Why you should swap hectic Marrakech for authentic and laid-back Rabat
Tucked away in the Kasbah des Oudayas, in Rabat, Morocco 's capital city by the sea, I bite into a pastilla (a delicious mix of shredded chicken, almonds, cinnamon, saffron and honey encased in buttery, flaky pastry).
I'm in Dar El Karam Fatima, a family-run café with outside seating set on a higgle-piggle of rooftop terraces. My view is to River Bou Regreg at the mouth of the Atlantic Ocean, where flouka (wooden row boats) ferry goods and passengers between Rabat and the 10th-century city of Salé that lies on the opposite bank.
'Take your time, Madam,' is the invitation from my fez-hatted waiter.
This is good advice because Rabat is not a hectic place and is best enjoyed at a leisurely pace. Long overshadowed by exotic Marrakesh (now regarded by many as more hassle than hip), Unesco-listed Rabat is fast becoming a favourite with those seeking a more authentic Moroccan experience. There's much more to the city than being the seat of government, and the white-washed 12th-century Kasbah is a good starting point, where stray cats prowl under flower-filled balconies, creating an unexpected Greek island vibe.
What is purely Moroccan is the enormous horseshoe-shaped, rose-hued stone gate of Bab Oudaia, built in 1195, which I pass through to wind down through car-free streets to the citrus-blossom-scented Andalusian Gardens, planted under French protectorate in the early 20th century.
Under pergolas dripping with bougainvillaea, locals give much-appreciated attention to vagrant moggies while taking respite from the midday sun. In a 17th-century pavilion in a corner of the gardens, the National Jewellery Museum boasts a fine collection of Moroccan jewellery from traditional Berber adornments to a royal collection donated by King Mohammed VI. Next to the gardens, Café des Oudayas is another lovely place to while away time eating coconut macaroons and almond-filled pastries.
From here, it's just a short stroll into the medina, which was built on a grid in the 17th century, making it wonderfully easy to navigate. Rue des Consuls is the busiest thoroughfare, lined with small stores selling artisanal goods – leather sandals, ceramics and hand-woven rugs are all great buys – but without the usual, constant plea from shopkeepers to 'just look'.
Close to the Marche Central, I follow my nose into a narrow alleyway where chefs are making mixte – a tasty blend of turkey, beef sausage, onions and peppers, sizzled on a grill before being stuffed into pita, and at the fish market I sample the popular snack of fried mashed potato and sardine balls, known as maaqouda.
From here, it's an easy stroll into the Ville Nouvelle, for Art Deco gems such as the Telegraphe Poste and Hotel Gaulois, with Moorish embellishment. Nearby, the Mohammed VI Museum of Modern & Contemporary Art has over 500 paintings and numerous sculptures and sets a green example in its use of solar panels.
I'm staying at Four Seasons Rabat at Kasr al Bahr, a former palace built in the 18th century for Sultan Moulay, which later served as a military hospital. Opened in December 2025, it's the swankiest address in town, featuring six heritage buildings restored to their former glory (the oldest is where visitors would freshen up before being presented to the Sultan, now reimagined as the Laila Lounge, complete with live music and the ambience of a 1920s cocktail den).
In palm-filled grounds, a huge mosaic-tiled pool is cossetted by bright orange parasols and cabanas, and, later this year, a gold-tiled hammam will open in the already decadent spa. Although my room is in one of the new buildings, it has a strong sense of place, with coloured glass lights, a marble bathroom, and a green-tiled balcony.
The current Royal Palace was built in 1864 and can only be viewed from the outside (passports are required just to enter the grounds), but you can visit the marble Mausoleum of Mohammed V (where the present king's father and grandfather are laid to rest), which serves as Rabat's finest example of Arabic-Islamic craftsmanship with handmade zellige tiles, intricately carved plaster, a cedarwood ceiling encrusted with gold, and stained-glass windows that cast kaleidoscopic colours across marble floors.
Guards in crimson uniforms, holding mother of pearl embellished shotguns, stand watch, not yet fed up with tourists' requests for photos. On the same site, the sandstone minaret of Tour Hassan, built in 1195 AD, looms large at 44 metres high as the only remnant of what was to be the world's second largest mosque (after Samarra in Iraq), but was destroyed by earthquake in 1755 before completion.
