A heavy silence hangs in the corridors of a Córdoba hotel. The family of Yamina Lamsiah, who died in the tragic Iryo train crash, has not been able to say goodbye for a week. The woman, whose life ended in the eighth carriage, remains in the mortuary, while her loved ones are forced to wrestle with endless paperwork and bureaucratic indifference.
Each day the faces of her relatives grow more exhausted: deep shadows under their eyes, fatigue and pain that cannot be hidden. They return to the hotel after yet another visit to court, hoping for permission to transport the body to Madrid for the Muslim funeral rite. But instead of clarity—new questions and more excuses. Yamina’s husband, desperate, argues with officials who only shrug their shoulders: insurers and funeral agencies cannot come to an agreement, and the family remains hostage to other people’s decisions.
Searching and waiting
For Yamina’s relatives, this week has become a real ordeal. The last time they saw her was via video call—she smiled from the train, unaware of the tragedy about to unfold. Suddenly the call was cut, there were screams, noise, and she never answered again. Long hours searching hospitals and police stations brought no results. Only a few days later did they receive news of the tragic outcome, but even then, the path to farewell remained closed.
Yamina’s sister recalls how they spent the entire night rushing between hospitals, hoping for any news. At the disaster victims center, they were advised to return to the city, where allegedly information could be found. But the bureaucratic maze proved insurmountable: four days of searching, calls to the Red Cross, where one employee mistakenly reported a death, while another tried to reassure them, calling it a misunderstanding. Only in the middle of the week did the family receive official confirmation of her death.
Religious rites
It was only on Saturday that the family could gather at the Islamic Cultural Center to pray for Yamina. In Morocco, her parents learned about the tragedy only the day before—the relatives had spent a week trying to delay the news to avoid upsetting the ailing grandmother. Now the family’s only wish is to bury Yamina in her homeland, as tradition dictates. In Islam, it is customary to bury the body within a day, but a week has already passed, and the wait shows no sign of ending.
The deceased’s sister anxiously recounts that officials promised support, but in practice, it all amounted to empty words. Each new day brings more requirements: either a certificate from the Health Service is missing, or additional permissions to transport the body are demanded. The family insists that the Moroccan consulate has already granted approval, but the process remains at a standstill.
Bureaucratic deadlock
Funeral agencies and officials keep passing responsibility back and forth, while Yamina’s body remains in the morgue. One company claims all the paperwork is complete, another demands additional documents. The family can’t understand why the process is dragging on, since they say all formalities were settled long ago. Authorities insist all the bodies have already been handed over to their families, but for the Lamsiah family, these are just empty words — their grief endures.
The repatriation company cites missing paperwork, though the family insists all permits are in order. Yamina’s sister can’t hide her disappointment: after all the bold promises of support from officials, only formal phrases and endless queues remain. As a result, among all the foreign victims, only the Lamsiah family still cannot reclaim the body or travel to Morocco.
Hopelessness and waiting
Amid this maze of documents and promises, Yamina’s family feels lost. Each day of waiting becomes an ordeal, and with every new phone call, their hope of a timely farewell fades. In their eyes is exhaustion and despair — even after their loss, they are denied a proper goodbye. The whole family longs for just one thing: to bring Yamina home and find the peace long withheld from them by bureaucratic obstacles.
