Into Mauritania

The Mauritanian border now seems like a breeze but under the sun, with time passing and with them asking endless questions, it was a drag. They gave the cars only 7 days to be in Mauritania when they already had a month tourist visas to go about the county. So, all very upset, they drove off to Nouadibou after some customs officers did a cursory check of the cars.

They were hounded by moneychangers and sim card sellers. Lots of haggling went on and the money was changed and phone cards purchased before the cars proceeded on their way.

This country is markedly different, a bit as if they lived in yet another century from Morocco. They desert people live in wooden huts or squarish tents covered with plastic. And Nouadibou is a far cry from Dakala even. The town roads are bordered with sand, the houses all look as if they are falling apart, dust/sand seem to be just about everywhere. There is no avoiding this because there are barely any trees in this place and there is this constant wind blowing.

The place we headed for is a camping in town called the Baie de Levrier, chez Ali. Well, Ali was not there but Mukhtar was, billowing in his big robes, often called ‘boubou’ in these parts. And Hamida also appeared after a while. We settled in the one corner of the place and pitched the big tent. There was already a camper van on the plot – German number plates.

 The other two cars set up in another corner. The place had potential: living area, toilets, showers in working order and a ‘cyber’ just outside. After setting up, Ali pitched up and invited them for tea where they discussed the 7-day car importation issue at length. By then the German camper Hans-Peter also joined the conversation.

It was agreed that the car owners would go off to the customs/police the next day and sort this out.

Another windy evening, and that night sleep was not great either. It was hot the next day. After making Ali understand the importance of the matter, they finally left to meet with the authorities to discuss the car story. It was just too hot to go walkabout in town. To crown it all, some translation work had come in a few days before. She delivered the one job in Dakhla already and was working on the other one.

In the afternoon the girls went to visit the local market, which is quite typical of black Africa: an area with small streets that have been covered over, with shops on each side selling just about everything. She talked to a few shopkeepers, some of whom claiming they had grown up or lived in Brazzaville. She bought some fabric in one of these little shops, some sandals for Coen and some potatoes and tomatoes for the evening dinner.

After that expedition, Ali took them to a jeweler. His products were nice without being spectacular or in the ‘must-have’ category. Then they headed to the port for fresh fish. Ali took them right into the cold rooms of the port. This port was lined with fishing trawlers of all sizes and of indeterminate ages. The sale going on inside these cold rooms was active but not fierce. She finally opted for grouper and had them to weigh 4 fish, one of which was still alive. Then it was a short route to a Malian fishmonger who cleaned the fish.

The whole place did not reek of fish, it smelled of the sea just simply because everything was just so fresh. There was not much choice as to how to prepare them for dinner, in tinfoil, on the coals.

Out of the woodwork, when the food was under preparation, up pops a guy from the Tourist Office coming to discuss the issue of the cars again. Another round table with all the men. Finally he left and dinner could be served, the first lot of fish was just ready, the potatoes done thanks to Elismé’s pressure cooker, salad and mixed fruits for desert.

Buying bread, packing and some last minute discussions about the road and they headed east into the desert not without passing other check points where the ‘gendarmes’ still ask for the ‘fiches’. After some 125km of good road they turned onto the ‘piste, which is pretty much tracks into the desert made by other vehicles that have passed that way. It was rough, sometimes very rough.

 And then they hit a bump and something clanged from under the car. They jumped out to check – the one bolt broke and the air suspension was hanging. Then started the major works, there, in the desert, on these rough tracks. Coen managed but not without some grief: the car fell off the jacks twice, the high lift jack had to be used and even that was rather precarious. Hans and Stephanus were both helping and the sun was hitting hard.

As they noticed right from their visit to the Middle Atlas, the people were great ones for asking. In Morocco it started by Dhm1, then a pen, then a sweet, especially from kids but in Mauritania, they do not even greet you; they just have this one word in mouth: ‘Kado’ (gift). And it was the same in the desert.

Refuellling in the desert 

After this one small village called Inal, they got chased by a Land Cruiser from the gendarmerie with the one guy in the back brandishing a machine gun. They stopped as per the indications of the driver and the one guy hopped out to ask for the fiches. They seemed satisfied with this and drove off. 

Setting up the desert camp

Sunset at the bushcamp

By then the desert was showing signs of some black rock formations, rather basalt-like rock sand, stones, rocks and then complete hills or ridges of them. They chose one of these formations in the desert to set their bush camp. This was the first time they opted to spend the night in the car – Coen was just too tired to set up camp. I also got taken out of the box, it was safer to walk with me than with moccasins in these parts.

Dinner was a quick affair of a few sandwiches with this and that and olives.

The next day was another hard day of soft sand, car getting stuck, deflating tyres and inflating them again and road checks before they reached Atar, a date palm oasis just the other side of this great basalt ridge. First they passed this great basalt formation in the desert, called Ben Amira. It was a bit strange and rounded in shape compared to the others that were around it. Looked just like a piece of rock to me!

