26 May 2026 7:00 pm
Istanbul’s Ayamama Life Valley: A Green Transformation

Istanbul’s Ayamama Life Valley: A Green Transformation

Istanbul’s Ayamama Life Valley brings a stream corridor back to life

Eurocities

What was once a stream corridor prone to dangerous flooding has been transformed into a thriving ecological park. Urban and Regional Planner Dr. Melek Karahasan explains how Istanbul’s Ayamama Life Valley became one of the city’s most beloved public spaces.

Grey to green

As one of the world’s most densely populated cities, access to nature in Istanbul is not always guaranteed. The city is home to 16 million residents with tourists bumping that number up to 20 million. Per person, Istanbul has around eight square meters of green space, roughly the size of a parking space – well below European averages.

As a flagship of Istanbul’s Green Strategy, the project is transforming a 800,000 m² degraded stream corridor into a resilient ecological park using nature-based solutions. The corridor had long been a symbol of urban neglect. It was an industrially polluted stream bed surrounded by uncontrolled development, dumping sites, and chronic flooding. The urban heat island effect, caused by intensive concrete surfaces, compounded the problem. It was a space to be avoided rather than enjoyed.

The project set out to change that through innovative ecological engineering. Techniques like hydroseeding, which rapidly establishes vegetation by spraying seeds and nutrients across the land, alongside native planting and permeable surfaces, helped restore ecological balance while reducing flood risk and heat.Over the past five years, 6,000 mature trees have been planted, sequestering 132 tonnes of CO₂ annually.

The stream corridor that people once avoided has now become an active urban living space. — Dr. Melek Karahasan, Urban and Regional Planner in Istanbul

As Melek puts it, “The stream corridor that people once avoided has now become an active urban living space.”

High stakes, high ambition

The combination of a rapidly growing population, unplanned urbanisation, industrial activity, and insufficient drainage infrastructure had turned the Ayamama stream into a disaster waiting to happen. The corridor had flooded before with fatal consequences. In 2009, flash floods claimed 31 lives and injured 50 people.

“The devastating floods showed us clearly the critical vulnerability of the region and what would continue to happen if we didn’t take action.”

In 2019, Istanbul Metropolitan Municipality launched the Ayamama Life Valley project. Rather than looking for a purely technical fix, the city looked outward for inspiration from projects that have taken a holistic approach to stream restoration: Catharijnesingel restoration in Utrecht, Madrid Río, and the Cheonggyecheon restoration in Seoul. Each offered a proven model for transforming neglected urban waterways into thriving public spaces.

For Melek, the ambition went beyond flood control. “We didn’t want to just restore the stream. We wanted to create new green spaces surrounding the stream area.”

From corridor to community

From the outset, the project approached climate action as an opportunity for broader urban transformation that could address public health, social inclusion, and economic resilience all at once. The blue-green infrastructure at the heart of the project does multiple jobs simultaneously. It reduces the urban heat island effect, improves air quality, and creates continuous cycling and walking corridors that encourage more active lifestyles.

Melek explains, “The Ayamama Life Valley goes beyond restoration. It’s not just a technical process or intervention. As we restore the natural processes, we are addressing Istanbul’s urban challenges at the same time.”

As we restore the natural processes, we are addressing Istanbul’s urban challenges at the same time.  — Dr. Melek Karahasan

That philosophy shaped every decision. Rather than importing the models from Seoul, Madrid, or Utrecht as ready-made solutions, Istanbul adapted what it had learned to fit its own reality. “We carefully adapted these projects to our unique challenges,” says Melek.

Across departments, across the city

One of the biggest challenges the team faced was the sheer number of institutions involved. The Ayamama corridor cuts through a dense urban fabric where responsibilities are divided across multiple municipal departments: water management, urban planning, and public green spaces. Each department comes with their own expertise and priorities.

Gathering all the actors to collaborate posed challenges. The area had long been marked by illegal dumping and encroachment, and clearing it required permissions and coordination across departments that did not usually work together. “You need to create a good consortium,” Melek says. “For example, when we began cleaning the illegal dumping sites around the stream, we had to involve many different institutions.”

That coordination eventually became one of the project’s greatest strengths. By bringing together water infrastructure, alongside urban planning, parks, and transportation departments, the project was able to tackle flood risk, green space, public health, and mobility in a single integrated effort rather than a series of disconnected interventions.

The corridor comes back to life

Where people once avoided the Ayamama corridor, it is now attracting people young and old. “Before this project they were scared of being in that region,” Melek says. “But now they can access green space, spend time, and enjoy themselves with their friends and family.”

The change goes beyond simply having a nicer place to walk. The valley connects neighbourhoods that were previously cut off from one another, bringing together residents from across Istanbul’s socioeconomic spectrum.

“It’s now a place where people of all ages, classes and abilities meet each other.”

The park is free, accessible, and designed around universal design principles, with barrier-free pathways and facilities for all ages. It has even been designed to function as an emergency assembly area in the event of a disaster.

