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Published: December 13th 2023
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Nouadibhou
Mean streets of Nouadibhou Mauritania is blue. That sounds strange perhaps. Most people, if they think of the country at all, or know about it for that matter, might say it is more sand coloured. It is 90% desert after all. And sand is everywhere. The desert never far away. Nouadibhou, Mauritinia’s second largest city, feels more like a conglomeration of desert villages then a city. There are a few paved roads, but most of it is rutted tracks, swathes of open sandy patches, low mud brick dwellings, goats, camels, Bedouin tents, and lots and lots of garbage. Most people would say it’s a shithole. I liked it. Mainly because it just isn’t like any other city I have been to. And the fishing port is very interesting. You aren’t allowed to take pictures for some reason, but you are free to stroll around and watch the hustle and bustle that surrounds it. It’s colourful, a mix of Senegalese fishermen and Mauritanian buyers. Colourful not only in dress, but also in skin. From darker tones to lighter ones. Grizzled looking men in blue robes, with beards and prayer beads buy fish and squid from young men in t-shirts and rubber boots. Engines are repaired in
Nouadibhou
Entrance to my guesthouse tiny shacks, the smell of petrol and fish hangs in the air. Through it all brightly dressed women sway through the crowds, selling fruit and bread.
Back to the blue. Blue is what the men wear. Blue robes, blue scarves. Blue is the sky, with wisps of white from fleeting clouds. Blue is the sea. But mostly the men. Because even if all you see is brown desert, there is always a speck of blue, the tall Mauritanian man walking into the sand to some unknown destination, or sitting in the shade of a lonely tree. Blue in the cramped minibuses that ply the towns and cities, blue in the market squares, blue in the fancy restaurants of Nouakchott, blue in the pick-up trucks loaded with goats. You are always surrounded by blue. It’s a stark contrast to the landscape, as if to say, ‘Here I am! You can’t ignore me!’
Nouakchott, is like Nouadibhou, but only larger, and with more fancy restaurants. It’s a sandy place, sprawling, full of litter, and mostly covered in dirt tracks. Again, the most interesting part is the fishing port. Or actually beach. Between 4 and 6 in the afternoon the fishing
boats land on the beach, and strong men lug huge amounts of fish to the nearby market, or to waiting traders, who buy it straight off them. While others pull the boats up onto the beach. Here photo’s are allowed, as long as they are general pictures. The men and women do not appreciate a photo being taken off them, even if you ask politely. I understand. If you happen to talk to one, maybe you’ll get lucky and they will ask if you want to take a picture. But that is rare.
I find Mauritania a fascinating country. The people are generally friendly, a little aloof too, and they mostly leave you alone. Refreshing. The food, however isn’t anything to write home about. It is generally hard to find a restaurant outside of Nouakchott, even street stalls seem to be rare. Guesthouses serve, or you can buy some bread and whatnot from a small local store. Or maybe I am just not seeing it. I don’t know. For some reason, I have struggled with the food. Except for getting it in the guesthouses, or when on the invariably long bus rides, where they will stop at some place
Nouadibhou
The desert is not far away where they serve some food.
From Nouakchott I left the coast, and went to the east, to Tidjika, a small town in the Sahel. There isn’t much to do there, except to see what life looks like outside the big cities. Watch the blue men with their turbans, and the women who wear all the other colours. There are a few ancient manuscripts too, if you happen to meet the right person. But that is pot-luck. Tidjika is off the travellers trail, as far as there is one in Mauritania, most go to the oasis and ancient caravan stop-overs up north. Tidjika was one as well, but there is not much left of the old part of town. Further south and east are two more such places, however they are hard to get to by public transport, so I opted to go north towards those more touristic and easily reachable sights. Another ride through the desert. And there they were again, those blue robes, in desolate lands… And so I’ll dream of blue under a starry sky, knowing somewhere out there those blue men are sipping sweet, strong, foamy tea at a campfire.
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