Driving 'The Beast' through Africa
Mauritania
by Isabelle Demaeght, December 31th, 2024
Mauritania mines a lot of iron ore, deep in the desert. This is taken by trains with as many as 200 cars and three locomotives to the coast for shipment all over the world. 'Influencers' have posted videos on YouTube about the 'most dangerous train ride' or 'the craziest thing I ever did': riding from Choum to Nouadhibou (where we are now) in a wagon full of iron ore. Illegally, by now, because it needs to get more and more exciting: they jump from one (moving) wagon to another, and of course accidents happen in the process.
In the morning, Victor and Adriaan go to pick up a newly arrived passenger from the station. He has spent 12 overnight hours on and in the iron ore and is pitch black. He is not allowed in the cab of the pickup, not allowed inside the house until he has been in the sea, and even then he is not allowed to sleep in one of the guest rooms. The thrill escapes us, but man is a herd animal (and social media reinforces that).
Meanwhile, we talk about possible routes (and dangers). Even for us, the “train ride” is appealing: 300+ kilometers through the desert, over hard sand, through dunes, along dry riverbeds. It is not entirely without danger, which is why many do it in convoy. But that limits our freedom: we want to sleep two nights somewhere in the middle of the desert. Alone. The challenges: we only did 50 kilometers of “piste” in Morocco and since then we know that following a sandy track is not obvious because tire tracks are quickly obliterated. Another uncertainty is diesel consumption: in the sand it can get so out of control that one tank may not be enough.
Victor helps us with a 20-liter metal Jerry can. That extra diesel will certainly get us there. We stock up on water, drinking water (there's a difference) and food for about a week (in case we get stranded). The track is on my iPad (OpenStreetMap) and also in the Garmin GPS. I am appointed navigator (“a little more north,” “you're completely off the trail” (ha ha) and “we're going right over the line”).
After about 70 kilometers, we set up camp in the desert. We notice that Victor's Jerrycan is leaking: some of the diesel has leaked onto the roof of The Beast. The Jerrycan “sleeps” in the sand, with the leak on top. We are joined by a curious desert mouse, cook a simple pasta and go crazy with flies. At night we are awakened by the distant sound of a passing train under an infinite starry sky.
Adriaan finds a temporary solution by fixing the reservoir with the hole on top and tying a rag around it. Once the first 20 liters are consumed, in an apparently deserted settlement, we cut a plastic water bottle into a funnel. The surfaced “chef de village,” who also turns out to be a nurse, doesn't like our T-shirt cotton filter. He promptly gives us a box of dressings and helps Adriaan filter out any rust particles. Despite the rag, the roof of The Beast is covered with a layer of dust caked in diesel. The chief accepts the jerry can and says he knows someone who will fix it. In Africa, recycling is normal (and not a European fashion).
At the end of a tiring day, we sleep in the “lee” of a huge monolith (Ben Amera). The headwind increases to 4 Beaufort, slightly more during the day. The last hundred kilometers are more difficult as we almost get stuck several times in the soft dune sand. Nevertheless, we arrive in Choum unscathed and with a proud driver (his first time in the dunes).
While Adriaan re-inflates the tires (we drive in the sand on very soft tires: 1 atmosphere) Ahemad comes to ask us if we want to take some car parts and a bottle of oil to the first police station in Atar. We agree, but are not allowed to leave without having tea first (in his new house).
Arriving in Atar, it turns out there is no more room at the campground. A group of seven truck mobile homes has arrived there that afternoon. The owner, Leonie, offers us a spot on another walled area, right next to a mosque. Through loudspeakers at 7:30 p.m., the imam's “sermon” blares. At 6:00 and 7:30 a.m. this ritual repeats itself. So we wake up nice and early. The trees and the wall do provide shelter from the strong wind.
We deliver the petanque balls to Jean and Yves' guide. We see nothing of the surroundings, as it seems foggy. Unfortunately, our balls do not meet the official requirements to participate in competitions in Mauritania. Guide Ahmed discusses possible routes through the desert. There is a dirt road to the UNESCO heritage town of Ouadane (pronounced Wadane); the guides return with their tourists through the desert. We have to get used to the way Ahmed navigates: “on the second day, keep Mount Zarga on your left, do not pass on the right because there is no passage in deep sand there.” On our GPSs there is neither a slope on the left nor on the right, so we put this plan out of our minds.
We visit Tergit (over the asphalt road), a beautiful oasis in a gorge, south of Atar. In the oasis you shouldn't need to see far, we reason, and the gorge provides shelter. We sleep there and marvel at all the dust a sandstorm raises. Even on our sleeping bags and in our noses we find sand in the morning.
On the way back to Atar, we see a collision between a Mercedes and a dromedary. The animal falls to the ground due to an open leg fracture. Her cries pierce (us) to the bone. Several hours later, Adriaan returns to the scene, but no one has taken care of the unfortunate animal. Adriaan stops an official-looking vehicle and asks the official to do something for the injured dromedary, even if it is calling a butcher. People treat animals differently here than in Europe.
The strong wind persists, limiting visibility to less than 100 meters. Traveling on makes little sense, so we stay a few days in the shelter of guide Sidi's campsite. He, too, knows the route through the desert. More difficult, but shorter than along the railroad (150 kilometers, and with an oasis (Tanouchert) and a village Chinguetti (UNESCO library) as reachable havens).
Adriaan helps Sidi get a December 12th GPS track from his iPad, which provides us with some guidance. We decide to chance it: Into the sand, without a map but with recent GPS info from an experienced guide.
Meanwhile, travelers keep coming and going. Most notable is Cyrille, who, together with another French couple, travels a thousand kilometers through the desert in two old 2CVs (an old, iconic car by the French brand Citroën). The little cars have been modified for this purpose into 4x4 2CVs, which then, however, will not go faster than 50 kilometers per hour. The gearbox has to be taken out for that, and to do that, the engine has to be taken out. A piece of cake for Cyrille.
