even when the plans for cities in Saudi Arabia could mean wiping out an island’s ecosystem or making no sense for the climate. There will be ski hills in the hot desert or a linear city that transects a mile of desert on the Red Sea. We learn from the ultra-modern zero-waste Masdar City that no-one wants to live in futuristic ideas alone. We also learn from Hasan Fathy that a local architect’s vision of mud housing may not fit the cultural needs of a people. How can we create a better fit? HABITAT offers some clues. 

If you are an architect who wants a crash course on sustainable architecture this book is an antidote to the troubles to today’s senseless planning and construction industry.

What I get from the book as I was thumbing through it: people need a human-scale approach to housing: that’s why we seek balconies, terraces and small gardens in the city. We feel better around trees and nature in any instance, and if you have had the chance to sleep in a home made from natural materials, you will agree it impacts your sleep and overall mood.

I’ve stayed in vernacular homes in Normandy, France (built with no nails); in mud and stone palaces in Syria, in caves in Cappadocia, in my own vernacularly built pioneer home in Canada; in Bedouin tents in Israel; I’ve stayed in strawbale homes with Bill and Athena Steen in Arizona, and I’d spent plenty of nights bamboo huts and homes in Thailand.

What links all these remarkable dwellings is the local: homes and shelter built without architects or designers, built with local materials such as stones and wood, wool, mud and bamboo, and in a way anchored with ancient wisdom that kept climate in mind because that’s how people survived.  

Every architecture student, practitioner and teacher needs to read Habitat: Vernacular Architecture for a Changing World by Thames & Hudson: It is a breathtaking and astounding encyclopaedia of natural building that can save our planet. Professionally speaking indigenous architecture is also called vernacular architecture. Vernacular is a great way to describe indigenous architecture as it can include materials from the built environment, as we see in images and descriptions of slums in Brazil and Africa.

Habitat, recently updated in May 2023 since its original publication in 2017, and edited by architect Sandra Piesik, shows you the power of a dedicated publishing house in this book. It is a landmark publication signalling to every nation and people in the world to start cataloguing their vernacular before it it is lost. HABITAT can be the basis for a series of vernacular architecture books from every corner of the world.

Habitat contains over 1000 illustration, organised by the five major climate zones, covering polar, temperate, tropical, desert and continental, and more than eighty countries worldwide. The book reveals how people and cultures have adapted to their environment to make the best use of indigenous materials and construction techniques, and stresses the importance of preserving disappearing craftsmanship and local knowledge before it is too late. It is an invaluable resource document for the future generation who will shape our built environment.

Over in the Middle East we know that Hassan Fathy devoted decades of his life to building New Gourna, a model as architecture for the people. His experiment worked as a concept but did not spread as much as he would have wanted. An almost 500 pages of this book, includes the vernacular greats like Fathy, but it also serves to show the reader highly unusual and sometimes temporary structures built by tribes in the jungle, like the stilt houses of the Korowai people in New Guinea. 

What gives the book credibility is the approximate 100 authors and researchers, leaders in their fields of sustainable architecture giving an historical, climatic and materials overview to their geographical sections. If you are dealing with climates and materials you can search in the notes and bibliography according to geography, climate regions, learning more than you thought you could know about local architecture around the world.

A series of helpful essays and photos gives us a glance at how we can apply contemporary vernacular in today’s buildings, with a look at Morocco’s Technology School of Guelmim or Sabla’s Palm Leaf Shelter’s in Abu Dhabi. If I have one complaint about Habitat is that the photos are too incredible, the essays too information-filled that it makes reading the book from cover to cover an impossible task. It is the grandmother book to Lo-TEK, a book I own that covers radical indigenism in building, as the author puts it, or rather, radical ways to build using natural building materials and knowledge at hand.

Productive healthy, happy people need a roof over their heads –– one that offers an honorable, comfortable and secure place to live is something that everyone everywhere needs. If you have traveled to any desert in the Middle East or even Egypt, you will see people living in hobbled-together tin shacks, barely keeping out the freezing wind at night or the debilitating sun by day. Better-loved vernacular practices can show the people how to build better, and maintain the homes with local materials.

Don’t think this is just an idea for developing countries. The tiny home and global nomad movements in America, Europe and Canada are fuelled by economics. People don’t want to spend their lives working for the home they don’t get time to live in. People want to live not to spend their lives working.

An interview with the editor of HABITAT Sandra Piesek

Sandra Piesik is an award-winning architect, author, and scientist specialising in a diverse range of subjects from art and design to the implementation of global sustainable legislation, nature-based solutions, innovation, technology transfer, and contemporary adaptation of traditional knowledge. She is the founder of 3 ideas, an Amsterdam-based consultancy, a member of the New European Bauhaus EU initiative, an advisor to UNFCCC, and a former senior consultant to UNFCCC, UNCCD, and UN-HABITAT Global Solutions Division on territorial integration. She’s also edited a book on Arish – Palm leaf architecture. 

