Gunning for the Gambia

The ‘road’ to the Gambian border post (Farafeni) was being re-graded – there was a grader and a roller actively working there that morning. They got to a new building that had the sign ‘Bell Guest House’ on it and were signaled to stop. They pulled over next to this building and went to do the paper work at the office that was set up in what was supposed to be the hair and beauty salon.

There was lots of talking, more money handed over and some waiting there as well. After being told that South Africans must get a visa upon entering the country, the immigration here are insisting on a letter of invitation! The custom’s officer came to check inside the cars while the discussions were going on. There is a ferry crossing here at Keur Ayib but they also have an option of a bridge and ferry at Georgetown.

A call came about going into town to get a tourist stamp. The one officer chose to ‘escort’ us, for which he was told off by his superior, but not before he had asked for the taxi fee back to his office! And some 20 minutes later, the men came out with all the passports and we took to the road to Georgetown. We stopped at the roadside to have a bite and proceeded onwards. In the next town, the police stopped us saying that we have to report back at Farafeni to get a ‘proper’ visa.

Back we went and there, they were told that for Dalasis 1000 each they get a 28 day visa because the previous tourist stamp was not valid for them. This took ages as the immigration officer obviously does not do this procedure everyday and was very slow. He had to check and counter check everything he was doing.

By the time they were done with immigration, it was too late to get to Georgetown and it was advisable to head for Banjul, so they were told. They were advised to go to Barra and cross the river there. The road was good in most parts, except for quite a few customs and police check points which tended to slow the trip down quite a bit.

There is a marked difference in Gambia, the place is clean. Yes, clean, not cleanish, but clean. All the towns we passed had no plastic bottles and bags on the sides of the roads. Occasionally you did see an accumulation of thrash but you’d have to conclude it is their dump because the rest of the place is clean. And of course, there are less flies too. Throughout the south of Senegal and in Gambia, there are villages where the roads of bordered with trees, mango or some other planted trees that sometimes almost make a canopy over the road. All this greenery is very beautiful and reassuring after the desert with its bleak colour variations of sand up north.

Another peculiarity of the place, south of Senegal included, is that every village and often every house on the side of the road has a wooden structure built, either under a tree or covered by a ‘paillotte’ of sorts. This is often made of poles, in the shape of a big bed or a dais. Here is where the village elders or sometimes, whole families gather at the end of the day (or even during the day) and sit and do nothing/watch the world go by. Art of living, you’d say!

Here, however, as in the rest of Africa we passed so far, the children barely greet you and they are asking for this or that. It just does not stop, and the vendors are persistent.

At Essau, they were advised to take the tickets for the cars, that took about 20 minutes again. At Barra, it was complete chaos: trucks, cars, people, vendors etc. The cars had to wait in a line on the left side of the road. There the waiting started, it took ages before they finally realized that there was some shady business going on. Many cars and trucks passed us by, into the gates to the ferry.

They were told that these had ‘special passes’. A few guys offered to make us get to the gates of the ferry faster if we get them a little something. After a long, hot and humid wait, the cars did get to the gates of the port but then the gates closed in front of them! At these gates they were told they had to pay an additional D200/per car for the luggage they were carrying and no receipt would be given. One guy even asked for a cell phone to help them get through onto the ferry. The people took great exception when they were told that the place were not enjoyable because they were not being treated well and people were just intent on making things more difficult.

The one person who said he was hard at work to get the cars onto the ferry was practically hanging onto the cars up to the gates of the ferry. Only Hans and Stephanus managed to get on board and we were first in the queue for the next ferry. And we waited.

By the time the next ferry accosted, the previous one’s motors had broken down and they were drifting. The tide was rising and the captain just left it to drift into the other bank, into Banjul and just managed to get the engines going to get onto the quay. Finally the others only arrived into Banjul 15 minutes before us.

It was dark already; some people were breaking fast on our ferry. Two other cars on our ferry offered to guide us to the area where we had to go – to Cindy’s house. She was DCM for the US embassy when we were in Brazzaville and kindly invited us to stay with her if we visited Gambia. She had already given us directions how to get to her place, and even in the dark the people pointed us in the right direction and we got there.

They were exhausted and dirty. It was such a relief to see a friendly face, to be in the comfort of a house with running water and just let go. There was a lot of talking, catching up, exchange of news and just sitting, eating, drinking, and more talking before hitting the showers and then the bed.