Nature is returning too. Since the valley’s creation, colleagues have reported spotting new bird species in the area. “We’re seeing more and more native birds return to the stream,” Melek says. “People are noticing the difference. The park brings them closer to nature.”

We’re seeing more and more native birds return to the stream. People are noticing the difference. The park brings them closer to nature.

— Dr. Melek Karahasan

The numbers back this up: 6,000 mature trees planted over five years are sequestering 132 tonnes of CO₂ annually. The economic benefits are tangible too. The project has stimulated small-scale commerce, created jobs in park management and maintenance, and by reducing flood risk, lowered the long-term cost of disaster recovery for the city.

A sustainable blueprint

The Ayamama Life Valley was built for Istanbul, but its lessons are applicable to cities worldwide. “We know we are not alone in our struggles. Learning from other cities was a crucial first step for us in our process. Now, we are happy to share our story with cities who come to learn from our success.”

Other cities are taking note. Other district municipalities within Istanbul have already reached out, asking how they can apply the life valley concept to their own stream corridors. The approach is designed to travel: the techniques used like hydroseeding, native and drought-resistant planting, permeable surfaces, can all be adapted to different climate zones. The model of converting neglected, hazardous stream corridors into green infrastructure is one that many cities around the world will recognise as their own problem too.

What makes the Ayamama Life Valley truly transferable, though, is not just the technical toolkit but the governance model behind it. Getting departments around the same table, aligning water management, transportation, urban planning, and parks, is often the hardest part of projects like this. Istanbul has shown it can be done.

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Istanbul’s Ayamama LIfe Valley is one of the shortlisted ‘City Initiatives’ at the Eurocities Awards 2026. You can view the full awards shortlist here.

The winners will be announced at the Eurocities Annual Conference in Utrecht, 8-10 June 2026. Register for the Annual Conference to join the ceremony.

Photos copyright: City of Instanbul. 

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How Saudi Arabia’s Spending Spree Affected Growth

How Saudi Arabia’s Spending Spree Affected Growth

Mosque, Mecca, building, skyscraper by Mahdi-Artist69 via Pixabay

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How Saudi Arabia’s spending spree reached the end of the line

  • BBC Published – 25 May 2025

 

By Sebastian Usher, Global affairs correspondent

Autocratic monarchs once left an echo of their glory in the ruins of the megaprojects they commanded at the peak of their unchallenged power. Those monumental physical traces are to be found in the fertile plains, mountainsides and deserts of the Middle East. But one of their most prominent modern counterparts may only have a digital footprint to leave behind for some of his most ambitious concepts.

 

How Saudi Arabia's Spending Spree Affected Growth A composite image showing Crown Prince of Saudi Arabia Mohammed bin Salman and a city with palm treesA decade ago, the Crown Prince of Saudi Arabia Mohammed bin Salman – or MBS as he is widely known – decreed a revisioning of his country that leapt from the realm of science fiction. It was called Vision 2030. Extraordinary monolithic structures were to help bring forth new technological marvels not just for the Kingdom but for the world.

Those ideas were made manifest in lavish PR material conjuring up fantastical landscapes that attracted reams of coverage that mingled awe and derision. It was made possible by the near $1trn (£744bn) sovereign wealth fund of Saudi Arabia (PIF) whose riches, so dependent on oil, were to be used to create the foundation for a future without oil.

How Saudi Arabia's Spending Spree Affected Growth A futuristic building that rises into a point in the middle. It is called Gidori and is an 'ultra modern community' that is part of the Neom developmentImage source, NEOM

Saudi has taken on mammoth building projects such as this one called Gidori as part of its regeneration drive

Four years from 2030, there has now been, perhaps predictably, a retrenchment. Part of that is down to financial imperatives, as a big fall in oil prices before the current war in the Middle East meant that even Saudi Arabia’s extraordinary wealth took a hit.

Even though those prices have now shot up because of the war, the uncertainty created by the conflict will continue to put constraints on Saudi revenue and spending. And the influx of foreign investment in these hyper-expensive visionary projects has never materialised to the degree on which the Saudis had been banking.

But is it a recalibration or a retreat?

From fantasy to realism

Some of the most striking projects are now being watered down, put on hold or even abandoned. Several come under the once all-embracing umbrella of the $500bn Neom mega-project.

It looks like The Line, which was meant to redefine the concept of a city as it stretched ramrod straight across more than 100 miles (161km) of untapped land in the north west of Saudi Arabia, looming taller than The Shard, is being turned into something considerably more prosaic.

How Saudi Arabia's Spending Spree Affected Growth A computer-generated image showing a white line crossing Saudi land by the seaImage source, NEOM

The Line as it was imagined

The winter resort of Trojena in the mountains of the north west has also been reined in. There is snow up there, belying the image of Saudi Arabia as an unyielding desert, but it doesn’t last very long. The concept of a year-round mountain resort took the area into a realm of artificiality that is no longer seen as viable. There were to have been miles of ski slopes and a full-on ski village with a man-made lake and luxury hotels and shops – a mini St Moritz in the mountains of Arabia. It was meant to have been ready in time to host the Asian Winter Games in 2029, but that has now been cancelled, with the Games to be held in Kazakhstan instead.