Recently opened, Zaha Hadid's Grand Theatre de Rabat is another striking sight, likened to both a cobra's head and a storm trooper's helmet, and the soaring 55-storey bullet-shaped Mohammed VI tower is also testament that Rabat is a city that wants to be noticed. However, it's the hilltop necropolis of Chellah that captures my imagination with its colony of over fifty storks, clacking their beaks at one another and nesting within the wildflower-strewn ruins of Roman and Merinid empires.
By night, I head back to the medina to dine by candlelight at restaurant Dinarjat, housed in the tiled inner courtyard of a historic home dating from the late 1800s. I order zaalouk (smoked aubergine dip), followed by a slow-cooked tajine with chicken, sweet onions and raisins, and enjoy live music played on the bendir (wooden drum) and rabab (similar to a lute).
While sunbathing in a bikini might be off the cards due to cultural etiquette, Rabat's beach scene isn't sedate. It takes thirty minutes to walk the coastal path from Four Seasons to the main beach of Plage de Rabat, past a lighthouse built in 1920, and the National Museum of Photography housed in an old fort. Seaweed-rich natural pools attract those looking for a sheltered dip, while daredevil fishermen cast lines from sea-sprayed cliffs. Below, surfers cut swathes across rough Atlantic waves, and families fly kites and picnic on wide sands. On Le Dhow, a wooden boat turned restaurant, I drink mint tea and wait for sunset when the sky turns as colourful as any souk in the country, and the muezzin's call to prayer from Tour Hassan provides a melodic constant in a city ready for attention.
Return flights from London Stansted and Manchester to Rabat from £44 with Ryanair. Or fly to Casablanca and catch the train to Rabat from the airport terminal, which takes one hour.
Rabat is 80 minutes from Tangier via the new Al Boraq high-speed railway, which will extend its network by 2030.
Where to stay
Four Seasons Hotel Rabat at Kasr Al Bahr.
Kate was a guest of the Four Seasons Hotel Rabat at Kasr Al Bahr.
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The Independent
18 hours ago
- The Independent
Why you should swap hectic Marrakech for authentic and laid-back Rabat
Tucked away in the Kasbah des Oudayas, in Rabat, Morocco 's capital city by the sea, I bite into a pastilla (a delicious mix of shredded chicken, almonds, cinnamon, saffron and honey encased in buttery, flaky pastry). I'm in Dar El Karam Fatima, a family-run café with outside seating set on a higgle-piggle of rooftop terraces. My view is to River Bou Regreg at the mouth of the Atlantic Ocean, where flouka (wooden row boats) ferry goods and passengers between Rabat and the 10th-century city of Salé that lies on the opposite bank. 'Take your time, Madam,' is the invitation from my fez-hatted waiter. This is good advice because Rabat is not a hectic place and is best enjoyed at a leisurely pace. Long overshadowed by exotic Marrakesh (now regarded by many as more hassle than hip), Unesco-listed Rabat is fast becoming a favourite with those seeking a more authentic Moroccan experience. There's much more to the city than being the seat of government, and the white-washed 12th-century Kasbah is a good starting point, where stray cats prowl under flower-filled balconies, creating an unexpected Greek island vibe. What is purely Moroccan is the enormous horseshoe-shaped, rose-hued stone gate of Bab Oudaia, built in 1195, which I pass through to wind down through car-free streets to the citrus-blossom-scented Andalusian Gardens, planted under French protectorate in the early 20th century. Under pergolas dripping with bougainvillaea, locals give much-appreciated attention to vagrant moggies while taking respite from the midday sun. In a 17th-century pavilion in a corner of the gardens, the National Jewellery Museum boasts a fine collection of Moroccan jewellery from traditional Berber adornments to a royal collection donated by King Mohammed VI. Next to the gardens, Café des Oudayas is another lovely place to while away time eating coconut macaroons and almond-filled pastries. From here, it's just a short stroll into the medina, which was built on a grid in the 17th century, making it wonderfully easy to navigate. Rue des Consuls is the busiest thoroughfare, lined with small stores selling artisanal goods – leather sandals, ceramics and hand-woven rugs are all great buys – but without the