The next day, awake with a cup of coffee and some bread, Cindy took them on a short walk to the ATM and then down to the beach. The place might have sand roads to the various residences and the sides of the roads might not be very smooth to drive on but it was clean. Down at the beach there were signs of dead calamari and the odd dead fish but no rubber sandals, plastic bottles or bags lying around or stuck in the sand.

There are a few resorts in that area, most of which were a bit run down but still quite nice and clean. Then you get in touch with ‘bumpsters’, these beach bum types who accost you asking all sorts of questions and insisting on being your friend, showing you a nice restaurant or sell you peanuts so you can visit the monkey garden up the road.

After an interesting walk, they went shopping as they had offered to make Cindy a Potjie that evening. She asked some people from the British High Commission to come over as well. It is interesting to see what these shops that cater mainly for foreign clientele have to offer. They got their requirements and some more for the road and started the process while Cindy left for her Saturday duty at the American Corner.

 It was a very relaxing afternoon: cooking, blogging, resting, reading etc. Some went into the pool. Cindy has this swimming pool that is supervised by a winged horse!

Later in the afternoon, they sat under the verandah with snacks: freshly made baba ganoush and houmous and pitta bread. It was excellent; and they talked some more. By the time the guests arrived, a great table was laid by Mariana, pudding was made by Elismé and the potjie was done. It was a merry table that evening.

Camping at the stone circles

 They had decided to get onto the road for some more stone circles the next morning. They packed, said their farewells, went to fill the cars and draw money and they were off to the west of the country. The roads were good for a good part but with countless roadblocks, most of them were polite, asking useless questions but you did get little bullies who did not understand what they were about and tended to throw their weight about. They were also great for asking “Anything for me today?” All in all, a waste of time.

Gambia Stone Circles

The general conclusion about this place is not that it is totally and utterly corrupt but that the people just don’t know, and they don’t know that they don’t know. And we are told that they do not want to learn either. The incompetence is the main culprit for keeping such a beautiful small place in its current underdeveloped status.

It is rather amusing to us who are just passing to be hailed as ‘toubab’, which is what they call all foreigners, and they say that we come from toubabadoo whereas the Chinese are ‘chinks’ who hail from chinkadoo. To be sure, this must not be quite as amusing for people who have to live there long term.

The further east you go both in Senegal and in Gambia, the more you see a change in the way people live: there are more huts, more straw roofs, more dwellings made of compact mud and then plastered. In Gambia, it was quite neatly done and kept in general but there was less intensive cultivation than in Senegal.

There are vast areas that only seem to be lying there with some grass and trees on them and perhaps some cattle that walk by from time to time.

Then there was a piece of dirt road that had not seen much maintenance in a while and that slowed us down considerably. Back on a good tar road, they made Georgetown in good time. They opted to cross with the ferry to the other side and see the stone circles and also camp there if possible despite the fact that people were saying that the place would be closed on a Sunday etc etc.

And there it was; open, and the curator was there – an interesting old man who knew the story of the place quite well since his grandfather was the local chief in the time when the first westerners started doing research on these stones. He gave them quite a bit of information on the place before going off to break his fast. They settled into a camp on the site of stones.

Pitta jaffel

They were all quite tired and hot. They finished settling camp and sat for a bit. Dinner consisted of a concoction by Elismé, put into some pita breads, into the jaffel maker on the fire by Mariana. It was tasty and quite filling. The uncle came back and had a long conversation with Coen while tea was being served. However, there were dark clouds looming and they had to secure the camp in case it rained.

It did not rain and they spent a quiet night, which was disturbed by the generator of the nearby cell phone tower occasionally starting up. It is a very peaceful place. Even though the stones are said to be tombs, there was no creepy feeling about it all. It felt more serene, if anything.

Bush camp around Wassu

The others have opted not to go to the Casamance because of the rainy season, so they headed to the border. After checking up on a few structures that have fallen apart, and checking out the way to Baboon island, they headed further east. The ferry crossing was painless, so was the border crossings back into Senegal. However, the roads got to be rather appalling in Basse Santa Sue. They stopped for the night in the bush around Wassu since the places available in the town were nothing to go by.

The next day, the road got worse in no-man’s land and then it was just mud tracks and holes full of water.

