Perched high above the Atlantic coastline, the restored citadel of Agadir Oufella stands as a quiet testament to architect Salima Naji’s philosophy. Its earthen walls and timber reinforcements rise from the rubble of a 1960 earthquake, echoing centuries-old construction wisdom while meeting modern safety standards. In December 2025, this blend of past and present earned Naji one of architecture’s highest honors for women: the 2025 International Prize for Women Architects, awarded by the French organization ARVHA[1]. The prize’s jury hailed Naji’s “deeply engaged and distinctive” approach, which “combines respect for heritage, territories, and history with contemporary and sustainable innovation”[2]. For architects and enthusiasts, Naji’s recognition is a watershed moment – highlighting how building with local materials and cultural memory can be as powerful as steel and glass, and how an African woman architect from Morocco is reshaping the global conversation on sustainable design.
Roots in Rabat and Paris: An Architect-Anthropologist’s Journey
Salima Naji’s life bridges worlds. Born in 1970 in Rabat to a French mother and Moroccan father, she grew up exploring Morocco’s diverse landscapes at her topographer father’s side[3]. “We would join him all over the kingdom… sleeping with locals [in remote areas]… That’s how I knew the Moroccan territories by heart,” Naji recalls of those formative 1970s journeys[4]. This early immersion in village life and vernacular environments instilled in her a profound “sense of the land” and an appreciation for traditional building practices. It also sowed the seeds of a lifelong mission: to honor and preserve Morocco’s architectural heritage.
Naji pursued formal education in France, where she earned her architecture degree at the prestigious École Nationale Supérieure d’Architecture de Paris-Belleville[5]. Not content with a conventional path, she also obtained a doctorate in social anthropology from the École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales (EHESS) in Paris[6][7]. This rare dual expertise – architecture and anthropology – would define her career. “Architecture involves both tangible and intangible practices,” Naji says, explaining that her multidisciplinary training helped her view buildings not just as aesthetic objects, but as living cultural artifacts shaped by people’s rituals, histories, and environments[8].
In 2004, after her studies, Naji returned to Morocco to establish her practice[9]. By 2008 she settled in the southern town of Tiznit, determined to work where “the patrimoine rural et urbain se détériore” – rural and urban heritage were in decline[10]. Forgoing the glamour of big-city commissions, she drove deep into the Anti-Atlas mountains and Sahara-edge oases, often traveling for hours over unpaved roads to reach crumbling granaries, kasbahs, and villages off the grid. Her goal was twofold: “to preserve the collective memory of local communities and transmit traditional know-how adapted to contemporary challenges”[11]. This sense of duty to be useful to her homeland’s most overlooked treasures became Naji’s guiding force.
A Philosophy of Sustainability, Vernacular Craft, and Cultural Memory
In an age of rapid urbanization and uniform concrete construction, Salima Naji champions an opposite vision – one rooted firmly in local soil. Her architectural philosophy centers on building with earth, stone, and the past, as tools for a more sustainable future. Every project is approached as an act of cultural preservation and ecological responsibility rather than mere construction. “Returning to the wisdom of the ancients will provide us a strategic vision for a better life of tomorrow… a change in the way things are built has become a necessity, and not just in the South,” Naji argues, referring to regions like her native Morocco[12]. In a country facing water scarcity and climate stress, she believes traditional techniques honed over centuries – thick earthen walls, natural ventilation, local materials – hold keys to resilient design. “Acknowledging the wisdom of our heritage can offer us a strategic vision of a better life for tomorrow,” Naji says, underscoring that lessons from vernacular architecture are globally relevant in the face of climate change[12].
Central to Naji’s approach is working with communities rather than over them. She often begins by listening to elders and craftspeople, learning about indigenous building methods passed down through generations. Where modern regulations or attitudes have eroded these practices, she fights to reintroduce them. “Technics unlearned had to be re-conquered,” she notes of one project – a telling remark on how local craftsmanship had nearly been forgotten[13]. In each project, Naji prioritizes using natural, locally available materials – adobe, rammed earth, stone, palm wood – both for sustainability and to revive pride in “techniques vernaculaires… ancrées dans des territoires avec des maîtres artisans” (vernacular techniques rooted in local territories with master artisans)[14]. By actively involving these artisans and training younger laborers on site, she ensures that building becomes an act of knowledge transmission. Over time, Naji has helped rebuild local expertise in earthen construction, which “in turn [is] passed on to younger builders”, as one observer noted[15]. This participatory, human-centered process lends her work a “profoundly human and participative” character, as jurors of a French architecture award remarked[16].