The Cube – a massive structure of flats and offices that could have contained the Empire State Building 20 times over – has been jettisoned entirely. It was set to cost an estimated $50bn.

Most recently, one of the apparent crown jewels of the Kingdom’s vaulting ambition to become a world powerhouse of sport from a standing start, the LIV Golf tour, has been reassessed as a hugely expensive dud that’s cost some $5bn to date and brought neither a financial nor a reputational return.

Some longtime observers of Saudi Arabia, such as Ellen R Wald, the author of Saudi, Inc., feel like they’ve seen it all before.

“This is the same playbook, the same thing again with The Line. You know, ‘We’re going to build this huge thing. Oh wait, well now we’re going to significantly downscale it.’ And it’s the same thing over and over again, and it’s been that way even since before Mohammed bin Salman. They make these big announcements, they’re very splashy, and then it either doesn’t get built or it gets built in a significantly scaled down or [in a] ‘not what it was’ way.”

Map of northwest Saudi Arabia highlighting the planned NEOM development area along the Red Sea coast, near the borders with Egypt and Jordan. A shaded region marks the “Area of NEOM Projects,” including locations labelled Trojena inland, Sindalah offshore, and Oxagon further south on the coast. A dashed strip along the coast indicates the Magna coastal resorts. A red line across the southern part of the region shows the original planned route of “The Line.” A scale shows 25 km (25 miles).
Infographic illustrating the scale of Saudi Arabia’s planned linear city, “The Line.” Two maps show its 170 km length compared to distances from Bristol to London in the UK and from Los Angeles to San Diego in the US. A size comparison below shows The Line as a 500 m tall, 200 m wide structure, towering above landmarks including Big Ben’s Elizabeth Tower (96 m), the Eiffel Tower (330 m), and the Empire State Building (443 m).

Wald recalls the new cities that were to be built in the 2000s under a previous monarch, King Abdullah.

The “Economic Cities” programme was also aimed at diversifying the Saudi economy away from oil, which has been a perennial imperative in the Kingdom for decades. Relying almost entirely on one natural resource that will not last for ever has long been seen as an obstacle to the development of a much more well-rounded and resilient economy.

The results were largely underwhelming even as billions of dollars were expended. Several of the proposed cities never got off the ground, others were recast as more modest enterprises. The biggest, the $100bn King Abdullah Economic City on the Red Sea coast north of Jeddah, did come to fruition, but the goal of it becoming a business and tourism hub hasn’t materialised.

The hope had been to bring in major new foreign investment and create jobs – real ones, away from the calcified state sector – for Saudi Arabia’s large and ever-growing young population. But by 2016, the rate of unemployment still stood at around 12%.

Wald thinks there is a fundamental failure to take a realistic view of the potential of such projects by the officials behind them. “Where did they think the market was? Who told them that this was a possibility? There’s a big ‘yes man’ mentality. You get people telling the king what he wants to hear. And that goes for consultants too, because they want the big contracts. So, they’ll say what they think their Saudi clients want to hear – and then these things fall short.”

That pattern goes back decades, with foreign companies often not wishing to risk the highly lucrative contracts they’ve secured by asking questions.

Sweeping change

Some believe that when MBS became de facto ruler of the Kingdom in 2017, he inherited a system that badly needed overhauling.

Ghanem Nuseibeh, an economic analyst who’s followed the shifts in Saudi Arabia for years, says MBS inherited “a social economic system that was very much out of touch with the modern world” that was “heading towards total stagnation.”

Vision 2030 was designed to change Saudi Arabia in three ways: economically, politically, but also socially. “The very, very tricky thing for them was that they needed to implement those in concert.”

Illuminated 18th-century mud-brick architecture that served as original home of Saudi royal family and is now UNESCO World Heritage SiteImage source, Getty Images

Saudi royalty now favours glass and steel over traditional materials

The social control exerted by the powerful and very conservative Islamic leadership of the country was seen by MBS and his advisors as a major obstacle in the ability of Saudi Arabia to achieve its full economic potential. Political change under MBS was presented as the handing over for the first time of the reins of power to a more dynamic, younger generation. But this did not mean that any new space for political discourse was allowed.

Indeed – as Nuseibeh acknowledges – MBS himself was responsible for some of the issues that have impeded the scope and rate of change – as well as casting a long shadow over his rule.

Just as he became de facto ruler in 2017, he ordered the mass detention of Saudi Arabia’s elite officials and businessmen in the Ritz-Carlton hotel in Riyadh, which the Saudi government portrayed as a crackdown on corruption, but others saw as a shakedown. And the savage killing of the Saudi journalist Jamal Khashoggi in the country’s consulate in Istanbul in 2018 left a stain on the Crown Prince’s reputation, which may have faded but remains indelible.

