The long stretch of road across the desert to Nouakchott was very adventurous. It was exciting to think we were busy cruising across the Sahara.
Even though the landscape stayed pretty much constant, the people were changing. Their skin colour became darker as we moved south and soon it was obvious that we had left the European-like Morocco behind and we were entering into the more familiar images of Africa.
Nouakchott was so much African that the sudden change from Morocco was a shock on our systems. It didn't help that we arrived very late at night and that the drivers didn't keep their end of the deal.
The deal was that they would drive us around town until we found a proper camp site or Auberge. Instead they drove us to the first camp site and when we realised it was closed they drove us a few metres back up the road and dropped us on the curb! In his broken English the driver motioned for us to get out. I refused, ordered the team to stay in the car, and continued arguing with the driver (part of the problem was that halfway to Nouakchott the old drivers switched with new drivers for some mysterious reason and I think they didn't communicate the instructions well).
Still, the driver was becoming very agitated with us. So he got out of the car and started throwing our bags out onto the sand (the curb was really just a patch of sand). He then ordered the team out of the car, climbed back in and sped away. We had no choice left but to let the 2nd car go as well.
Usually we would be OK with going out into a city and look for accommodation. But this was different. There were almost no lights in the city so it was very, very dark. It also didn't feel like a city. It felt more like a dusty, run down town. We were stranded.
Out of the dark shadows people started approaching us. I don't know why but I felt very uncomfortable. Like we were bait that scavengers were descending upon.
Across the road, close to the closed camp site, was a fuel station. At least there the lights were burning. So we quickly grabbed our bags and walked across to it. Detlef and I had to make a quick decision. I'm not sure why but we decided to go back to the camp site and double check whether it was closed.
There was a huge wall around it with a big solid iron gate. Peering through the key-hole we could see a house further back on the property and it looked like the lights were on! We realised because it was late at night the people were probably sleeping and didn't hear our knocking on the gate. We had no other choice so Detlef and I decided to climb over the wall! We just hoped there were no dogs on the other side or that the owners weren't busy loading their guns.
We carefully walked across the yard to the front door and knocked. The owner came out of the house wearing his pyjamas, and I do think he got a bit of a fright when he saw us. We probably looked a bit rough and dirty and when we told him we jumped the wall it didn't help.
At least he confirmed that it really was a camp site and that we were welcome to spend the night. Praise the Lord!
The next morning the light of day didn't paint a brighter picture. It really was a dusty run-down town or maybe we were just in the wrong part of the city. I realised we didn't lose much here and had a strong sense of urgency to keep going and not spend another night.
Our next form of transport to the Senegalese border was yet another adventure...
Below: the wall we climbed the previous night.
Below: the fuel station were the only place were lights were burning. The sand "curb" in the front is similar to the one where we were dropped off.