Atar now. And we find the Bab Sahara camping site. Pretty much your basic sandy place, in town: a few trees, a few cabins and ablutions. The neighbor let us in, a very nice old man who even went to buy bread and water for us. The owner was not in the country and his assistant arrived a bit later to see us settled. Then arrived the caretaker/night watchman who did a bit of watering, filled the tanks and cleaned up the yard.

It was hot and again they opted to sleep in the car. A shower with some clothes-washing and they settled to sort out the car as the sun was setting. With the rough driving the fridge was in a state, everything had moved and opened or spilled. The car got a slight rinse too. They also started asking about the papers for the car and what could be done. It was all very convoluted about who will talk to whom and when and for what but the conclusion was one had to wait for the next morning for things to happen because the owner will be phoning from overseas to sort things out.

That evening Elismé managed some mutton with dumplings and Mariana had grated some water melon for after dinner.

It was hot inside the car but after a while Coen opened the windows a bit more and there was a cool breeze blowing through later in the night. They managed some sleep.

The next morning Coen went to see some gendarme who was not to be found, then when they found him, he could not do much without talking to the customs and so it went on. The Dutch owner of the camping phoned to find out what was going on, more phone calls were made and more waiting. Finally the one gendarme phoned and said things were sorted out and they were coming with the papers. They gave and extension of 15 days and claim Ouy10,000 per car for this. When asked for a receipt, they said that when customs do something in this country there is no receipt to be given. Coen told them that it seemed like ‘arnaque’ and they sure were not happy to be called that and they refused to take the rest of the money.

On the road to Chinguitti

 After long tribulations, they packed up and left. Filling the cars on the way, more fiches to be handed out  and they took the road to Chinguetti. It was a fairly good dirt road just out of Atar, then a tarred pass through the basalt ridge, through a different desert land and dirt road again. They saw some spiny tailed urumustic lizard in that desert along with some camels, goats and the odd camel skeleton.

Tourist Office - Chinguitty

How does one describe Chinguitti? The houses are mostly built with brick shaped stones with flat roofs. Part of it is old, the oldest being already covered by sand. It is of these old towns found on the ancient pilgrims’ route. All pilgrims passing through these such towns (on their way to Mecca, around the 12th century B.C) were asked to bring some religious documents from the holy city back here. Hence, there are many of these ancient religious documents in these towns, all perishing with desert advance, age and handling.

So, they visited a few camping places and concluded that they will settle in ‘La Caravanne’ Camping. Their first option being the Maure Bleu was closed as the French aunty running it was away for her summer holidays and the other one was even more bland that this one. La Caravanne has the basics, not very well made up and such but hey, in this desert, where they still live in the past, one would be hard pressed to find guest houses as they make them in SA, no?

Pass across the ridge

You will ask, perhaps, what was the point of hammering the car, going through such difficult roads to see the desert. Ah, I was out of the box for sure but this place….. gives a type of thirst that cannot be quenched. In this season, it is constantly windy and hence dusty too. 

They chose to sleep in one of the rooms for the time they are here. The others parked in the sun and settled camp. The camp is not far from the town’s power station so apart from the braying of donkeys, there is a constant hum from there. Otherwise, the place is pretty peaceful. It was Friday around midday  when they got to Chinguetti, businesses were closed and most people were at prayers.

Working 

Old town seen from a dune top

 The next day the other two cars left of Ouadane but they chose to stay, visit the old town and work on the translation document. In the morning they went walking into the old town and met with people, took pictures and visted the ‘library’.

Trying an old fashioned key

This is not a library in the common understanding of it but rather the dwelling of one of the oldest families in the area who have managed to unite and keep the documents   handed down from generations. And the person who was there is the one male descendent whose responsibility it is to keep an eye on them and pass them on.

Reading through old poetry

These are incredible documents if only by the sheer age of them but also because of their content. Many deal with Islam, the religion, the Hadith and commentaries but he also had quite a collection of poems, writings on law, health and all aspects of life. The one document he showed us was written in Abyssinia on Italian paper by a learned man from ?????

There were, of course, quite a few of these ladies claiming to be of the local cooperative who wanted to sell all manner of crafts. They all had the same things, much of which they did not really know what they were made of, or where they came from.

Some youngsters were visiting the town that day and wanted to have their photograph taken so that it appears on the internet!

Young men in Chinguitti

The rest of the day was spent working in the upper dining room of La Caravanne. Mr Yaiah, the general factotum of the place helped them get dinner started – a lamb risotto cum potjie which was simple but quite tasty.

That evening they settled to sleep in the upper open sitting room of the place, it was well ventilated, there were no mosquitoes and they fell asleep to the sound of the local Marabout chanting his praise to the Prophet.

And they were off on the road again. By the time they filled the car in Atar, they decided to head for Nouakchott. It was getting very hot but the road was good, it was Sunday and there were loads of container trucks going in the same direction as them. The roadblocks were numerous. They stopped for fuel in the one town where they got told that ‘essence’ is only sold on the black market there. So, they had to go hunting in the direction of the market. The one guy actually found them because someone phoned him to tell him that there was this Land Cruiser looking for fuel.

Desert advance - 60C

When they did a stop to refill their cold water, it was about 60C outside. I could feel this hot air just cooking me, it felt like getting boiled but without the water.