Moroccans call it "the hole." Within minutes of my arrival, it's easy to see why. There is poverty and then there is this: half a dozen family members living in one dimly lit underground room with walls covered in mosaics of mold. And in each adjacent grotto, more people, more families. Hundreds of these dank spaces, connected by cramped passageways that one person can barely fit through at a time, are leased out by greedy landlords ever present when rent is due but scarce when leaky ceilings cave in or cracked cement floors flood.

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