Home » Mauritania » Overland Trip To Senagal 2004, Day 6: Nouâdhibou

05.04.04

Overland Trip To Senagal 2004, Day 6: Nouâdhibou

Thomas Morgan
2006-04-26 11:42:45

Displayed times (last time: )

lit streets full of men in flowing blue robes and chèches and women covered from head to toe in all kinds of brightly coloured cloths. It looked like we had landed on another planet and as the van backed into a warehouse and the doors opened, two boys stood and stared looking surprised, before smiling and uttering the ubiquitous “ça va ?”. A girl a bit younger than us poked her head in and giggled with what seemed like disbelief as we climbed out and the boys started to unload the van, one inside throwing 5kg bags of barley out to the other who would stack them up. One fell a bit short and Ross bent over to pick it up, when another sack came flying out and hit him square on the head, quite predictably leaving me in fits of laughter as well as amusing the two guys and the girl. We then went and dropped off the Mauritanian woman and helped her unload before the driver dropped us at the “Auberge Chinguetti” which turned out to be a very nice place, with Fabrice the pothead owner, Ousmaël and another black guy keeping us company. There are a few overlanders here all in their own cars and I begin to wonder how many people come down this way in the same way as us.

I had a great night’s sleep as I was shattered after the bumping ride and our pushing the van out of the sand when it got stuck. On coming down the peninsula we caught a glimpse of the train coming the other way which tonight will provide us with transport to the interior desert for the first time.

Why would anyone have kids ? For every you ask that in despair and frustration you get that reply when a child does something amazing and uplifting, like sit down and share a bag of crisps with you and laugh with joy at a pen that clicks open and shut.

Frenchy and I walk to the internet place an hour or so after Ghassan and his kids have left. It’s dark, in a place we don’t know, but we feel safe and stroll to the building as if we’re in Norwich. The website with the info on the iron ore train to Choûm isn’t working, the owner of the hotel told us that the train at 2am, which we were going to take, doesn’t stop at Choûm. We’ll get the one tomorrow at 2 in the afternoon. I write an email to my dad. Frenchy checks his, we pay 100 ouguiya for half an hour and walk back. Dinner is couscous, delicious, only us at the row of tables watching the Mauritania news channel. I write when we’re in the room, we listen to Ousmaël on his guitar. What a remarkable story he is. We’ve run out of water and decide to take a walk to buy some. Again, we’re safe and worry-free, buying two bottles from a little shop, still open, with men talking. The pillow is hard but I sleep soundly