Here is our interview with her:

What inspired you to start this massive undertaking of cataloguing the world’s vernacular architecture.

I was invited by Thames & Hudson to edit HABITAT in London in 2012, following our previous book ‘Arish: Palm – Leaf Architecture’, which coincided with the first European Exhibition on Date Palm Leaf Architecture in the United Arab Emirates at The Royal Geographical Society in London in 2012. The genesis of understanding vernacular architecture came from my research in the UAE focused on date palm architecture and conviction that it holds solutions to some of the pressing challenges of our times.  

HABITAT seems very neutral. What is your approach with the book?

HABITAT is structured around five climate zones of the planet, based on the Köppen Geiger climate classification. We focused on the geography and ecosystems, and by doing so we provided evidence of an intrinsic relationship and co-dependency of the built environment with individual climate zones, their natural resources, and the built environment. I have to credit 143 contributors from over 50 countries and the Thames & Hudson editorial team.  

Despite your neutrality, do you have 3 favorite vernacular architects? Who are they?

Vernacular architecture is ‘architecture without architects’ in other words indigenous peoples of the past were all architects creating bio-design masterpieces based on one fundamental skill: their capacity to observe nature.  My favorite case studies are from Bolivia, where Chipaya indigenous peoples worked as civil engineers at the regional scale redirecting rivers and intervening in the ecology of the salt flats in Bolivia, vernacular architecture there is a by-product of environmental activities. In China, Kam communities embraced agroforestry, and their spectacular drum towers as well as timber architecture reflect the regional bioeconomy. I must also mention Liwa Oasis in the United Arab Emirates and a date palm leaf architecture by Bedouin tribes of the Rub Al Khali desert, whom I had the privilege to meet in person. 

We created an online exhibition: ‘HABITAT Embracing Change in the post-2030 Future’  in collaboration with G-STIC and all three case studies are mentioned there as well in addition to HABITAT. 

What are the biggest lessons architecture students can take from this book?

The intrinsic relationship and interconnectedness of the built environment with its natural ecosystems and climate zones. Contextualization of architecture and urbanism within bio-economic activities, giving birth to bio-circular economy and bioregional approaches 12,000 years ago. Frugal innovation derived from the observation of nature and shaping an identity of the place through ornamentation and design. 

We see catastrophic situations for refugees and migrants around the world. In Gaza, Syria, Afghanistan. What kinds of projects could scale quickly to get decent and local housing for people in a crisis? Do you have any thoughts for architects building shelter? 

The fundamental issue here is to bring geography to the discussion on climate change, which has been absent in recent years. Understanding the interconnectedness between climate change, agriculture, provision of jobs, and livelihood strategies would reduce migration and allow for holistic approaches.  The demand for emergency accommodation is increasing all over the world. Cities like New York work within the existing urban fabric, historically the Gulf basin cities provided accommodation for the refugees in the peri-urban areas and what is needed are livelihood strategies in addition to housing alone, as well as a socio-economic mix to building shelters. 

What would you like to see less of in architecture? 

De-globalization and de-westernisation of architecture will lead us to new bio-regional models of urbanism which the planet and its peoples desperately need.  Narrow and sectorial approaches to the built environment limit our capacity to address the multidimensional challenges of our time, and I hope that the future will bring broader perspectives. I also think that quantitative approaches to sustainability focusing purely on metrics limit the role of architects’ qualitative and creative approaches and this is what historically we as architects had to offer. 

What would you like to see more of?

I would like to see more bio-regional initiatives such as the New European Bauhaus embracing sustainability, inclusion, and beauty adopted by various regions across the world within their own ecological, cultural, and social domains. I would like to see more of the plurality of approaches, where once again we will be able to co-create new forms of regional cultures. I hope that in 2024 and the future, we will be able to base all our actions and decisions on the positive impact we are making on nature and each other. 

About the publisher of Habitat

Thames & Hudson is a publisher of illustrated books in all visually creative categories: art, architecture, design, photography, fashion, film, and the performing arts. It also publishes books on archaeology, history, and popular culture.

::HABITAT, $65

More Vernacular Architecture on Green Prophet

Morocco’s Hemp Solar House

Other earthen buildings in the Middle East include adobe (mud brick) houses in the Marshes of Iraq, the tallest city of Shibam in Yemen, Bam in Iran as well as the eco-friendly architecture of the Egyptian architect Hassan Fathy.

The Beehive Homes of Syria

Nader Khahili Homes for Palestinians 

Palm Leaf Habitat at Dubai Design week

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Abdalla Almulla’s vision transcends the borders of the UAE, finding resonance in the practices of craftsmen in the Middle East who have long recognized the versatility of palm trees.