The Road South from Dakar

They chose the road towards the ‘pays des megaliths’ where they could try to find the stone circles.  As far as Fatick the road was quite good. In many parts there were baobabs on both sides of the road, in the middle of fields and in the open as well. All was very green, it had rained quite a bit recently. Other roads were bordered with trees, obviously planted. In parts they made a canopy over the road. Then we got into salt pan country and the roads were rather bad, full of potholes. Some potholes were being patched, some not, so driving slowly and doing some slaloms around the holes. Then, we got to a part of good roads until we got to Kaolak.

In Kaolak it was market day and many of the town’s roads were flooded with the rains that had been falling the previous days. It took a while to pass through town and after that the road was good again. Nioro du Rip was another town that we had to pass through, and then we turned off into a country road into ‘megalith’ country. From that town on the tar seems to have been broken off the surface, so they had just leveled it with earth instead.

There was some wildlife to be seen by the roads too. A variety of birds, more of giant lizards than I would be comfortable with and all manner of insects.

 They found the turnoff and started the ‘piste’ driving. Soon enough they saw one set of stone circles. Nothing Stonehenge but still a mystery in this country where they have no written, oral or singing accounts of these stones. We moved on to the other place where stone circles have been reported with the help of GPS, asking the people and common sense. We did find them, a fenced place with signs of ‘national heritage’ but the keeper was not there.

Up to there they were followed by the town’s

children who were asking for money and then they could go into the site through the fence. She tried phoning the keeper and with a few phone calls she was told that someone was coming. It was hot, humid and getting late. They walked around the fence, saw quite a lot of stones set in circles but dutifully did not go in.

By the time the keys arrived, the kids were incapable to saying how much it cost, so they decided to push off and find a place to camp. In a village, they called on the ‘chef du village’ who called for an interpreter and they got permission to set camp in a groundnut field quite a way off the village.

It was very peaceful there except for the odd cattle that passed and people on horseback; and quite a variety of shongololos: big, small, brown, striped, yellow… They set up the small tent on a flattish part under a tree and the others just parked alongside they car.

Mariana was cooking that evening and made a beef à la king with rice. It was still daylight when they sat  down to food but they hurried the rest of it because some dark clouds were massing at the horizon. Quick rinse of the body and change into sleeping clothes and they only just had time to pop into the tent before the mother of a rain storm came crashing on them, complete with wind, thunder and lightening. They sat on the inflatable mattress as if on a raft drifting away at sea and waited for it to pass.

When it abated, they stretched along what dry part was left of the mattress and caught some sleep. The top of the mattress dried fast enough and they did get some sleep. It was cooler too.

 In the morning, they worked on the packing, dismantling of the tent while having the breakfast of biscuits and coffee. Some villagers came to check up on us and give their advice on the direction we should take to the border. Again, with the help of the GPS, asking around and common sense, they got to the one town they were looking for – Medina Sabak, and then got directions to the border post. On the way they passed numerous people working their fields ‘traditionally’: with short handled hoes, horses or oxen pulling ploughs. 

This border post is a little less chaotic than the other ones we have passed and papers were done slowly. The cars were surrounded by beggars and some peanut vendors; it was very hot and humid – the Gambia river was just down the road.

Sliding into Sénégal

Again she had to go help with translating and sorting out who was who and what they did in life and such. At the customs office, two officers were painstakingly noting down all the info about our drivers and their cars. They called on her to ask a few ‘nothings’ and carried on. She also sat there, in their air con office and made as if she had all the time in the world.

After that was the police/immigration who did not stamp the passports and these had to be taken back. So procedures were carried out amidst swarms of flies, hundreds of people and very humid heat. Finally, 3++ hours later, all done, Mr Bamba was paid for his services and big arguments were held about car insurance – the one they gave us for the CDEAO in Nouakchott is not valid, it seems – and they were on the roads.

There were numerous stops at first: customs, police and customs again but the road to St Louis was pretty decent all in all. They are rebuilding parts of it; parts of it are rather broken on the sides and parts rather perfect. They reached St Louis in good time and went on to find the Zebra Bar, a place they had heard of from various blogs and other readings.

Coen was too tired to pitch the tent and it was very hot and humid, so they opted for a cabin. The whole place was more like a backpackers’ camp, with small cabins, small bungalows, bigger ones, space to camp, ablutions etc. It was on the edge of the fleuve, in the nature reserve, far from the town.

Unfortunately there was a ‘bible’ camp also on the premises, so that evening they had children singing, people talking on a public address system and much animation. There was a slight breeze through the cabin and they managed to get some sleep. That next morning, Coen ordered breakfast from the kitchen, then they re-packed the car and secured the new cover on the roof rack and they were off.