One Saudi who has direct experience of how the authorities there deal with dissent is Abdullah al-Ouda, an academic and human rights activist based in the US. His father, Salman al-Ouda, a prominent Saudi Islamic scholar, has been detained in prison since 2017 on charges including “stirring up unrest”.

Abdullah believes that episodes like the Ritz-Carlton purge have been counterproductive to the aim of funding Vision 2030, even if those held in that gilded cage did cough up an estimated $100bn.

MBS in front of large photographsImage source,AFP via Getty Images
Image caption,

MBS has overseen huge changes in the kingdom

“Long term, it’s actually scared away investors, he said. “And all the oppression also affected how investors see Saudi Arabia as a government, as a country, that lacks what investors want, which is predictability. When you have no predictability, you can simply be an investor one day and the next an arbitrary detainee – and nobody wants that.”

Vision 2030 helped shift the conversation, as did the parade of major sports and entertainment events that started coming to Saudi Arabia from 2016, hugely transforming both its internal reality and its outside image. It wasn’t all surface; headline-grabbing moves such as finally giving women the right to drive did shift Saudi Arabian society. To such an extent that a prominent US-based Saudi fashion influencer told me that her Saudi friends teased her for being behind the times in her attitude each time she visited.

But human rights issues still overshadowed these changes. As MBS and the Saudi sovereign fund moved into one new sphere after another, accusations of sportswashing, artwashing, greenwashing and so on have multiplied. Many prominent figures from the world of sport and entertainment have been happy to appear in Saudi Arabia, but others have refused, citing its human rights record. Thousands of fans have flocked to Riyadh for events such as motor racing and boxing, but other potential tourists have been put off by negative views of the Kingdom.

That doesn’t, however, negate the fact that for many young Saudis, the ambitions of MBS have been inspiring and popular.

Saving Vision 2030

The big cutback in spending on some of the flashiest projects – which looks to the outside world like at least a partial admission of failure – is being cast in as positive a light as the Saudi authorities can manage.

“The thinking now is to basically get small wins, small successes here and there, instead of these mega projects,” says Abdullah. “Like, for example, the Red Sea island resort of Sindalah could be one small win that they can promote, which is basically a very traditional style of resort, which can still be presented as part of the vision, instead of the likes of The Line and The Cube. And so they can say, ‘these represent the basis of Neom, and we didn’t have to have the whole thing’.”

This tracks with what the authorities have started saying. The governor of the PIF, Yasir al-Rumayyan, has recently said that under a new five-year plan, the fund would “focus, through its strategy, on improving the efficiency of its spending and disbursements, along with a sustainable evaluation of the performance of its businesses, to achieve a balance and ensure the sustainability of its financial resources”.

For some analysts, this re-focusing is essentially the best option for the Saudi authorities and a way for them to save Vision 2030 itself.

Thamer Shaker, a prominent Saudi businessman and management consultant, frames it differently: “What we are seeing is the natural evolution from an ambition-led phase into an execution-led phase. Every major national transformation reaches a point where prioritisation, sequencing, and resource allocation become more important than the scale of announcements themselves.”

Some of the headline projects – which are less sci-fi in concept – will continue to be developed. That includes the remodelling and revival of the old capital, Diriyah, in Riyadh and the massive state-of-the-art theme park Six Flags Qiddiya City, also near the Saudi capital. The successful development of the ancient site of AlUla in the north, famed for Nabataean monuments that rival Petra, is a template for how such projects can be accomplished.

A large yellow rock monument looms against a bright blue skyImage source,Getty Images
Image caption,

AlUla is one of the country’s many ancient monuments

The project to transform a once-forgotten corner of the Kingdom into the flagship project of Saudi Arabia’s revamped national and cultural identity has cost several billion dollars already, with billons more earmarked to try to further develop it into a global tourism hub. A more achievable objective than, for example, The Line.

And of course in sport, the Saudis managed to secure one of the biggest of all prizes, the football World Cup in 2034. There’s no doubt that MBS will try to ensure that there will be a visionary element to the designs, although some of the more ambitious concepts appear to have been reined in to try to keep the cost under some measure of control.

A computer-generated image showing a man in traditional Saudi dress and a woman in Western clothing overlooking a large football stadiumImage source,NEOM
Image caption,

Saudi Arabia has positioned itself as a magnet for sports (computer-generated image)

Saudi officials are clearly trying to portray the relative openness about changing course over Vision 2030 as a break with the past of concealment and obfuscation. The sense given is that they have owned up to mistakes and corrected their course.

A specialist in the political and economic dynamics of the Gulf, Mate Szalai, says this is helpful up to a point for foreign politicians and diplomats.

“For them, the fact that the Saudis at least partly admit their mistakes and talk about them, that’s definitely a positive sign. But I don’t think that this goes as far as most investors and most stakeholders want it to.”

The Saudi businessman Thamer Shaker is more sanguine: “In many cases, disciplined prioritisation can actually increase investor confidence… The conversation internationally is increasingly shifting from ‘how big are the announcements?’ to ‘how credible is the execution model?'”