Importantly, Naji’s work is not about freezing the past in amber or mimicking a quaint “Moroccan style.” As jury president Sophie Berthelier put it, Naji’s career is a “fusion of the past, the present and the future”, reinventing ancestral techniques “to offer a resolutely modern and durable architectural vision”[17]. In practice, this means her designs often look contemporary even as they employ age-old methods. She might top a community center with a striking geometric lattice of palm wood, or shape a facade with rhythmic earthen forms that feel at once ancient and new. Critic Rowan Moore noted that Naji’s buildings are “new works with graceful geometries and details” rather than nostalgic reproductions[18]. In Agadir’s new hilltop visitor center, for example, walls are built in a staggered weave of timber beams and dry-stacked stones – an update of a traditional anti-seismic technique that creates a visually modern pattern while bracing for future earthquakes[19]. This blending of innovation and tradition illustrates what another juror, Martin Robain, praised as Naji’s ability to “reinvest and perfect vernacular techniques to create contemporary architecture… supported by deep knowledge of local territories,” all in pursuit of “sustainable development… to reduce the destructive impact of concrete construction”[20]. In short, Naji uses the past not as a picturesque ornament, but as a springboard to build responsibly for today’s social and environmental needs.
Landmark Projects: Building on Heritage and Community
Over two decades, Salima Naji has applied her philosophy across a remarkable portfolio – from remote villages to Morocco’s biggest city – always infusing new life into old places. The Women Architects Prize citation singled out five projects that epitomize her impact: the Agadir Oufella Citadel, a Women’s House and Maternity Center in Tissint, the Villa Carl Ficke in Casablanca, Dar Sania (House of Artisans) in Oum Gardane, and the Colonial Souk of Tablaba[2]. Each tells a story about architecture’s power to heal communities and bridge eras.
Agadir Oufella Citadel – Reconstructing Memory: Perhaps Naji’s most complex undertaking, the regeneration of the Agadir Oufella citadel (2017–2022) is a masterclass in sensitive restoration. The hilltop fortress overlooking Agadir was largely destroyed in a 1960 earthquake that killed thousands – its rubble entombing victims and painful memories. Rather than a superficial rebuild, Naji approached Oufella as what it truly is: a sacred ruin and symbol of trauma[21][22]. She navigated intense local debates over whether to reconstruct the kasbah exactly as it was or leave it untouched as a memorial. Engaging survivors and religious authorities, she obtained a special dispensation (fatwa) to allow careful archaeological work on site while respecting the unmarked graves beneath[23].
The resulting restoration does not erase the tragedy – it commemorates it. Naji deliberately distinguished original remnants from new construction with different tones of lime plaster, linked by what she poetically calls a “cerne de la douleur” (contour of pain) tracing the seismic rupture[24][25]. New walls rise only to the height of collapse lines, so the skyline of the ruin remains jagged, not falsified. To avoid any Disney-like “reconstruction” of the old city, modern amenities are hidden discreetly: a small museum, café and facilities are built semi-underground, preserving the citadel’s austere silhouette[26][27]. Pathways for visitors gently follow the footprints of streets destroyed in 1960[28], turning the site into a living outdoor museum of itself. Crucially, Naji insisted that only traditional materials be used: seismic-resistant stone and rammed earth walls with wood lattices, all crafted by local Anti-Atlas artisans[29][30]. The anti-seismic construction techniques she employed – a revival of an old Atlas Mountains method of interlocking wood and stone – imbue the new work with resilience[31][32]. For Agadir and Morocco, the rebirth of Oufella is deeply symbolic: a long-neglected lieu de mémoire reconciled with modern safety and community healing. Internationally, it has been hailed as a model for post-disaster heritage restoration – winning Naji the 2023 Philippe Rotthier European Prize for Architecture for vernacular innovation[33]. Visiting the citadel today, one sees not a pastiche of an old fort, but what observers call “a resilient monument, where the memory of the departed finally dialogues with the survival of a saved heritage”[27][34]. It is Moroccan and universal at once, a place where, as one magazine described, “transmission, human dignity and respect for the living” are made tangible in earth and stone[35].