usual, constant plea from shopkeepers to 'just look'. Close to the Marche Central, I follow my nose into a narrow alleyway where chefs are making mixte – a tasty blend of turkey, beef sausage, onions and peppers, sizzled on a grill before being stuffed into pita, and at the fish market I sample the popular snack of fried mashed potato and sardine balls, known as maaqouda. From here, it's an easy stroll into the Ville Nouvelle, for Art Deco gems such as the Telegraphe Poste and Hotel Gaulois, with Moorish embellishment. Nearby, the Mohammed VI Museum of Modern & Contemporary Art has over 500 paintings and numerous sculptures and sets a green example in its use of solar panels. I'm staying at Four Seasons Rabat at Kasr al Bahr, a former palace built in the 18th century for Sultan Moulay, which later served as a military hospital. Opened in December 2025, it's the swankiest address in town, featuring six heritage buildings restored to their former glory (the oldest is where visitors would freshen up before being presented to the Sultan, now reimagined as the Laila Lounge, complete with live music and the ambience of a 1920s cocktail den). In palm-filled grounds, a huge mosaic-tiled pool is cossetted by bright orange parasols and cabanas, and, later this year, a gold-tiled hammam will open in the already decadent spa. Although my room is in one of the new buildings, it has a strong sense of place, with coloured glass lights, a marble bathroom, and a green-tiled balcony. The current Royal Palace was built in 1864 and can only be viewed from the outside (passports are required just to enter the grounds), but you can visit the marble Mausoleum of Mohammed V (where the present king's father and grandfather are laid to rest), which serves as Rabat's finest example of Arabic-Islamic craftsmanship with handmade zellige tiles, intricately carved plaster, a cedarwood ceiling encrusted with gold, and stained-glass windows that cast kaleidoscopic colours across marble floors. Guards in crimson uniforms, holding mother of pearl embellished shotguns, stand watch, not yet fed up with tourists' requests for photos. On the same site, the sandstone minaret of Tour Hassan, built in 1195 AD, looms large at 44 metres high as the only remnant of what was to be the world's second largest mosque (after Samarra in Iraq), but was destroyed by earthquake in 1755 before completion. Recently opened, Zaha Hadid's Grand Theatre de Rabat is another striking sight, likened to both a cobra's head and a storm trooper's helmet, and the soaring 55-storey bullet-shaped Mohammed VI tower is also testament that Rabat is a city that wants to be noticed. However, it's the hilltop necropolis of Chellah that captures my imagination with its colony of over fifty storks, clacking their beaks at one another and nesting within the wildflower-strewn ruins of Roman and Merinid empires. By night, I head back to the medina to dine by candlelight at restaurant Dinarjat, housed in the tiled inner courtyard of a historic home dating from the late 1800s. I order zaalouk (smoked aubergine dip), followed by a slow-cooked tajine with chicken, sweet onions and raisins, and enjoy live music played on the bendir (wooden drum) and rabab (similar to a lute). While sunbathing in a bikini might be off the cards due to cultural etiquette, Rabat's beach scene isn't sedate. It takes thirty minutes to walk the coastal path from Four Seasons to the main beach of Plage de Rabat, past a lighthouse built in 1920, and the National Museum of Photography housed in an old fort. Seaweed-rich natural pools attract those looking for a sheltered dip, while daredevil fishermen cast lines from sea-sprayed cliffs. Below, surfers cut swathes across rough Atlantic waves, and families fly kites and picnic on wide sands. On Le Dhow, a wooden boat turned restaurant, I drink mint tea and wait for sunset when the sky turns as colourful as any souk in the country, and the muezzin's call to prayer from Tour Hassan provides a melodic constant in a city ready for attention. Return flights from London Stansted and Manchester to Rabat from £44 with Ryanair. Or fly to Casablanca and catch the train to Rabat from the airport terminal, which takes one hour. Rabat is 80 minutes from Tangier via the new Al Boraq high-speed railway, which will extend its network by 2030. Where to stay Four Seasons Hotel Rabat at Kasr Al Bahr. Kate was a guest of the Four Seasons Hotel Rabat at Kasr Al Bahr.
