Almost eight agonizing hours elapsed before help finally reached the remote hamlet of Ardouz in the aftermath of Morocco's devastating earthquake.

This tiny mountain village, nestled in the High Atlas, exudes both a beguiling charm and an unforgiving harshness born of its isolation.

Even now, nearly a week after the nation experienced its deadliest earthquake in generations, some of these mountain settlements remain cut off, inaccessible by road.

Authorities have not disclosed the exact number of such isolated pockets.

However, Ardouz is connected by a single, winding gravel road that winds its way through dusty apple orchards and a dry riverbed, ultimately culminating in steep mountain slopes.

This hamlet, home to approximately 200 people prior to the disaster, can still be reached.

Just under 10 kilometers (about 6 miles) to the south, beyond those towering hills, lies the epicenter of the quake, a place where over 2,900 lives were lost, and hundreds of thousands were rendered homeless.

The indelible scars of that fateful night, which claimed around 20 lives in Ardouz, are etched across the face of Abdelakim Housaini, a 28-year-old who lost his mother and grandparents when their home crumbled on Sept. 8.

He bore witness to the excruciating wait for help for the injured, a wait that, although lengthy, was shorter than in some other isolated regions.

Housaini, a cook by profession based in Casablanca, was visiting his family when disaster struck.

"The nearest hospital is an hour away and doesn't offer many treatments. We couldn't transport or even care for the injured. We kept them warm and waited for rescuers to arrive, which took about eight hours," he recounted.

Many locals in these remote villages are compelled to seek employment in urban centers due to the scarcity of opportunities, while farming remains a critical source of livelihood in these tiny Atlas communities.

The region is not affluent, with the surrounding Al Haouz province reporting a per capita gross domestic product (GDP) of $2,000, while nearby Marrakesh province records nearly $2,800.

Yet, it is not merely poverty that defines the lives of the people in these villages. "The people here were very happy. They led simple and peaceful lives," remarked Mohamed Alayout, a 62-year-old native. "But after the disaster, things have gotten very difficult," he added.

The remoteness of places like Ardouz often forces an early end to formal education, ushering in the start of labor for many youngsters – a situation that is unlikely to improve post-quake.

The local primary school, though still standing, bears significant structural damage, rendering it unfit for use.

The children's chairs and tables remain in place, alongside a poignant reminder of the earthquake, the last lesson still etched on the blackboard: Sept. 8.

"We don't know yet what will happen with the children. We don't have a school anymore," lamented village native Fatima Ajijou, aged 55. "Life was already very hard here before. It's very isolated here, and the earthquake has only made it worse," she continued.

Housaini, who spent his formative years in the village and halted his education at 15 because of the lack of access to secondary schooling, has been a working man ever since.

He acknowledges the challenges faced by the village's residents even before the powerful earthquake, which decimated around 10% of the population and left nearly every home either destroyed or uninhabitable.

Now, survivors are residing in government-issued aid tents that lack flooring and will prove wholly inadequate as shelter once the rainy season and cold weather descend upon the village, situated at an altitude of 1,700 meters (5,500 feet).

Amid these difficulties, Housaini clings to his cherished memories of childhood play and mountain hikes, relishing the panoramic views across miles of rugged terrain. "We aren't isolated here — that's in the cities where you can't breathe," he said, a hint of a smile gracing his lips.