Tissint Women’s House – Tradition for Health and Empowerment: Far from any city, in the arid landscape of Tissint, Naji designed a combined women’s community house and maternity center that opened in 2017. This project exemplifies how she adapts vernacular architecture to serve contemporary social needs. Rural southern Morocco has long suffered from high maternal mortality and a lack of safe spaces for women; building a maternity clinic here quite literally saves lives. But rather than import an alien concrete clinic, Naji conceived a facility drawn from local building customs so that it feels of the community. She “designs new buildings with [the] techniques” she revives, noted The Guardian, citing the Tissint maternity as a prime example[36]. The center is built of stabilized adobe and stone, its walls thick enough to buffer the desert heat naturally[37]. Naji incorporated features like oculi (small screened openings) and a bioclimatic gallery that ventilate and cool the interior without mechanical aid[38] – a sustainable design perfectly suited to Tissint’s hot climate. The architecture also draws on local aesthetics so that women recognize it as their space: courtyards for gathering, earthy textures, and detailing inspired by oasis craft. Perhaps most importantly, the project became a community endeavor. Faced with bureaucratic barriers (local authorities initially insisted on a concrete frame by law), Naji pushed back and proved that traditional materials could meet standards[39][40]. In doing so, she had to “convince administrations to change the regulations,” a battle to which she remains committed[41]. The result in Tissint is more than a building: it’s a statement that even critical modern infrastructure can be achieved in harmony with vernacular wisdom. The women using the center not only receive care in a culturally familiar environment, but also take pride in a structure that embodies their heritage. Tissint’s Women’s House thus stands as a quiet rebellion against the “sorry breeze-block constructions… invading the village” – an proof that low-tech architecture can better serve community needs than imported concrete boxes[42].
Villa Carl Ficke – Casablanca’s Memory Restored: In recent years, Naji’s reputation for saving heritage reached Casablanca, Morocco’s sprawling commercial capital. There, an elegant but derelict villa built in 1913 by a German merchant, Carl Ficke, had been crumbling in neglect and was nearly lost to development. Instead, it has been reborn as Casablanca’s Museum of Memory through Naji’s meticulous restoration – a project that broadened her canvas from earthen villages to an urban colonial-era landmark. The Villa Carl Ficke was a storied place: designed in a neo-Moorish style by architect Ulysse Tonci, it witnessed a turbulent history (from its builder’s demise to use as a detention center, then a girls’ school)[43]. By the time Naji was called in, the villa was in ruins, its roof collapsing and interiors vandalized. She approached it like an archaeological dig and oral history combined. “Anthropologically inspired by a deep knowledge of this pre-colonial monument and its history – gleaned from some of Carl Ficke’s own family members – she managed to breathe authentic life back into its walls”, wrote Pouvoirs d’Afrique magazine of Naji’s efforts[44]. She reinforced the structure and carefully restored faded ornamentation, all while respecting the building’s various historical layers.
When Villa Carl Ficke reopened in early 2025 as a public museum, visitors marveled that Casablanca “finally has a museum to tell its own story”[45]. Locals noted that the economic capital had long needed such a memorial landmark[46]. Naji’s work drew high praise: “an exemplary restoration that illustrates the Kingdom’s commitment to preserving its urban memory,” declared Morocco’s culture minister at the inauguration[47]. Catherine Jacquot, president of France’s Académie d’Architecture, also lauded how Naji “integrates architecture harmoniously while respecting the place”[48]. Indeed, rather than impose flashy new designs, Naji let the villa’s own heritage shine. She retained original elements wherever possible and used artistic subtlety in new interventions. For example, damaged wall sections were repaired with lime plaster using turn-of-the-century techniques, and missing woodwork was remade by Moroccan artisans to match historic photos. The result feels authentic, not pastiche – walking through the halls “was like traveling through time,” as one reporter observed, with each room telling a chapter of Casablanca’s cosmopolitan past[49]. For Naji, who traveled from distant Tiznit for the opening, this project was deeply moving: it proved that her ethos of preservation could find a place even in Morocco’s largest metropolis, bridging a gap between rural vernacular heritage and urban architectural history. The Villa Carl Ficke’s rebirth as a museum has given Casablanca a sorely needed cultural institution, and it stands as a model for adaptive reuse of colonial-era architecture in Africa’s rapidly modernizing cities[50]. It’s no surprise that later in 2024, Naji was honored with the Grande Médaille d’Or (Gold Medal) of the French Academy of Architecture for “alliant le patrimoine vernaculaire et la modernité” – her knack for uniting vernacular heritage and modernity[51]. The villa’s restoration, noted one award juror, “reinvigorates traditions and ancestral techniques to offer a modern and sustainable vision”, encapsulating why Naji’s work garners such admiration[17].