Telegraph
3 days ago
- Telegraph
Ditch Marrakech for Fes, Morocco's real capital of culture
From the roof terrace of Riad Fes, I can see one of the world's greatest and last living medieval cities laid out before me. It was dreamt of by the eight-century moulay (holy man) Idris I, a grandson of the prophet Mohammed, who fled to Morocco to escape Harun al-Rashid, the caliph of the Arabian Nights. Idris ruled nearby Walila, the old Roman city of Volubilis, but dreamt of a new capital until Harun's assassins caught up with him. So, his son Idris II finished Fes in 789, creating Morocco's first Imperial city. Marrakech may hog the headlines, but elegant Fes is the country's cultural heart. It hides its riches in a quiet green valley in the Middle Atlas where the hills are cloaked in silvery olive groves. Whatever you know of Marrakech won't prepare you for the immense maze of Fes el-Bali, the old town, where 9,700 serpentine alleys trace the edges of the three-storey blank walls, behind which hide riads and palaces, steaming hammams and funduqs (inns once used by caravans), verdant gardens and lively universities, tranquil mosques and madrasas, all dressed in intricately carved plaster, shimmering zellij (handcut tiles) and painted and carved cedarwood from the Middle Atlas forests. Drama and intrigue is knit into the fabric of this great labyrinthine medina and if you want in on the intrigue you'll need a good guide. A guide here doesn't just show you the sights, but provides you with a companion to an otherwise hidden world. Mine is smart Meryem Ameziane from Culture Insiders, who suggests we start at the newly opened Musee Al Batha. Once a glorious summer palace with sunken Andalucian gardens, its halls now tell the tale of over a thousand years of history, showing the ebb and flow of dynasties, migrations, scholarship and craft that places Fes not just at the centre of Moroccan history, but connects it to the broader pre-Islamic, Islamic and Mediterranean worlds. Beneath technicolour cedarwood ceilings, maps show Moroccan empires that once encompassed nearly the entire Iberian peninsula, Tunis and Nouakchott, now the capital of Mauretania, and how the city's geography and Arabo-Andalucian character were established by early settlers from Cordoba and Kairouan. Meanwhile, antique astrolobes, illuminated medical manuscripts, intricately worked minbars, gold-threaded kaftans, exquisite ceramics and the most minute zellij illustrate Fes' intellectual and creative prowess. Surprises include the story of Fatima Al Fihri, the wealthy woman who founded the University of al-Qarawiyyin over two hundred years before Europe's first university, and the sojourn of Pope Sylvester II (999-1003), who came to study Islamic jurisprudence. After several hours, Meryem reminds me that the real thing is on the doorstep and remains to be discovered. So we head to Bab Bou Jeloud and stroll down Talaa Kebira, the medina's colourful main street lined with ceramic and carpet shops, where we admire the ingenious medieval water-clock, La Magana, which once timed the call to prayer. Then we tour the theological colleges of Bou Inania and Attarine, built in the golden era of the Merenids in the 14th century, and take a dozen pictures of their lace-like stuccowork, delicate calligraphy and ancient carved cedarwood friezes. The Medersa Attarine is tucked in the alleys of the spice and perfume souk near to the holy Zawiya of Moulay Idriss II, where Fes' founder lies in rest beneath glittering chandeliers and a gold-inlaid zouak ceilings. The shrine is surrounded by carts selling incense candles and flower-water that perfumes the air around the tomb. As we're buying some sticky nougat from a bright pink cart, the muezzin starts the call to prayer and the street floods with people heading for one of the 14 doors of the Al-Qarawiyyin Mosque. Meryem points us to the door of a weaving shop, whose owner allows us onto his roof terrace where we have an awesome view, standing in the heart of the holy call as it reverberates in the acoustic bowl of the valley. Over the next few days, I return again and again to the medina, each day with a different person who seems to show me a different city. One day I meander around the residential backstreets with photographer Omar Chennafi. We admire the casual beauty of a fig tree hanging over a cracked mud-brick building, drink coffee in the Ruined Garden and dodge small kids taking the day's bread to the ferran (bakery). He talks about a crisis of meaning in the modern world and how Fes is a place of 'intense, condensed human experience'. In the evening, I have a sensation of temporal whiplash as I dine in hyper-contemporary ISHQ on beef tagine with confit tomatoes and sesame seeds. Then I return with Meryem's colleague, Nourredine Chbani, who grew up in the medina, and sends my head spinning by weaving through alleys barely wider than my shoulders. 'GPS is useless here,' he laughs as he disappears down a shadowy tunnel. 