In Atar, I visit a project of a man from Brussels who has built a school for children from less fortunate families. In these areas, it is difficult to educate all the children from remote oases. We decide to support the project.
After re-equipping ourselves with sufficient fuel, water and food, we drive east to Ouadane and then return through the desert. The dunes are higher, the fresh powder sand sometimes deep. Some dunes have dangerously steep edges on the lye side (out of the wind). We have to navigate carefully to avoid unexpectedly falling off such a dune edge – something that could mean the end of our journey. It will be a unique experience: driving alone through the desert, cooking three times at sunset, enjoying the starry sky (and each other's company) and waking up all three times with dromedaries around us.
So we visit two world heritage sites. Unfortunately, our visit is always interrupted by screaming children asking for presents, coins, notebooks and pens. In Chinguetti they jump on the moving car, open the doors. Some adult women there even react verbally aggressively when they don't get anything. It is disheartening, especially since the nature here is breathtakingly beautiful and the local economy is begging for tourists.
More than 38 years ago I worked for Doctors Without Borders in Mali and Chad. The last few days in Mauritania take me right back to that time. On the surface, little seems to have changed, except that everyone now has a telephone or television to stay connected to the world.
We return to Atar one more time to stock up on fuel, water and food. We take two young hitchhikers with us. They don't mind lying in the back, with their backpacks on the roof. For us this is a completely new experience.
A week ago (on the way from Atar to the Tergit oasis) we had seen nothing of the landscape, which can now stand comparison with the Grand Canyon.
In 2007, four French tourists were murdered near the town of Aleg. Some say it was 'just' a robbery that got out of hand, others think it was an extreme religious motive. The reaction was painful: tourists all stayed away and even the Paris-Dakar race didn't come by anymore. Now there is a checkpoint every few kilometers throughout the country. (Police, national security and sometimes customs).
They register our passports and license plate (by taking a photo of a cell phone, that saves writing) and always ask us the same question: "Where are you from and where are you going?" The goal: to ensure that tourists no longer 'get lost' - shortly after 2007, searches were held if tourists didn't arrive at the next checkpoint. A tourist thought that a form with all that information would be useful: he gave a 'fiche' to the inspectors. We did that too: In Nouadhibou we had 22 forms made with a copy of our passports and all the information that is sometimes requested. They ran out halfway across the country.
The road to the south is paved, but also silted up in some places. There are even special traffic signs for it, unknown to us.
There is little food to be found in Mauritania and in the restaurants (so far) we don't get much further than rice with sauce. Our frozen pasta sauce and goat meat are now gone, so we decide to drive to the capital Nouakchott - something that was not originally in my plans, but oh well, that's nothing new...
The iOverlander App mentions a tourist attraction: Nile crocodiles (Crocodylus niloticus), of which there are only a few left in Mauritania and Chad. Although we have to travel 25 kilometers (in more than 2 hours) through very difficult terrain, The Beast has proven its strength many times before.
After a journey through sand and over rocks, we reach a remote spot in a sandy valley. We are not alone for long, because we are soon joined by six boys between the ages of 6 and 10. Adriaan gives them what we still have: our last dates, a roll of cookies, drinking water and finally our jar of chocolate spread. We think that after getting the chocolate they will go home, but instead they sit in a circle and lick the jar empty together in no time. With my limited Arabic vocabulary I ask them to go home and they slowly (disappointedly) leave.
The next morning, after our breakfast, the four youngest of them return. They accompany us to the crocodiles, which are indeed warming up in the sun at a lake. We observe them from above on a rock. The boys look through binoculars for the first time, try my sunglasses and are incredibly sweet. They like` nothing better than to walk hand in hand with us and then ride along. We think four boys lying in the back through that difficult terrain is too dangerous (no grip and concussions against the roof or drawer system). But we take them with us, hanging off the side of the car (and the smallest on my lap), back to their village Dar Assalam.
We continue on the Route de l’Espoir (the main traffic artery of this country, the 'road of hope' - which was supposed to bring the hinterland closer to the capital, but in reality encouraged urbanisation).
We pass Boutilimit: this city has a real bypass, but we go into the city. The bypass was necessary, because the road through Boutilimit is one souk. We buy bread and bananas and Adriaan tries to take photos. The dangling device in his hand is looked at with disapproval, an angry man follows us into a side street because he thinks Adriaan has taken a photo. Only now do we notice that simple gandouras (a djellaba without a hood) are being worn again (instead of the more common boubou in Mauritania).
We also see men with beards without moustaches. And people looking at us as if we were unclean (haram)... We get the 'hint' and continue on our way.
In Nouakchott we visit the "Port de pêche" (the fishing port); a very colourful and lively place. It is teeming with people: fishermen, traders, women behind food stalls. Large wooden praus, decorated with bright colours and names of distant ports and football clubs, are pulled onto the beach with sheer manpower.
There is so much to see. But the penetrating smell of fresh or not so fresh fish makes me not stay here for too long. Adriaan is invited by three young people to a game of table football. He laughs and shakes his head. "No," he says, "because then you will definitely lose." I encourage him and he eventually joins in. There is a lot of laughter, but yes: the prediction comes true. They lose...
We have found a spacious apartment, a oasis of peace after the hustle and bustle of the city and the port. Here we can catch our breath, wash our clothes, replenish our food supplies and let the chaos and the heat from outside sink in. We extend our stay until New Year's Day.
Senegal awaits us, with new stories, new faces and unknown horizons. But for now we enjoy a festive end-of-year break.
PS. On New Year's Eve, watching television is a tradition. This documentary gives a very nice summary of what we saw - Adriaan