Dar Sania, Oum Gardane – House of Artisans: Back in Morocco’s southern oasis lands, one of Naji’s pivotal community projects is the House of Artisans (Dar Sania) in Oum Gardane, Tata Province. Completed in 2018, this center – also referred to as a “House of Women’s Craft” – was conceived as a place to empower local craftspeople (especially women) and sustain traditional craft industries in a remote area. Naji’s design for Dar Sania reactivates the architecture of the oasis itself: its walls are built of local mud (stabilized adobe) and stone, materials abundant in the area[37]. By using thick earthen masonry, the building naturally insulates against desert extremes, providing a cool haven for artisans to work and gather. What’s striking is how forward-looking the design is even as it embraces age-old methods. Naji incorporated a thermal regulation system into the architecture – including carefully placed openings and a shaded gallery – which ventilates the interiors while shielding them from harsh sunlight[38]. These bioclimatic features draw on vernacular knowledge (the idea of the “malqaf” or wind-catcher and the cooling effect of shaded courtyards), yet they also represent innovation in a region where many newer buildings ignore such passive design principles.
The Dar Sania project also became a demonstration of economic and social sustainability. By relying on locally sourced mud and stone, costs were kept low – “contrary to received ideas, this turned out less costly” than building with imported materials, Naji notes, given the abundance of stone on site[52]. The project was funded by a regional development agency as part of an initiative to boost the Southern oases, and Naji seized the opportunity to train local labor in the construction process. In her words, it “uses stone and mud for its walls, ennobling this forgotten technique” and creating “real economies of scale in sustainable development” by limiting outside resources[40]. The very act of building Dar Sania doubled as a workshop in ancestral skills: villagers who helped build with adobe and stone relearned techniques their grandparents knew, from mixing straw-packed earth to laying resilient drystone foundations. Referencing the nearby architectural heritage – such as the region’s communal fortified granaries and historic mud-brick mosques – Naji’s team showed that those “carefully considered ancestral skills” still outperform the “sorry breeze-block” concrete constructions creeping into the oasis[42]. Today Dar Sania is a hub where local artisans produce crafts for sale and hold workshops, sustaining livelihoods. Architecturally, it stands as a beacon of how “reactivating the logic of vernacular architecture” can directly benefit communities[53]. What could have been a forgettable concrete vocational center instead became a beautiful, climate-responsive structure that dignifies both its users and its natural surroundings.
Colonial Souk of Tablaba – Reviving a Lost Marketplace: In the palm groves of Taghjijt, in Morocco’s deep south, Salima Naji took on the challenge of rehabilitating the former colonial market of Tablaba, a sprawling mud-brick souk dating back to 1940[54]. By the 21st century, this once-bustling market complex had partially collapsed and fallen out of use, its remnants even bisected by a new road[55]. A “strict restoration” of Tablaba was impossible – too much had been lost – so Naji opted for something more creative: a hybrid memorial and educational site that both preserves the ruins and inserts new structures for contemporary use[55][56]. Any intervention here had to be extraordinarily delicate, balancing respect for what remained with the needs of the present-day community.