The others had opted to stay and meet with the customs in order to try to do the customs’ formalities for the cars. The road was mostly in good condition but there were small towns and villages all along and they could not go faster than 70km/h. That was nothing compared to getting into Dakar. It was Saturday afternoon but the traffic was hectic and it got close to impossible when they left Thies by the by-pass. There is one roundabout at Rufisque that clogged the traffic both ways.

Fishermen coming back

Fishing village next to the Diving centre

They reached Oceanium after 16h00, and settling into the rooms allocated to them, caught a nap. They were told that there was a ‘popular’ party there that night. They had a shower and they went in search of a nice place to eat. They found Big Five Bistrot where they had grilled calamari and juice of corronsol. It was well prepared and tasty, the environment was peaceful. And then, the power cut and the restaurant personnel were quick to light candles while moaning that in this area power cuts were not known – this restaurant is close to the presidency!

They walked back to the Oceanium and everything was quiet, they thought that the party was off or something. They got into bed and lo and behold, the music started, seamless, loud and very rhythmic – until the early hours of the morning. Deep sleep was not possible but they did doze off. She only really woke up when the music suddenly stopped for good!

Ah, well, a few more hours of sleep and they were down for breakfast and then diving. The ‘boys’ diving were mainly level 3 and 4 divers and were not keen to take people who had not dived since last October. So, they had a dive leader all to themselves and a boat too, to go see Epave Cap Manuel. They did manage to find functioning equipment, and to size too.

The water was not clear, loads of particles floating about but loads of fish as well. To be accurate schools of them but that looked rather like clouds, just swishing one way and the other. They had small kingfish hunting them and the schools of fish were active, the movement was fascinating, better than what you see on tv, in spite of the murky waters. They saw puffer fish, octopus and other sea life too.

Gorée Island from the Dive Centre

 After the dive, they checked out, had a shower and waited at the bar for their other appointment – lunch with Abou Tall (her boss at the UNDP in Brazzaville). He took them to his house where they spent a nice afternoon with his family, eating typical Senegalese food and talking of old times and new times.

The next appointment was with Albert at the Sea Plaza, the latest ‘in’ place of Dakar. It had the trappings of the ‘mall’, with the expensive shops, a food court and a supermarket. They did a bit of shopping before following Albert home. He had kindly invited them to stay until they knew where and what and when.

Monday saw them visting a bit of town by taxi, mainly to find an optician to repair Coen’s glasses that had broken just before the dive. It was a tricky affair but they came right at this optician with Abou told them about. Coen also managed to have his car looked into by the local Speedy.

Later that afternoon, Albert sent his man for a fish that they put on the grill and had with boiled potatoes. It was excellent, the local version of Dorade. They all made an excellent meal that evening, the place was quiet and peaceful. They only retired after ginger/lemon tea.

Tuesday they went hunting for groceries and embassies and hardware.

That evening, the people where Hans and Elismé were invited them and Albert for a typical SA braai. They quickly put some braai necessaries together and went there after Albert got back from work. Elismé and Mariana were busy preparing the place and making the side dishes while the men grilled the meats. It was a jolly evening.

There was always some waiting to be done at the embassies but in the end the people did see them and listen to them and supply some kind of explanation or solution. The hardware was more of a mission because there is nothing like a ‘Builders Warehouse’ in these parts and when you did find some ‘quincaillerie’ they did not always keep what was required. All in all they managed.

View of Cote Ouest with 'monument'

 The car got a wash, was re-organised and sorted. They went back to Sea Plaza for some last minute shopping for the car and for the evening where she was cooking her signature fish dish; they also did not interneting there.

Albert has a meeting but said he would be back for dinner. This consisted of fish/prawns with creamy leek sauce served with potatoes or pasta. The fish was baked and the prawns were put to cook in the sauce. It came out quite nicely and the three of them had a nice meal.

After the meal Coen got Albert to fish out his guitar while he went to get his mouth organ. They played, and sang and reminisced about old songs. It was a lively evening but they were all quite tired and a lot of yawning was going on.

The next morning they were up at the crack of dawn, had breakfast and finished the packing of the car; sat with Albert while he was having breakfast and then took to the roads. Albert showed them the more efficient way out of town. It was a much less painful operation getting out of town at that time than getting in on that Saturday afternoon and very soon – sooner than they thought – they met up with the other two cars on the road.