Turning off the tap

The reassessment of Vision 2030 was already under way before the war between the US, Israel and Iran. The conflict has sent a shockwave through the status quo across the Gulf region and raised doubts about the strategy the UAE spearheaded of becoming a commercial and tourist hub for the world, which Saudi Arabia had clearly wanted not just to emulate but to outdo.

Szalai says just months into its recalibration, the war has caused further confusion over the future direction of Vision 2030.

“Before the war, the key areas where the Saudis wanted to have more investment were AI and various other, substantive projects – tourism, manufacturing and mining, and some local industries. But all of these have been severely affected by the war, except for mining.

“Before the war, the main message was that now Neom is going to be redefined as a hub for industries focusing on AI. Which makes sense in the context of the war, of course, but it shows that the main message is changing on a monthly basis. And that indicates some strategic confusion. But it’s also a positive sign in the sense that Saudi officials know that they have to come up with a new plan.”

An oil rig worker wearing a white hard het and khaki boiler suit looks away from the cameraImage source, Reuters

Saudi has been trying hard to shake its economic dependency on oil

Vision 2030 has helped the emergence of a different Saudi Arabia, to the celebration of some and condemnation of others.

But if there were three pillars to the transformation, there is still a long way to go.

Politically, dissent has been punished as severely as ever.

Socially, there have been big changes so that the very feel of living in a city like Riyadh has been transformed. That’s increased the amount of money that Saudis themselves spend inside the country on a huge range of entertainment that simply didn’t exist 20 years ago.

Economically, the mega projects of Vision 2030 were intended to drive the country forward finally into a future in which private and foreign investment became a match for the immense oil wealth of the state. That has only partly materialised.

For the Saudi leadership, it has of course been presented as a success story, even if not on the scale once envisaged. However much of a visionary MBS would like to be seen as, it seems clear that he and those around him also want to be seem as practical and pragmatic when necessary.

 


 

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How the Great Pyramid of Giza Has Survived Earthquakes

How the Great Pyramid of Giza Has Survived Earthquakes

Great Pyramid of Giza, Egypt, by rperucho via Pixabay

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How the Great Pyramid of Giza has survived 4,500 years of Egyptian earthquakes

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By Colin Caprani, Monash University and Scott Menegon, Swinburne University of Technology

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How the Great Pyramid of Giza has survived 4,500 years of Egyptian earthquakes
Nour Wageh / Unsplash

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The Great Pyramid of Giza in Egypt has survived more than 4,500 years. Earthquakes have repeatedly shaken the region, including the magnitude 5.8 Cairo earthquake in 1992, which dislodged some of the pyramid’s outer casing stones. Yet the main body remained essentially intact.

How has it survived so well? A new study of the pyramid’s vibrations by Egyptian geophysicist Asem Salama and colleagues provides insight into its performance during earthquakes, and identifies some interesting features.

But we should be cautious to conclude that its impressive longevity is proof of its builders’ knowledge of earthquake engineering.

What the research found

The researchers measured the pyramid’s vibrations in ambient conditions. They found that its natural frequencies – the frequencies at which it “prefers” to vibrate – are mostly between about 2.0 and 2.6 hertz (cycles per second). The surrounding soil has a much lower dominant frequency, around 0.6Hz.

Every structure has a natural rhythm. Push a child on a swing at the right moment and the motion grows; push at the wrong moment and little happens.

Buildings and monuments behave similarly. If earthquake shaking matches a structure’s natural frequency, the motion can be amplified. This is called resonance, and it can be catastrophic.

A diagram of the inside structure of the Great Pyramid.
A diagram of the inside structure of the Great Pyramid.
Salama et al. / Scientific Reports

The study also reports reduced vibrations near the so-called relieving chambers above the King’s Chamber. These chambers are understood to redirect the enormous weight of stone above, and may also affect how vibration energy moves through the pyramid.

These findings suggest some behaviour that may be helpful during an earthquake, including a frequency mismatch between the pyramid and the soil. But they do not, by themselves, prove people intentionally built the pyramid to be resilient to earthquakes.

How the researchers measured it

The study used a method called horizontal-to-vertical spectral ratio analysis, or HVSR. This records tiny background motions from wind, traffic, human activity and natural ground vibration.

By comparing the horizontal and vertical components of these motions, researchers can estimate dominant frequencies in the soil and structure. In this case, instruments were placed at 37 locations in and around the pyramid, including internal passages, exterior stones and nearby soil.

How the Great Pyramid of Giza has survived 4,500 years of Egyptian earthquakes Man crouching in stone chamber with instruments
Researchers placed sensors in and around the Great Pyramid to measure its vibrations.
Salama et al. / Scientific Reports

This suits a heritage structure. Engineers cannot drill into the Great Pyramid, load it experimentally, or put instruments on it like a modern bridge.

The method provides useful information without damage. However, it only measures the response to small background vibrations, not the severe shaking of an earthquake.

The importance of frequency mismatch

When shaking from an earthquake happens at a frequency that matches a structure’s natural frequency, it can cause resonance. Resonance can be catastrophic.