'Just remember hexagonal signs mean a dead-end, while rectangles are for thoroughfares.' He takes me to Funduq Tazi, the last workshop that still hand-makes drums and tambourines from camel hide. I sit at the spinning painting wheel trying to paint my own drum, and we all fall about laughing at the results. We peek through the wooden doors of Funduq Kaat Smen, a dedicated honey souq that is being restored, and have coffee in bougie Foundouk Bazaar. Then we descend into the steaming alleys of Souq Achabine, where workers queue at food stalls and pack closet-sized restaurants scoffing stewed beans, fried sardines and liver sandwiches. Noureddine insists I try maakouda, a delicious potato cake sandwich layered with egg, harissa and tomato sauce. To dive deeper into Fes' fantastic foodscape, take a tour with Fez Guided Tours, or a cooking class at Courtyard Kitchen. One day, Abdel drives me up to Borj Sud and points out the white tombs of the Jewish cemetery in the Mellah; on another day, Inclusive Morocco arranges a visit to the pottery quarter, Ain Nokbi, just outside Bab Ftouh, where I find artisans kneading and throwing Fes' grey clay into a myriad bowls and pots, and a warehouse of artisans tirelessly cutting zellij tiles and placing them into intricate patterns with tweezers. Nearby, at Traditional Arts, Mohammed is the fifth generation of his family to carry on the craft of filigreed metal work, all cut by hand to his father's exacting designs. While back in the souk, the award-winning Anou Cooperative connects 600 artisan weavers to a digital marketplace where they can sell their work and retain 100 per cent of the proceeds. When night falls, I return to sleep in a medina mansion, Dar Seffarine, beneath an elaborate painted ceiling, and shower in bathrooms wrapped in jewel-toned zellij. The owner, Alaa, is an architect and gives us a tour of some nearby riads, explaining the politics, philosophy and practicality behind medina architecture. Then, I hare off to sit in the lantern-lit formal gardens of Jnan Sbil to hear Senegalese Sufis and Spanish flamenco dancers sing against a backdrop of croaking frogs and rustling leaves at the Fes Festival of World Sacred Music. It's beautiful and fascinating, and unlike anything I've ever seen. My neighbour, a Fassi graduate called Oussama, insists on buying me tea and delicious chicken pastilla in the interval. In fact, I spend a whole week in Fes and find that I've barely scratched the surface – although I feel part of the family in a small way. The city is a Tardis that rewards those who slow down and make the effort to get beneath the surface. You'll find the magic is in the moments that you spend sipping tea on a leather pouffe in the Chouara Tannery, learning that there's a thriving market in pigeon guano for the dye baths, or in the evenings you spend sitting on different rooftop terraces – Palais Amani, Hotel Sahrai and Riad Fes are some of the best – watching the sky turn the city blush pink, as the storks (rumoured to be cursed scholars) come home to roost. Essentials
The Independent
4 days ago
- The Independent
From Pakistan to Spain via the Canaries, smugglers are using longer, more dangerous migration routes
It was supposed to be the final leg of Amir Ali's monthslong journey to Europe. But he was nowhere near his destination, with only death in sight. The 21-year-old Pakistani had been promised a visa and a flight to Spain. Yet six months, four countries and $17,000 later, he found himself crammed in a fishing boat in the Atlantic Ocean alongside 85 others, screaming for their lives as seawater sloshed over the gunwales. Forty-four fellow Pakistani migrants perished during the 10-day failed crossing in January from Mauritania's coast toward Spain's Canary Islands. The deadly journey cast a spotlight on how globalized and sophisticated smuggling networks on the West African coast — and specifically Mauritania — have become. Interviews with survivors and relatives of migrants who died revealed how smugglers have adapted to tighter border controls and anti-migration policies across the Mediterranean and North Africa, resorting to lengthier, more dangerous routes. A journey that began 5,000 miles away Ali's odyssey began last July. After making an initial deposit of 600,000 Pakistani rupees ($2,127), he went to Karachi airport, where he was told to wait for a shift change before approaching the immigration counter. 'The smugglers had inside help,' he said. He and other migrants were swiftly put on a flight to Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. From there Ali boarded a second flight to Dakar, Senegal, where he was told someone would be waiting for him. Instead, when he arrived he was told to go to the Senegal River bordering Mauritania, a seven-hour taxi ride north. He joined other Pakistanis traveling to the Mauritanian capital, Nouakchott. In each country he passed through, bribes were demanded for visas, Ali said. Imran Iqbal, 42, took a similar journey. Like Ali, he flew from Karachi to Senegal via Ethiopia before reaching Mauritania. Other Pakistanis Iqbal met, he said, traveled through Kenya or Zimbabwe enroute to Mauritania. A monthslong waiting game Once in Mauritania, the migrants were taken to cramped safe houses where smugglers took their belongings and deprived them of food. 'Our passports, our money — everything,' Iqbal said. 'I was essentially held captive,' Ali said. During the six months Iqbal and Ali were in Mauritania, smugglers moved them repeatedly, beating them to extract more money. While he managed to get some money sent from Pakistan, Iqbal did not tell his family of his dire situation. 