Home » Mauritania » Overland Trip To Senagal 2004, Day 9: Foum Chour

08.04.04

Overland Trip To Senagal 2004, Day 9: Foum Chour

Thomas Morgan
2006-04-26 12:04:28

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As I went off for my third shower of the day despite it only being 1pm, I saw a Mauritanian engaging in the art of spitting. Mauritanians of all ages and both genders practise this art, which involves collecting phlegm from the far reaches of the throat with a guttural sound made as loudly and publicly as possibly, before despatching it victoriously to the ground. Looking menacingly at passers-by seems to be an optional extra. Mauro-gob is another thing to have hit Ross on the head during this trip. I entered the shower and saw my shiny face in the mirror, peeled off my tshirt and figured that wet shorts would keep cool for longer so kept them on. Having sat in the shade for 20 minutes, they’re half dry already.

We went into town at about 4.30. The children here, and many adults, love to say “ça va ?” to us as we pass them. They are all so friendly and we love it. First order of business was the post office, but it’s shit. Perhaps it will be open later, we say. We bought a postcard each, Frenchy for his grandma, I for the Houghton boys. We walk to the internet café. Given that we checked our email yesterday and that we’re trying to save money it might be a stupid idea but I need Si’s address which he emailed to Frenchy, and Frenchy forgot to wish his dad happy birthday yesterday, even though he wrote him an email. While I’m reading an email from my Arabic teacher, Frenchy smacks the plastic wire casting on the floor. We were aware of the young girls sitting next to us and, with a few discreet glances ascertained that they were both quite pretty. We Frenchy and I swapped places, one of them started looking at us, sat right next to us, pretty, young, but in full Muslim dress, we didn’t know how to approach the situation and didn’t even realise that they were chatting us up. They couldn’t speak English or French very well, and my Arabic didn’t make much progress, but there we were, Atâr, Mauritania, chatting to two young Moor girls.

We needed a drink, but decided not to stop at a restaurant. Our biscuits and oranges would be dinner. The biscuits are immense, and apparently the Mauritanians agree because every little shop we go to has more biscuits than anything else. Anyway we stopped at one of the little shops, Frenchy bought a Fanta, I a can of some fruit orange mix, which was nice. Then to the taxi place, which wasn’t one at all but was a car rental place. Then home. On the way back a pretty black girl asked in French if Tom would kiss her. She and her friend were giggling, walking the other way, Frenchy said “it’ll cost you” Good times… Nouakchott, demain matin nous partons.