How the Great Pyramid of Giza Has Survived Earthquakes A collapsed suspension bridge.
The 1940 collapse of the Tacoma Narrows bridge in the US is often attributed to resonance during high winds.
Wikimedia

So the measured difference matters. If the ground and the structure vibrate at different rates, the ground is less likely to feed energy efficiently into the structure.

But this addresses only one possible mechanism of earthquake damage. There are plenty of examples of structures performing poorly in earthquakes, even though there was a frequency mismatch to the soil below.

Earthquake resilience is more complicated

Modern earthquake design does not assess resilience from one frequency comparison.

Instead, we look at a whole list of questions. How severe is the expected shaking? What ground is the structure on? How heavy and flexible is the structure? Can the structure deform and dissipate energy without sudden collapse? How serious would failure be?

The structure’s natural period or rhythm (which is related to its natural frequency) is part of that assessment. But it sits alongside many other factors.

In practice, earthquake damage depends not only on the earthquake but on the structures that receive it. Australia’s 1989 Newcastle earthquake, for example, was not huge by global standards, but many buildings fared poorly and 13 people died.

How the Great Pyramid of Giza Has Survived Earthquakes People in a collapsed building
Australia’s 1989 Newcastle earthquake wasn’t huge – but it caused great damage and 13 deaths.
Australian Earthquake Engineering Society, CC BY

For the Great Pyramid, the behaviour of the stonework is especially important. Ambient vibration testing measures behaviour under very small motions. During strong earthquake shaking, masonry can crack, open joints, rock, slide and lose stiffness. Each of these changes the structure’s natural period, complicating the behaviour.

Beware survivorship bias

In evaluating the pyramid’s longevity, we should also consider survivorship bias.

Famously, in the second world war, statistician Abraham Wald was asked where armour should be added to aircraft. The obvious answer was to reinforce the places where returning aircraft had the most bullet holes.

Wald argued the opposite: those aircraft had survived. The aircraft that did not return were missing from the data.

Diagram of a plane covered in red dots.
This famous diagram shows the pattern of bullet holes on returning aircraft in the second world war.
Martin Grandjean / McGeddon (picture) / US Air Force (hit plot concept) / Wikimedia, CC BY

Ancient structures pose a similar problem. We admire ancient aqueducts, temples and pyramids because they are still here. The failed structures, poor foundations, weak details and abandoned experiments are mostly gone.

That does not diminish the Great Pyramid. It simply means looking at structures that survive today does not tell us everything about the design intentions behind them.

What the pyramid does teach us

The pyramid may not have been intentionally designed for resilience in an earthquake. But its survival is not an accident, either.

From an engineering point of view, it has many favourable features: a broad base, low centre of mass, tapering form, symmetrical plan, competent limestone foundation and massive masonry load path. It is squat, stiff and well-founded rather than tall, slender and flexible.

The safest conclusion is that the builders made excellent empirical engineering choices. Those choices may have been driven by construction experience, observation, structural necessity, or cultural intent. Their seismic benefits may be real without being the original purpose.

The Great Pyramid’s survival is not magic, and it is not proof of ancient seismic design. As evidence, this study is important and impressive, but incomplete.The Conversation

Colin Caprani, Associate Professor, Civil Engineering, Monash University and Scott Menegon, Senior Lecturer, Civil and Construction Engineering, Swinburne University of Technology

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

The Conversation.


 

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Decarbonising Everything is Impossible – Here’s Why

Decarbonising Everything is Impossible – Here’s Why

Captivating view of Sharjah’s skyline reflecting on water at dusk, showcasing modern architecture. by Siarhei Nester via Pexels

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Decarbonising everything is impossible – here’s why

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MOLPIX/Shutterstock, CC BY-NC-ND

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By Muhammad Imran, Aston University

Walk into any supermarket and you are surrounded by carbon. Not the kind measured in parts per million in climate reports, but carbon in its most tangible form: the polymer shell of a shampoo bottle, the insulation behind the ceiling tiles, the synthetic fibres in the bag hanging from your wrist.

These are not accidental byproducts of the fossil fuel era. They are its second act, less visible than combustion but no less consequential.

The global conversation about net zero has been almost entirely about energy. This framing is essential, but it rests on an assumption so embedded it rarely gets examined: that the only thing fossil fuels give us worth worrying about is the energy released when we burn them.

Roughly 15-20% of all fossil fuel consumption is never burned at all. It is transformed into the physical fabric of modern life: plastics, polymers, fertilisers, adhesives, solvents and synthetic textiles. When these products are eventually incinerated, degraded or discarded, their carbon returns to the atmosphere, a contribution to global warming that is real, growing and almost entirely absent from mainstream net zero accounting.

As well as a green energy transition, the material transition needs to be sustainable. But three industries at the heart of this problem are often overlooked: chemical manufacturing, plastic polymers and construction.

The chemical industry is the upstream engine of many modern materials, using about 14% of global oil demand and 8% of global gas demand. Much of that is used as a raw material rather than fuel.