'Our parents, children, siblings ... they would've been devastated," he said. Ali said the smugglers lied to their families in Pakistan, who asked about their whereabouts and questioned why they hadn't called from Spain. Finally, on Jan. 2, Iqbal, Ali and the other Pakistani migrants were transferred to an overcrowded boat that set course for Spain's Canary Islands. 'On the day of departure, 64 Pakistanis from various safe houses were brought to the port,' Ali recalled. 'The Mauritanian police and port officials, who were complicit, facilitated our transfer to the boats.' 'What followed were the hardest 15 days of my life," Iqbal said. Mauritanian authorities have launched several investigations into smuggling networks and, in the past two months, heightened surveillance at the country's borders and ports, according to a Mauritanian embassy official in Madrid who spoke on condition of anonymity because he wasn't authorized to comment publicly. The world's 'deadliest' migration route is only growing While migration to Europe has been falling steadily, the Atlantic Ocean crossing from West Africa to Spain's Canary Islands has reemerged since 2020. Nearly 47,000 people disembarked in the Canaries in 2024, an increase from the nearly 40,000 in 2023, according to Spanish Interior Ministry figures. Until recently, the route was mostly used by migrants from West African nations fleeing poverty or violence. But since last year, migrants from far-flung countries like Pakistan, Bangladesh, Yemen, Syria and Afghanistan have increasingly embarked on the fishing boats used to reach the European archipelago. Smugglers connect with migrants locally in Pakistan and elsewhere, as well as on social media. Migrants post videos of their voyages on TikTok. Although some warn of the dangers, they also share idyllic videos of life in Europe, from Canary Island beaches to the bustling streets of Barcelona and Madrid. For many, Spain is just an entry point for continuing to France, Italy and elsewhere. Chris Borowski, spokesperson for the European Border and Coast Guard Agency Frontex, believes smuggling networks bringing Pakistanis and other South Asian migrants through the Canaries are still 'testing the waters' to see how profitable it is. However, experts at the Global Initiative Against Transnational Crime warn the route is here to stay. 'With the conflict landscape showing no sign of improvement, movement on the Canary Islands route looks set to increase,' the group warned. 'Because it remains the deadliest migration route in the world, this has severe humanitarian implications." The Atlantic Ocean crossing can take days or weeks. Dozens of boats have vanished. Exact figures don't exist, but the International Organization for Migration's Missing Migrants Project recorded at least 1,142 deaths and disappearances last year, a number it calls a vast understatement. Spanish rights group Walking Borders reported nearly 9,800 victims on the Canaries route last year — which would make it the world's deadliest migration route. Only a tiny fraction of bodies are ever recovered. Some shipwrecked vessels have appeared hundreds of thousands of miles away, in the Caribbean and South America. The boat Ali and Iqbal boarded had a 40-person capacity but was packed with more than double that. Immediately, there were fights between the Pakistanis and the Africans on board, they said. The Associated Press wasn't able to locate non-Pakistani survivors to verify the accusations, but reports of violence on the Canaries journey are frequent even among those of the same nationality and ethnicity. Dehydration can cause hallucinations, exacerbating tensions. 'The weather was terrible,' Ali said. 'As water entered the boat, the crew threw our belongings and food into the sea to keep the boat afloat.' On the fifth day, a man died of a heart attack, Ali and Iqbal said. More people perished every day, their bodies thrown overboard; while some died from hunger and thirst, the majority were killed. 'The crew attacked us with hammers, killing 15 in one night,' Ali said. Both men showed photos of injuries others sustained, although AP couldn't verify what caused them. 'The beatings were mostly to the head — so brutal that people started losing their sanity,' Iqbal said. They prayed for a merciful death, convinced they had little chance of survival. On the 10th night, after dozens had died, lights appeared on the horizon. They shouted for help. At daybreak, a fishing vessel approached, handing them food and water before eventually towing them to the West African coast two days later. Forty-four Pakistanis had died. 'Only twelve bodies returned to Pakistan," Ali said. "The rest were lost at sea.' Back at square one News of the failed journey made international headlines, prompting a pledge by Pakistani President Asif Ali Zardari to go after smugglers. Pakistan's Federal Investigation Agency has arrested dozens of people suspected of arranging the journey or connections to the smugglers. A nationwide crackdown was already underway, but smugglers change locations to evade capture. In Europe and Pakistan, smugglers who are caught are primarily low-level operatives, resulting in limited impact on the overall business. Staring at the mansions being built around his modest brick home in the Pakistani village of Dera Bajwa, Ali reflected on his wasted journey. 'These are the houses of those who made it abroad," Ali said. 'People like me see them and dream without thinking." ___ Brito reported from Barcelona, Spain.