Nondescript Nouakchott

Thus, they approached Nouakchott. The road they took led us along side the airport where they noticed the sure signs of desert advance, with sand piling up on both sides of the roads and sometimes up to the level of boundary walls. The presence of plastic bags and bottles was hyper-obvious as well as this constant sign of neglect. Is it neglect, poverty or desert advance?

They had this one address in Nouakchott for camping, Auberge Menara. They called them to ask for directions and were told that someone was coming to guide them from where they were. We were then, at the level of the airport wall. Soon enough, a vehicle was there and the person drove us through these busy roads and lost us. We were not far from the place, and the guy found us again and drove us there.

It is a very ‘folklorique’ place in the middle of town: a big yard with two big buildings and a few outer smaller buildings, badly made and finished, and an upper terrace where some traditional tents were pitched, where people could sleep if they chose to. The ablutions were rather oversized bathrooms, rather bare but cleanish…There is an array of people going in and out of the place: campers, lodgers, craft sellers and regulars. It was late afternoon when we arrived and it was very appreciable to settle the tent under trees.

Maaloom, the owner of the place is quite a character – he comes, does his rounds of the place and then settles in one of the lounging chairs and ‘holds court’: an assortment of people (mainly men) come and visit with him, chat, drink tea and eat in a common dish while his tiny phone rings from time to time. This phone, he places on his ear and cheek, without holding it, and chats on.

Since they boasted of a mechanic in their website, Coen asked after him and was told that he would appear later that evening. They had a hot shower, to remove the grime of the desert and went in quest of a place to eat. As usual the directions they were given were not exact and they had to ask a few time before hitting the right place: Bajah Restaurant.

It was a very Moroccan styled place with these wonderful lamps and menu too. They ordered ‘bissap juice’, this hibiscus tea, and a seafood platter. The drink was excellent if not a bit sweet and the seafood platter, a bit salty but generous and very fresh.

[You will have noticed that the ‘foodie’ feature has slowed down a bit. Oh, she and Coen are full into investigating the food places, the new tastes but they were onto making camp food and had a sort-of time table of food preparation which curbed the food ‘hunt’.]

The evening was warm and a bit noisy too. The mechanic was there to discuss the work that had to be done and where to do it. A price was agreed and he was told to come as early as he can the next morning. By then the others had decided to take the road to come join them in Nouakchott.

Next morning she went to the corner shop to get eggs and milk, fed those to Coen and started working on her document while he got started on the car. It looked like a big job – I was parked at the entrance of the tent and was watching procedures. The whole place was quite alive with activity: the handyman was hammering away, the caretaker propping up the place to its former order, she was also doing some washing in their machine and other inhabitants were going about their affairs.

Coen spent his day supervising the mechanical works. He seemed quite satisfied with the way these people work and at least, it was under the shade of the trees of the Auberge and not in some ‘public’ hangar or out in the sun. She was ploughing away at her document, she also went in search of food for lunch.

At that stage in the day, they heard that Stephanus had problems starting the car and they had to hunt for a new battery out in Atar. They only started on the road in the late morning and then the car stopped and had to be towed to Nouakchott over more than 250km. They were in sms communication wherever possible. I could only feel for them, in this desert, in the temperatures we went through the day before….

As she worked on, she also put a harira in the making on the stove of the Auberge in one of their cast iron pots. It was bubbling away slowly. She had the Mohamed of the place do some grocery shopping for her: bissap juice, carrots, mangoes etc which she thought would be welcome when the others arrive.

Finally, they arrived, all broken, hot and tired. Coen was also grubby with his ‘garage clothes’. He chose to wait and see in case the other car had to be pushed into the compound. Luckily both cars got into the compound without needing much physical efforts.

They sat down to have the harira after a cold shower and then retired to the tent for the night. The place had to be sprayed because we are now entering mosquito territory.



And the next day they had an appointment with the SA ambassador, Mr H. Spies. Maloom, the owner of the Auberge dropped them there because he said explaining where it is is quite a difficult exercise. So they, 5 of them, piled up in his BMW and off they went. They were expected at the embassy and were given good advice, lots of help and even some water and other refreshments.

The ambassador has been en poste only for about 6 months and was very keen to hear of whatever they could tell him of the country of his posting since he has not had time to see the place himself.

After the embassy, she went back to her work and Coen was back into mechanics helping Stephanus locate the problem with his car. They found an auto electrician recommended by the driver of the embassy. Coen also wanted to do some other work on the car,  that kept them busy for hours.

