By Rob Platt

Most guide books praise Morocco as a mythical country that offers a traveler rugged mountains, vibrant cities, deserts and beaches. A well-planned trip here can be just as rewarding as one to Greece or Italy. Unfortunately, Morocco often limits you to the safety net of tour guides and easy-to-navigate commercial districts.

I traded in the censored bit and opted for the less “vacation quality,” but in exchange received an insight that books and movies simply can not provide.

Although only eight miles from Spain, the streets of Tangier are decades behind in the times. Their is some construction of new hotels and apartments, but ater a few short blocks it becomes obvious that this is just a façade. Outside of the tourist enclave, donkey carts and beggars are everywhere, that’s when you realize you’ve finally reached the Third World.

I stayed mainly in Rabat, where poor Moroccans live in massive Soviet-style apartment blocks. Many of the buildings are deteriorated with gaping holes. These slums are a far pitch from Hollywood’s portrayal in films such as Casablanca. Even the remote prairies of the countryside have become dumpsites.

Poverty here is different than poverty in the West. Its effects are omniscient, and some beggars are small children.

One night we were asked for food by a small boy holding an infant. We fed him and he thanked us meekly (shookran). I suddenly opened up to the countless similar situations around us–a woman dying of AIDS on a dirty sidewalk, a mentally retarded lad begging for bread on the steps of a bakery. Something about seeing all this in person–not being able to turn it off like a bad television show–smothers you with remorse and anger. Where are the clinics, the charity works? Where is the government? Madhaban Americain, welcome to the undeveloped world..

Morocco has suffered a history of exploitation. It has passed through the hands of many foreign rulers– France, Germany, Spain and Great Britain only winning complete independence in 1956. The resulting monarchy has struggled to modernize, but outside of downtown Rabat and Casablanca things remain strikingly pre-industrial. The wealth gap is as obvious. While the sultan resides in over 20 palaces, many Moroccans do not even have access to state services.

This became all too clear on a visit to a hospital. It was run like a prison camp and smelled of death. After hassling our way through, we located the patient we had come to visit in a room crowded with about 50 beds. Two very thin women sat up as we entered, obviously suffering at an advanced stage of some illness. A corpse was rotting on one of the beds. We were told that the patients too poor to pay for treatment were sent to this room to die.

Susanne Fear, a former nurse from England, was in my company.

“It is as though a war has just finished,” she said. “They don’t follow any hospital standards and it is extremely unclean. But that is only because they don’t have enough equipment or staff to do so.”

Healthcare is just one of many problems in this country of 32 million. It also suffers one of the highest rates of illegal child labor in the Middle East and North Africa. The Human Rights Watch reports of over 600,000 children under the age of 14 engaged in work. Many are employed on farms. We would drive past them on the motorways, usually hitchhiking their way to work.

The easiest finger to point would be at the government. King Muhammad VI has failed to enact promises of change, and political corruption lingers. Also, he has neglected to shut down the slave industry, which functions mostly at the hands of abandoned children.

Free expression is yet to be embraced by the general public, as the press is restricted in what it can investigate and from insulting the government. My notes were inspected by guards when I visited the American Embassy. Their agility was eerie–at the slightest suspicion I could be reprimanded for espionage, sedition, whatever charges they deemed fit for this unwitting Yank.

A good friend and dedicated Muslim, Moustapha Aitjaa, is a photographic journalist who has not been able to find work for nearly three years.

“Journalism is not the field of choice in Morocco,” explained Aitjaa. “The government restricts criticism, and we are frightened from investigation.”

But even Aitjaa was hesitant to give his opinion, knowing that it would appear somewhere in print.

“Careful who you talk to, don’t look too suspicious. People here are not accustomed to thorough questioning and strongly dislike foreign journalists,” commented Aitjaa.

The dire situation of this kingdom, and of most of the undeveloped world, leaves a lot to ponder. But the risks become miniscule after seeing the need for help.

I have a lasting image from the back streets of Rabat, of a teenage girl with no arms or legs, set in a box like a piece of furniture, with a small plate of coins in front of her, begging for food.

The gaze in her eyes convinced me that in her case, turning a blind eye would be devastating.