Six months after devastating hurricanes and storms descended on Haiti, drinking water remains a rare and precious commodity in the northern city of Gonaives.

Mudslides last year buried the city under 2.6 million tonnes of mud and completely destroyed the already crumbling national drinking water network (Snep) which operates via water-selling stands and private wells.

With some unable to pay for their vital water needs, the population relies instead on tankers provided by NGOs or the United Nations, or is forced to drink contaminated water.

"The installations we have set up or rehabilitated supply two fifths of the city, and about 25 percent is supplied by the Snep network, which remains very fragile," said Julien Atchade, who heads water and decontamination efforts by NGOs and the United Nations in Gonaives.

With 80 percent of the population living on less than two dollars a day in the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere, most find it hard to pay for fresh, clean water.

"I can't make ends meet," said Izma Silene, a small business owner and a mother of six, as she pointed to a bucket of water she just bought at the local Snep stand.

"The price has doubled since the hurricane, it's two gourdes (5 cents). I need to come at least three times a day and sometimes I pay more than I earn and I need to use unpurified water."

Snep resident engineer Chedlair Saint-Just said "the price is determined locally with stand managers," who receive 25 percent of the revenue, with the rest going to the water service.

"We know that the population has a very hard time paying for water, but it's normal that the price went up because we spent a lot to reestablish the network and chlorinate the water, and we are not making a profit."

Atchade called on the government to take action as the World Water Forum, a seven-day arena aimed at addressing the planet's deepening freshwater crisis, opened in Istanbul.

"We are not sure whether the Port-au-Prince is aware of this, but the government has to decide if it considers water to be a social commodity or a merchandise," he said.

Gonaives has also seen some extreme deforestation, which has severely disrupted the water cycle and spurred natural disasters.

The lack of trees on the steep hills surrounding Haiti's fourth-largest city enable heavy rains to slide down into the basin, provoking mudslides and washing out arable land.

Half of arable land has been lost since 1975 while more than 70 percent of the population relies on agriculture for survival.

Arsene Vidal, a 60-year-old farmer in Docine village outside of Gonaives, recalled with nostalgia how the area had been covered with lush forests in his youth.

"By killing the trees," he said, "we have killed the future."

Massive deforestation is due to industrial exploitation but also to poverty.

"It's really a vicious cycle: poverty leads people to cut down the trees, which ruins the soil, water and living conditions while also creating even more misery," said water specialist Prosper Saint-Louis with the NGO Action Against Hunger (ACF).

Experts fear Gonaives could see devastating floods again this year.

ACF coordinator Olivier Le Guihou said there was "a high risk of devastating floods during the next rainy season," a problem he estimated would be compounded by the withdrawal of NGOs from the city as funds have dried up.

After Cyclone Jane wreaked havoc on the city in 2004, Gonaives was hit again in August and September by four hurricanes and storms that left 800 dead, 300 missing and a million disaster victims in its wake.

"We are worried. The short rainy season is coming in April and work to clear the drainage canals is far from over," said shopkeeper Chimene Fis-Aime, 38. Her garden is still buried under a meter (three feet) of mud.

"Last week, rain flooded the neighborhood in two hours. But now I am vigilant and will seek refuge in the mountains straight away."

On the barren hills surrounding Gonaives, families are still fighting to survive in makeshift camps considered illegal by the authorities who want to avoid creating new shanty towns.

In neighboring Praville, more than 400 refugee families are huddled together on the sun-scorched piece of land.

"I lost everything last year," said 80-year-old Lesancia Joseph, a former washerwoman, pointing to a tiny tent next to a dusty trail.

"Nobody cares about us. I would rather have been carried away by the hurricances than go on living like this."