Hours later, the work was electric work was done and the auto-electrician slapped down a bill of Ouguiya 250,000, just like that. An active period of discussion went on. She, being the translator/negotiator was trying to make sense of such an exorbitant price. With the intervention of some local at the embassy, they managed to come to an understanding.

Meanwhile, Coen was working on the air-con system with Omar. They filled the gas and then realized that there was also something else that was not right with it. After some coming and going they found that the compressor was faulty and had to be changed. So they dismantled that as well. By then it was evening and Coen decided that he’ll have a shower, a little rest and then go hunt for somewhere to eat and the rest will wait to the next day.

They strolled out in the general direction of the Baja restaurant but finally opted to try the Salamandre, a ‘french food’ place rather favoured by foreigners. The menu was restricted because they were closing for the month of August. The food was very tasty, she took a 3 cheeses torte which was simply some pasta with a fancy cheese sauce on it. Coen had sole meunière. The general opinion was that the food was good and not expensive.

That was a pretty peaceful and cool night. The next day, she fed Coen on some eggs and bread and he started working on the car before Omar arrived. When he had had enough of waiting for Omar, he helped her with the revision of her translation. The others had drifted out to see the town a bit. For lunch she got them some Mauritanian style schwarmas and the work on the car proceeded. It was done early afternoon, after which Coen went to have a thorough shower and a long nap while Omar worked on Hans’ indicator lights.

That evening, Aisha from the embassy had organized for them to go listen to music played by a group called Walfadjiri at the Atlantic hotel and dine there too. The owner of the hotel sent cars for them. The music was nice, not too loud and without senseless drumming. The food was good and sufficient.

That night, more people booked into the auberge with some very noisy and messy children. It was a warmer evening too. They were supposed to go sight seeing but the transport did not pitch, so they carried out sorting out the cars, cleaning up and catching up on news.

Eventually, the ‘transport’ did pitch. It was a contact of one of the embassy staff, who very kindly offered to show them around Nouakchott. He piled them in his 4 x 4 and off they went, and they saw the place. The place is expanding rather wildly, it has caught up with its international airport and around there, traffic is hectic.

He drove them up to the coast line where they saw the dunes, the road and the development that is taking place on the other side of that road – it seems to be slightly below sea level and the place is wet, walls are crumbling because of the salt content in the water seeping from below. Meanwhile all manner of plastics are piling on top.

Mauritania has a lot of potential if only they had proper planning behind it and some consideration for their environment too. They have copper, and seemingly that glass can be made from their sand, they have gold and they have found some oil offshore, not to mention the still very good fish in their seas. The tragedy is that their politicians/military are falling for the lure of the Chinese…..

That evening they dined at the residence of the Ambassdor for South Africa – colleague of Coen from the department times. All of them had to shower but earlier as for the two previous days, there was not power at Auberge Menata and hence no water since they use this ‘bancal’ system of demand pumps. Power cuts and power fluctuations seem to mess us the already precarious electrics at the Auberge.

 Luckily the power was restored and they could all shower. The Admin Officer, Derek came to fetch the others and they were following in our car. On the way Hans saw that all the lights on the Cruiser were not working well. So when they got to the residence, Coen did some checks and finally called Omar to the rescue. Meanwhile they all settled around the bar and were having snacks. They spent a pleasant evening. And Omar managed to do something with the lights.

They got back to the Auberge close to midnight and had to wake up before 5 to be on the road in order to meet the ‘bac’ for the crossing of the Senegal River. Packing was done in the dark, or nearly. It was warm with mosquitoes and flies around but they managed with the help of Hans and Stephanus; they were on the road a bit after 6 that morning.



Sleepily, they made for the border. It was sunrise by the time they left Nouakchott and was very hot as they passed small town after small town down to the south. These small town seem to be made of tents and houses made in the shape of tents. It was greener down there and it got more and more humid as they got close to the river.

There, thanks to the good advice of the people of the embassy, they were met by a facilitator, Mr Bamba. He did not speak a stitch of English but he was the one to helped us with this notoriously nasty crossing. She had to come out of the car, squeeze between two customs buildings to help him sort out the papers for the 3 cars and speak to the officials about the people travelling together.

Meanwhile, quite a few people were walking around the cars to try to get the ‘business’ of making them cross or selling something. Eventually they drove onto the ‘bac’ – a barge like vessel that has space in the middle for vehicles and people pile up on the sides. They drove out of the bac and into a waiting area where Bamba took their papers and started to make the rounds again.

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.