Antonella Vitale is an architect who has spent part of her career designing refugee camps. Today, talking about displaced people and temporary spaces is not only a way of addressing humanitarian crises, it also implies a broader reflection about what it means to live and cohabit in a world marked by instability and climate change. The experience gained in these contexts shows that it is possible to meet basic housing needs even with limited resources, by directly involving communities and experimenting with more flexible and appropriate solutions. In refugee camps, co-creation and adaptation strategies emerge that can inspire a more general approach to architectural design. At a time of ecological emergency and forced migration, understanding how to ensure dignified living conditions in precarious situations means questioning the vulnerabilities of our own cities and rethinking the ways in which communities can be involved in the construction of living spaces.

What is the link between ecological emergency and migration?
Environmental problems, such as the scarcity of natural resources, desertification, and ecological disasters, are often closely linked to conflict and migration. The construction of refugee camps also brings its own challenges. For example, a side effect of their presence is deforestation, as displaced people need wood for cooking and, in some cases, their settlements expand. It’s important to remember that these people often live in tents for years and build temporary structures of their own accord.

How long are we talking about?
The average time spent in a camp is 17 years. That’s why humanitarian culture has evolved over time: in the past, we simply provided food, water, and temporary accommodation. Today, the aim is to offer as normal a life as possible. Rather than providing temporary accommodation, the idea is to house displaced people with local residents or in reallocated structures, if the local authorities allow it. Refugee camps do not facilitate integration because they create ghettos; they are now seen as a last resort.

What type of facilities are generally available to these populations?
Tents and containers are among the most expensive options in non-European contexts, if only for transport. Tents, in particular, are very precarious and uncomfortable, and depending on the climate, might only last six months. In addition, camps are often set up on land that hasn’t been built on, and there’s usually a good reason why: it could be prone to flooding, too hot, or impossible to cultivate. In general, it remains crucial to move as quickly as possible from the emergency response phase to a transitional phase, and then on to greater stability.

Have you had any experiences of this kind in your work?
During my assignment in Mozambique, I was involved in extending a refugee camp to accommodate an additional 5,000 people. I took over the project after the departure of my predecessor, who had encountered a number of management difficulties. One of the main problems was the fires lit by the camp residents in protest. When I arrived, the situation was complex, and the safety rules were very strict: I had to respect a time limit in the camp and return to my base before sunset. It was one of my first experiences, and I found myself faced with a major challenge, with no clear guidelines on how to proceed, and few resources.

What approach did you take?
I chose to maximise my time in the camp by starting to interact with the different communities. The camp was home to groups from the Great Lakes region of Africa, people marked by deep-rooted tribal conflict. I tried to understand their situation and involve them in the decision-making process, giving them the task of pointing out problems and essential needs. If I hadn’t done this, there would probably have been opposition, because unwittingly, for example, we would have exacerbated enmities between clans by intervening in stories we couldn’t understand, and fuelling tensions.

What strategies did you use to involve the camp residents?
The key moment was the launch of the design and planning phase. I let the residents tell me their needs, aspirations, and preferences for the layout of the homes. For me, the most important thing was to respect the number of people to be housed, while the distribution of the spaces was up to them. This approach had a very positive impact on the feasibility of the project. My constant presence in the camp also helped to deconstruct the prejudice that international aid workers are distant, locked away in their air-conditioned offices or jeeps. By showing that I was willing to listen, I fostered a climate of trust.

How did you overcome the language barrier?
To facilitate communication and mutual understanding, I chose to display the project drawings in visible places in the camp. This aroused the curiosity of the residents, who approached me for information in order to take an active part in meetings. Thanks to this method, we were able to better define the distribution of living spaces according to the real needs of the community. In the end, the key element of this experience was not the technical aspect, but the ability to listen and respond to people’s needs, initiating a process of co-creation that made the project more effective.

Drawing: © Anaëlle Clot.

How did you intervene in public spaces?
The camp included empty areas that served as natural gathering points, such as those around the water pumps, often located under large trees. One of these points was close to the therapeutic feeding centre for children under five and not far from the school. I analysed these existing synergies and integrated them into the creation of a sports field, strategically positioned to encourage physical activity and movement.
In addition, in this area I introduced a more structured communication system, using a tree as a display point for comments, suggestions, and complaints from the community. Although there was more criticism than praise, this system established a clear and direct channel of communication. My aim was to facilitate discussions between the operators and the community, gathering useful feedback to improve the management of the camp. When there’s participation, co-creation or at least an exchange of ideas, people are willing to get involved, especially if it has to do with buildings or the use of space.

How much freedom was there for self-designing buildings?
In Mozambique, we involved people in the construction of houses using local materials: reeds, earth, and straw. Each family was provided with the same quantity of materials, and they could then decide how to use them by appropriating the project. The idea was to move on from tents to very simple but permanent houses, in line with Mozambican standards. It’s also important to bear this in mind: when offering an emergency solution to a population from outside the country, you mustn’t go beyond what the most disadvantaged members of local society have, so as not to fuel tensions.

Are there other levels of co-creation that are desirable in such a context?
Before leaving their country of origin, displaced people had a trade, occupations, and passions. Mapping these skills is an asset that can be exploited to the full, firstly to integrate these people into the world of work and make them self-sufficient, and secondly to contribute to aid programmes for displaced people. Since resources are limited, taking advantage of local skills is a great opportunity. It’s not always easy, it takes time, and you have to meet people, but it’s of enormous benefit to the community, which feels respected rather than marginalised.

Are there any spontaneous practices in the public space that help to foster cohesion?
Food is an important tool of cultural identity, especially in contexts of great disorientation. The opportunity to grow traditional foods not only provides a means of subsistence but also enables people to maintain a link with their culture of origin and share it with the local population. This practice creates opportunities for cultural exchange, for example through small food outlets where camp residents can share their cuisine. It can also facilitate the exchange of agricultural or culinary techniques useful to both the refugee and host communities.

What is the relationship between emergency and planning?
Emergency and planning are almost antagonistic, because in an emergency situation, by definition, there is no time or opportunity to plan. However, we mustn’t fall into the trap of continuous emergency either, as that would be naïve, costly, and politically dangerous. In an emergency, many rules have to be waived. Legislation requires time, strict processes, and co-creation, but it is also the only way forward.

What can we learn from housing in emergency contexts?
In emergency contexts, we learn that delaying action progressively reduces the options available, until none are left. Today’s multiple crises, including climate change, teach us that it is essential to act in time, even in Europe, where, despite resources, cities are not ready to face current and future environmental challenges.
In some parts of the world, climate crisis is gradually rendering entire regions uninhabitable. The problem is not just rising temperatures, but the disappearance of vital resources, forcing people to migrate. However, global attention is more often focused on protecting against migratory flows than on long-term interventions to prevent crises.