To the east of Casablanca, in the working class neighbourhood of Hay Mohammadi, lies an enormous, dilapidated set of buildings. The yellow paint is peeling off their monumental facades, decorated with green ceramic tiles and patterned windows. Casablanca's abandoned 20th- century slaughterhouse is an immense and surprisingly attractive architectural complex. Built in 1922 by Georges-Ernest Desmarest, a Parisian architect, in the so-called Neo-Mauresque style, which combines clean Art Deco lines with traditional North African motifs, it was one of the great public works of the French protectorate in Morocco.

Today, a collective of Moroccan artists, architects and activists are trying to fashion a new future for the space, one in which it would be the site of an entirely different sort of production. "We call it a culture factory," says Abderrahim Kassou, an architect who is leading the effort, "because we're in a city with a great industrial tradition, in a neighbourhood with some of the biggest workers' housing projects. And because we want to get out of this mentality of just consuming culture made elsewhere and into one of producing our own culture."

Yet the transition hasn't been easy. Despite organising nearly 50 cultural events in the space in the last year and half, the art collective has yet to consolidate either official status or institutional funding. "We've bitten off a lot," admits Kassou, a tall, imposing man with a wry sense of humour. Kassou and Aadel Essaadaani, his friend and collaborator, who is an expert in art and event management, took me on a tour of the site recently. The slaughterhouse's past function and its current vocation overlap in startling ways. The ceilings of the rooms are crisscrossed with the rails and pulleys that used to transport livestock, but the large airy spaces are perfect for performances. One of the huge stables is still home to a few sheep and donkeys; the other, across the way, is dedicated to visual art exhibitions. A courtyard has been turned into a skate park. Everywhere, the crumbling walls are decorated with graffiti, wall paintings, torn posters, the remains of film shoots and art installations.

Many still "don't understand the dimensions of the project," says Kassou; "they think it's just some kids having fun." On the contrary, Kassou and his collaborators hope to fill an institutional void by offering young artists and would-be culture professionals the chance to meet, get training, rehearse, create and exhibit; and to make art accessible in a neighbourhood not usually targeted by cultural initiatives, by offering free, open-to-all activities and shows.

The kind of space envisaged in the old slaughterhouse is the natural result of the cultural effervescence of the last decade in Casablanca, during which a new generation of artists, filmmakers and above all musicians has animated the city. The phenomenon has even earned its own name, "nayda," a word derived from the Arab verb "to rise" and lifted from Casablanca youth slang. When I visit again a few weeks later, one of the slaughterhouse's cavernous halls is filled with the sound of voices, laughter and power drills. About 20 people are at the venue, attending a workshop run by the artist and designer Khadija Kabbaj. "We realised there isn't really anywhere to sit down," says Kabbaj.

Today, participants are building chairs and whimsically decorating them to reference their surroundings. One is covered in flakes of paint gathered from the slaughterhouse walls; another is painted to look like cow hide and has weeds sprouting from its armrest. One chair is even set aflame - a nod to the fire that demolished part of the slaughterhouse in 2004. The group includes art students, middle-aged women, and the young Mohammad Safsaf, who volunteers at a neighbourhood association for children. Before the slaughterhouse was opened to the public, says Safsaf, "we never imagined it was like this. Now we can see it. It's a beautiful place." Safsaf and his friend Rachid have decorated their chair in the in the colours of the neighbourhood's beloved football team Raja.