Naji’s rehabilitation of Tablaba put traditional building techniques front and center. In fact, the project became a proving ground (and training ground) for reviving vernacular construction in the entire region. “All the ancestral processes are given pride of place in a logic of innovation and pilot training for the Guelmim-Oued Noun province,” Naji writes of the souk’s rebirth[57]. Starting in 2014, as soon as a new Moroccan decree legalized raw earth construction again, she was “given very free rein” by the project’s public sponsors to build without the usual constraints of modern concrete standards[58]. This freedom allowed her to reassemble parts of the souk using original clay bricks and timber, and even to partially rebuild collapsed sections in raw earth according to traditional methods[58]. Equally important, Naji established a training program on site, so that local workers and engineers could learn how to mix earthen mortars, lay mud bricks, and construct wooden palm-trunk roofing in the old way[59][60]. This hands-on school ensured that Tablaba’s restoration had an impact beyond just one market: it helped “recover vernacular methods while also reviving building trades” across the region[59]. Young artisans who trained at Tablaba have since carried those skills to other projects, seeding a revival of sustainable techniques.
The finished Tablaba complex is neither a ruined relic nor a faux-historic reconstruction. Naji kept one portion as a “memorial space” – a roofless remnant conserved in its ruined state for posterity[60]. Adjacent to it, she inserted new built structures (in earth, wood, and locally dyed palm fronds) inspired by the original souk’s forms but serving new purposes for the community[61]. One striking feature is the restored market hall ceiling, woven from palm and laurel wood in a traditional geometric pattern; this detail, highlighted by observers, exemplifies how Naji “has revived traditional building methods” to beautiful effect[62]. The rehabilitated parts of Tablaba now host cultural events, handicraft fairs, and gatherings, giving the site “a new life” as Naji intended[63]. By linking the memory of the old souk with the reality of new uses, she created a living monument to local heritage. The Journal of Traditional Building noted that this project was “not the reconstruction of the original complex… but a rehabilitation linking a memorial space with new structures” – a nuanced approach that honors history while serving the present[60]. In doing so, Naji demonstrated how even the most decayed colonial-era site could be transformed into a source of pride and learning. Tablaba’s revival, like her other projects, underscores architecture’s capacity to “reveal, repair, and transmit memory” – a mantra perfectly exemplified by Naji’s work[31].
An African Vernacular Vanguard: Context and Impact
Salima Naji’s work arrives at the forefront of a broader movement in architecture – one that questions the universality of steel, glass, and concrete, and instead looks to indigenous practices for sustainable solutions. Across Africa and the global south, architects are increasingly valuing local materials and climates in design: think of Francis Kéré in Burkina Faso using mud and wind-catching forms for cool schools, or the resurgence of rammed-earth construction in places from Mali to Rwanda. Naji is very much part of this vanguard, but her work is uniquely framed by cultural preservation. While many sustainable architects focus on new construction, Naji has made her name equally through saving historic structures and demonstrating their continued relevance. In doing so, she provides a powerful counter-narrative to homogenization, as one profile of her noted[64]. In a globalized era when skylines risk all looking the same, her projects celebrate what is distinct about Moroccan and African architectural heritage.
Yet, Naji’s impact is not limited by geography. If anything, her recognition on international stages suggests that lessons from Morocco’s earth-and-stone vernacular resonate universally. The 2025 International Prize for Women Architects itself highlights her work as exemplary not just for Africa, but for architecture at large[1]. It’s telling that she has twice been a finalist for the Aga Khan Award for Architecture (in 2013 and 2022)[65], a prize known for honoring projects that marry design excellence with social good across Muslim-majority countries. Likewise, in 2024 Naji was shortlisted for the Royal Academy’s Dorfman Award in London, which seeks architects “working like mad… without promoting themselves internationally” who nonetheless expand what architecture can do[66][67]. These recognitions position Naji among a small but growing number of architects who prove that low-tech architecture can achieve high ambition. Her work, as the Dorfman Prize coverage noted, “encourages and revives construction techniques such as rammed earth and stone masonry… which use materials close to hand and protect inhabitants from heat with minimum energy”[36]. In an era searching for low-carbon building solutions, such approaches are gaining new significance. Naji often cites the influence of Egyptian architect Hassan Fathy – the 20th-century pioneer of building for the poor with mud brick[68] – and many see her as carrying Fathy’s torch into the 21st century. Indeed, one publication dubbed her “the feminine successor of Hassan Fathy”, underlining how she has taken the ethos of vernacular architecture and infused it with her own context and voice[69].