The intricate weaving of palm fronds into leaf mats, a prominent feature in the pavilion’s ceilings, gives shade, beauty and comfort unlike plastic which breaks down quickly in the hot sun, you can see palm structures stand for decades, with parts replaced as needed.

The bark-clad trunks acting as pillars in the pavilion echo the structural elements found in historic Egyptian furniture, showcasing a harmonious blend of modern design and ancient craft.

Moreover, Almulla’s choice to use palm wood for furniture pieces within the circular pavilion aligns with the region’s age-old tradition of creating durable and elegant pieces from this readily available material. Darker wood panels form stools and display cases, emphasizing the enduring appeal of palm-based creations. Locals in the Middle East know how strong palm wood fibres are. Car accidents with palm trees tend to be more fatal than hitting a regular deciduous tree.

Almulla’s “Of Palm” pavilion in Dubai, pays homage to the shared heritage of palm tree. It serves as a contemporary reminder of the sustainable design principles deeply rooted in the history of furniture-making in the region.

As we celebrate the convergence of sustainable architecture and traditional craftsmanship, the story of palm tree furniture extends beyond the pavilion’s temporary existence. It intertwines with the narratives of local artisans, weaving a tapestry that spans centuries, connecting the past with a future where sustainable practices continue to shape the world of design.

If you love the look and possibilities of palm, Arish is a great book by Sanda Piesik to explore. She is also the editor of Habitat. In Arish she features traditional buildings made from palm which are called arish in some Middle East regions. These structures have provided shelter from the extreme climate of the Arabian peninsula for generations. Just as bamboo is central to many forms of Asian vernacular constructions, so is palm leaf in the United Arab Emirates, Egypt, Saudi Arabia and surrounding countries.

::MULA

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A tiny house was built using recycled baby diapers and concrete showing this novel recycled material mix can replace up to 40% of the sand used in concrete without reducing its strength, according to a new study by researchers at the University of Kitakyushu in Japan.

The team published a study in Scientific Reports about their findings and say that it could be used to create low-cost housing for low-income countries.

A small, tiny house was built in Indonesia to demonstrate how the material works, using a concrete mix which diverts 1.7 cubic metres of diaper waste from going to landfill. Plastic bottles, tires, essentially Earthships (how to build one here) made from waste –– are all ways to divert garbage from going to landfill. This latest idea integrates a common household nuisance – diapers.

The downside to the new building material is that diapers decrease compressive strength in the building, so columns and beams would require a smaller proportion of the diaper waste than do architectural elements, such as walls.

As for being a practical solution, unfortunately, “there’s no supporting system in the municipal waste management to separate diapers”, notes civil engineer Siswanti Zuraida, who led the project in Indonesia.

Municipalities in countries like Canada have the ability to separate diaper waste from compost and other household waste so trying further pilots in Canada might be worthwhile.  

The Japanese researchers in this study were trying to solve two environmental problems together: disposable diapers used both for babies and an increasing elderly population in countries like Japan are a growing source of non-recyclable waste, and cement production is responsible for almost 7% of global greenhouse-gas emissions, while consuming 50 billion tonnes of sand each year.

The diaper-concrete house in Indonesia demonstrates how this type of waste could be used for building housing in lower and middle-income communities. But better ideas using vernacular building techniques are out there: trailblazers like Bill and Athena Steen in Arizona have shown in an endless number of projects in Mexico that local, vernacular architecture can replace concrete altogether, and provide passive air conditioning and heating. Their solution uses natural strawbale building, adobe and earthen plaster that breathes.

The late and alternative builder Nader Khalili from Iran used superadobe methods (basically sand in bags, skipping concrete altogether), to build homes that nurture the human psyche, with caverns made to be soft and organic (like people), without modern sharp, square edges.

And Egypt’s Hassan Fathy nurtured the vernacular with his development of New Gourna for Egypt’s poor. As we see in Saudi Arabia it wasn’t that long ago when kings lived in mud houses – see the House of Saud’s ancestral mud house. 

But modern architects love concrete; they are addicted to it, despite its toll on the planet. Indonesia, home to creative bamboo architects that gave birth to the Bali Green School, can surely come up with a better idea than more concrete. 

Siswanti Zuraida, a civil engineer at the University of Kitakyushu, began putting the project together while lecturing at the Bandung Science Technology Institute near Jakarta. Populations in Indonesia’s low- and middle-income brackets are growing, along with more babies, more diapers and more demands for low-cost housing.

“It’s all about the resource availability,” says Zuraida. “With the growth of the population, the diaper waste will also grow. It’s challenging, so we thought that this would be a part of our contribution to recycling this waste.”

Single-use diapers are made from wood pulp, cotton and super-absorbent polymers, small amounts of which have been shown to improve the mechanical properties of concrete. With funding from a Jakarta-based waste-management company called Awina, Zuraida set out to determine how much sand could be swapped for shredded nappies to create useful concrete and mortar.

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