In downtown Casablanca, Morocco, next to the city’s new modern tram line and across from the white arcades of the Marche Central, a building seems to hang in midair. Without a foundation, interior, or roof, the crumbling, brown brick facade floats in space, retaining a strange elegance despite the bristling metal scaffolding that holds it up. On this Saturday morning, a local woman in her fifties, dressed in a yellow-and-purple shirt and armed with a binder, explains the mystery to a tour group of Casablancans, or Casaouis. The guide is…