Naji’s win of the ARVHA Women Architects Prize is also significant in the context of gender and representation. Architecture has long been a male-dominated field, especially in North Africa. By celebrating Naji’s achievements, the prize not only recognizes her individual talent but also shines a spotlight on the often underrepresented contributions of women in architecture. ARVHA’s mission is to promote gender equality in design professions[70], and Naji is a fitting laureate: she is a role model who has empowered countless women in rural communities through her projects (from training women masons to creating safe spaces like the Tissint Women’s House). Her rise signals to a younger generation of architects – in Morocco, across Africa, and beyond – that socially conscious, place-based architecture can gain global acclaim. It also suggests a broadening definition of architectural excellence: not measured only in iconic skyscrapers, but in culturally rich, community-driven works. As the prize jury noted, Naji’s oeuvre stands out for its social and environmental impact as much as its aesthetic or technical quality[71][72]. In other words, she exemplifies architecture as a form of caring: caring for people, for history, and for the earth.
Legacy and the Road Ahead
By honoring Salima Naji in 2025, the International Prize for Women Architects has not only recognized a remarkable career, but also issued a statement about the future direction of architecture. Naji’s work reminds us that progress and tradition need not be at odds – that building sustainably can mean building with local culture rather than wiping it away. Each rammed-earth wall she raises and each crumbling kasbah she saves is an argument that modern African architecture can emerge from indigenous roots, rather than imported templates. In a sense, Naji is rebuilding more than structures; she is rebuilding pride and continuity in places grappling with rapid change.
Looking ahead, the importance of her win lies in its inspirational value. It helps mainstream the idea that architects in developing regions can be innovators on the world stage by tapping into their own heritage. It also highlights the unique voice women bring to architecture – Naji’s work is marked by patience, collaboration, and an emphasis on human wellbeing, qualities often undervalued in star-architect circles. As Naji herself has argued, “defending l’architecture du bien commun” – an architecture of the common good – requires rethinking how we build and for whom[73]. Her career is a testament to what that can look like in practice: mud and stone structures that stand not just as beautiful objects, but as “living testaments to Morocco’s cultural heritage, sustainable innovation, and the resilience of its communities”[74].
Standing atop Agadir Oufella or under the palm-wood rafters of Tablaba, one can feel the truth in that. Salima Naji’s buildings whisper of ancient knowledge and future hope in the same breath. Now, with a global award in hand, her message has a larger platform than ever. Acknowledging the wisdom of our heritage, as she would say, has never been more important for architects everywhere. And thanks to trailblazers like her, that wisdom is not only acknowledged – it is being built into the very foundations of a more sustainable world. [12][31]
[1] [2] [31] [70] Salima Naji wins the 2025 International Prize for Women Architects – International Union of Architects
[3] [4] [8] [12] [33] [65] Salima Naji and her Sense of the Land
[5] [64] [74] Salima Naji: A Moroccan Vernacular Architecture Star – Yaz Magazine
[6] [10] [11] [21] [22] [23] [24] [25] [27] [30] [34] -Salima Naji, architecte engagée pour un patrimoine à visage humain | ABAVBA – Les Belges d’Agadir et de la région – De Belgen van Agadir en de regio
[7] [9] [54] [59] [60] [61] Former Colonial Souk of Tablaba, Taghjijt, Guelmim-Oued Noun | Journal of Traditional Building, Architecture and Urbanism
[13] [37] [38] [39] [40] [41] [42] [52] [53] HOUSE OF WOMEN’S CRAFT OUM EL GARDANE, PROVINCE OF TATA | salima naji
[14] [16] [17] [20] [51] [69] [73] Salima Naji honorée par la grande médaille d’or de l’académie d’architecture française
[15] [18] [19] [28] [32] [36] [62] [66] [67] [68] Who’s on the 2024 RA Dorfman prize shortlist? A lingerie factory turned weekend home, Ukrainian volunteer roofers – and more | Architecture | The Guardian
[26] [29] [35] [71] [72] Salima Naji, une architecture de mémoire et de sens récompensée à l’international – DECO ACTUELLE
[43] [44] [46] [47] [48] [49] [50] Casablanca: A New Life for Villa Carl Ficke – Powers of Africa
[45] MWN LIFESTYLE on Instagram: “Casablanca finally has a museum …
[55] [56] [57] [58] [63] SOUK TABLABA IN TAGHJIJT, PROVINCE OF GUELMIM | salima naji