Ammonia, made from natural gas via a century-old process known as Haber-Bosch, underpins the fertilisers that feed roughly half the world’s population. Ethylene, derived from crude oil, is the starting point for an enormous range of plastics, solvents and coatings. Processing carbon is a fundamental part of this industry.

The world produces approximately 400 million tonnes of plastic every year, almost all from fossil feedstocks. Only around 9% is ever recycled. The rest is incinerated, landfilled or lost to the environment. Each pathway returns fossil carbon to the atmosphere at varying speeds.

Mark Maslin, Earth systems scientist at UCL, explains the concept of net zero as part of The Conversation’s quick climate dictionary.

Construction offers more promise. Buildings can stand for 50 to 100 years, so the carbon contained in their materials can remain locked away for decades.

Take timber: trees absorb carbon dioxide as they grow and store that carbon in wood. But the same idea can be extended to engineered materials. Agricultural and forestry residues (such as crop cuttings, twigs and leaves) can be turned into biochar, a stable charcoal-like form of carbon, and used to make aggregates or concrete. Carbon dioxide can be captured using technologies and then converted into construction products, including insulation materials. In each case, carbon is not simply treated as waste; it becomes part of long-lived buildings and infrastructure.

The solution is not to eliminate carbon from industry altogether, but to stop treating fossil carbon as the default raw material.

Chemicals, plastics and construction products will still need carbon, but that carbon does not always have to come from oil, gas or coal. It can come from plant-based sources or waste products from farming or forestry plus other forms of sustainably sourced plant material. It can also come from carbon dioxide captured from industrial processes before it escapes into the atmosphere.

builder's hands in gloves holding yellow wall insulation
Most construction products such as insulation are currently made from fossil-fuel based carbon sources.
Virrage Images/Shutterstock

Used carefully, these carbon sources can help replace fossil fuel-based carbon in polymers, construction products, insulation materials and chemicals.

Careful assessment of these alternatives will ensure they genuinely reduce emissions across a product’s full life cycle. That includes where the carbon came from, how much energy was used to extract it, whether environmental damage to land was avoided, how long the carbon remains in the product, and what happens when the product reaches the end of its life.

A related question is how captured carbon should be managed. Permanently burying captured carbon in underground rocks or the deep ocean removes those atoms from the accessible cycle for millennia, progressively depleting the surface carbon pool on which agriculture and industry both depend. To reach a more circular, less wasteful system, carbon should be kept in circulation and recovered at end of life. Burial should be a last resort.

Moving together

Making this transition work requires six things to move together. New materials must genuinely perform as well as the fossil ones they replace. Sustainable carbon supplies must be mapped honestly, because biogenic carbon (carbon derived from recently living organisms such as plants or algae) is limited so choices about allocation will have to be made.

Policy must reward circular carbon through procurement rules, carbon pricing and regulation. Rigorous life-cycle assessments can verify that new materials are genuinely better, not merely different. End-of-life infrastructure (such as sorting, collection, repair, recycling and safe disposal systems) must be built before production scales up to ensure it’s not an afterthought.

Trust from consumers, retailers and manufacturers will depend on proving where the carbon in a product came from, how it was processed and what happens to it at the end of its life.

The origin of any carbon is invisible. So for the market for circular carbon materials to function transparently, reliable labelling, certification and digital product passports (digital records that highlight a product’s origin, supply chain and environmental impact) are vital.The Conversation

Muhammad Imran, Associate Professor, Mechanical Engineering, Aston University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

The Conversation.


 

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Could This Self-Cooling Mosque Be the Future?

Could This Self-Cooling Mosque Be the Future?

This mosque is one of two buildings that make up the Hikma Community Centre in Niger. On the hottest days it can be up to 15°C cooler inside than it is outside, without the need for air-conditioning. Credit: JamesWang 

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Could this self-cooling mosque be the future of construction in a warming world?

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UNEP

The small town of Dandaji, Niger, sits on the edge of the Sahara Desert. It is a place where temperatures routinely top 45°C, blanketing residents in a suffocating, oven-like heat.

Unless they’re in the town’s mosque.

With its tree-filled garden, soaring ceilings and earthen-brick walls, the building has been designed to chill itself. On the hottest days, it can be up to 15°C cooler than the outside air – without air-conditioning.

The mosque is one of two buildings – the other is a library – that make up the Hikma Community Centre.

 

While it was completed in 2018, the award-winning complex – co-designed by Nigerien architect Mariam Issoufou – is receiving renewed attention as urban areas swelter under record-breaking temperatures.

“Whether you’re in Niamey or New York, climate change is fast making extreme heat the new normal,” says Hongpeng Lei, the Chief of the Climate Mitigation Branch of the United Nations Environment Programme (UNEP). “We need to develop better ways of building if we want our homes and offices to be livable in the years to come.”

The Hikma complex is a marvel of what experts call passive cooling – a smorgasbord of architectural techniques that ease indoor temperatures without the need for air-conditioning.

A prime example of this are the mosque’s walls. Aside from a few concrete ribs, they are built entirely from earthen bricks, which draw inspiration from Niger’s adobe buildings of yore. The bricks are forged by mixing small amounts of cement and water with laterite, a rusty-red soil found across West Africa. More porous than concrete – West Africa’s building material of choice – the bricks allow heat to dissipate at night, keeping temperatures comfortable.

 

Could this self-cooling mosque be the future of construction in a warming world? The outside of an earthern-brick mosque.

The soaring ceilings of the mosque, which measure up to 9 metres high, allow heat to waft up and away from worshippers. Credit: James Wang Since the Hikma complex was completed in 2018, a growing number of West African buildings have used compressed earth bricks, in part because of its influence. That represents a mini-renaissance for a substance once viewed as “backward,” says Issoufou, who created the complex alongside Iranian architect Yasaman Esmaili.

“Since the beginning of the 20th century, concrete has been seen as the material of progress. I was laughed out of rooms when I brought up earth,” she says. “But there is a lot of wisdom embedded in the buildings of the past.”

Another key to the mosque’s cooling is its vaulted ceilings, which range from six to nine metres high. Their loftiness allows hot air to waft up and away from worshippers. Once it reaches the mosque’s roof – a series of earthen brick rings crafted by local masons – it dissipates into the outside air.

The mosque also has precisely aligned doors and windows that allow breeze to pass through when opened. Equally important, the mosque is not one cavernous space. It is split into two sections, or volumes, each with their own doors and windows that face each other.

 

Could this self-cooling mosque be the future of construction in a warming world? The outside of an earthern-brick mosque.
A series of walkways and precisely aligned doors allow breezes to cascade through the mosque. Credit: James Wang 

To keep cool, the mosque has one more trick up its sleeve. Just outside is a tree-filled garden fed by a drip irrigation system, which captures water during Niger’s brief rainy season and stores it in a cistern.

The trees – visible in satellite images – serve two purposes. First, they provide a dose of cooling shade. Second, when the water in their leaves evaporates – a process known as transpiration – it chills the surrounding air.

“We underuse nature,” says Issoufou, who was named a 2025 UNEP Champion of the Earth, the United Nations’ highest environmental honour. “It’s incredibly versatile.”

 

An overhead view of the Hikma Complex, and its gardens, with the new mosque at the bottom and the library at the top. Credit: Courtesy Mariam Issoufou 

Around the world, there is a growing push for architects and city planners to embrace passive cooling strategies, which can lower indoor temperatures by up to 8°C, according to a recent report from UNEP.

Along with keeping congregants cool, there is another big benefit to the way Dandaji’s mosque was built: it has a tiny environmental footprint.

Since the laterite soil in its bricks was sourced locally, builders didn’t need to import huge amounts of concrete from afar, which can drive up greenhouse gas emissions. At the same time, the bricks used far less cement than concrete would have. Cement production is a major source of emissions, as is air conditioning, which the building forgoes. (On the hottest days, mosque officials bring out a few oversized fans.)

 

Could this self-cooling mosque be the future of construction in a warming world?
The new mosque was inspired by Dandaji’s old adobe mosque, which was converted into a library and stands a stone’s throw away. Credit: James Wang 

Many see the complex as an antidote to the resource-heavy construction practices that dominate in most places. Glass, steel, concrete, air-conditioning – these things take energy to manufacture and maintain. In fact, the construction and operation of the world’s buildings consume nearly 50 per cent of raw materials and produce more than one-third of all greenhouse gas emissions, finds UNEP’s new Global Status Report for Buildings and Construction.

Support for more eco-friendly building practices is growing. UNEP, for instance, is working with countries to expand the use of low-carbon and locally sourced materials. In Ghana, it is helping develop affordable, climate-resilient housing, while in Senegal it is backing the production of insulation boards made from typha, a fast-growing local plant. The effort also focuses on training local builders and businesses in techniques like circular construction and climate-sensitive design.

 

 The inside of an adobe library.
The library is widely seen as a marvel of traditional Nigerien architecture and was completely refurbished as the new mosque was built. Credit: James Wang 

While materials like laterite bricks are very specific to West Africa, most countries have their own equivalents, Issoufou says. She points to places like Europe and North America, where cross-laminated timber – made by gluing together wooden planks – is emerging as a low-carbon alternative to concrete and steel. In parts of Asia, bamboo – one of the world’s fastest growing plants – is experiencing a revival because it is strong, sustainable and cheap.

With the planet slipping into an ever-deeper climate crisis, building edifices that are sustainable and that cool themselves is “the rational thing to do,” Issoufou says. “The question is: why would you not do that?”

About World Environment Day

World Environment Day, celebrated annually on 5 June, is one of the planet’s largest platforms for environmental outreach and is led by the United Nations Environment Programme (UNEP). This year’s iteration, hosted by Azerbaijan, will focus on the mushrooming climate crisis. See how you can get involved.

Written by Andrew Raven

Reviewed by: Hanane Hafraoui, Gulnara Roll, Hongpeng Lei

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