Dan H: the world traveling saxophone holder: 10 Month African Trails Epic Adventure: Weeks 4-5

Morocco, Western Sahara, Mauritania, Mali

Week 4 - Dec. 2nd - 8th

Day 22 - Marrakech to Essaouira
Day 23 - day in Essaouira
Day 24 - Essaouira to Agadir to bush-camp
Day 25 - bush-camp to Guelmime to bush-camp
Day 26 - bush-camp to Laayoune to bush-camp
Day 27 - bush-camp to Boujdour to campsite near Dakhla
Day 28 - campsite to Moroccan/Mauritanian border, camped at Mauritanian border post

Week 5 - Dec. 9th - 15th

Day 29 - Mauritanian border post to Nouakchott
Day 30 - day in Nouakchott
Day 31 - day in Nouakchott
Day 32 - Nouakchott to bush-camp
Day 33 - bush-camp to Kiffa to Mauritanian/Mali border, camped at border
Day 34 - border to Nioro to bush-camp
Day 35 - bush-camp to Bamako

Well we haven't even reached the end of month one yet and already there is tension and conflict within our otherwise happy little group! Anger, resentment, fury, screaming, swearing and hostility! Once again I'm exaggerating quite a bit (I tend to alternate randomly between ludicrous exaggeration and overwhelming understatement, try to keep up) but tempers have been flaring up nonetheless. I certainly won't mention any names because 1:) I would certainly not like to slander my fellow traveling companions and 2:) it doesn't really matter who it involved because there was bound to be some conflict sooner or later. I would like to point out however that I was not involved, I was simply a passive observer, as usual always enormously entertained by any form of public vociferation and altercation. Don't forget that this is only month number one out of ten. I'm sure that by the end of the trip we'll all be screaming at each other like feral, barely human monsters, scratching and clawing at each other in retaliation to the slightest provocation. But until then things have been mostly fine aside from this one day of conflict.

Much of the last two weeks have been about covering as much ground as possible. Week four has, for the most part, been about speeding down the coast of Western Sahara, stopping at the few and far between signs of civilization (usually a service station or a miniscule town) for water and snacks. All in all there hasn't really been much else to see since almost all of the scenery has been flat, barren sand, not even dunes for the most part, just flat plains. A lot of books have been read and a lot of music listened to during the long days on the road, but so far we've still managed to keep the quality of the cuisine very high and haven't yet resorted to our ample supply of tinned food. There have also been some bloody marvelous sunsets and sunrises and, quite surprisingly, some heavy rain and in one case some very damp fog, (we're talking about the Sahara desert here!) that caused some of our group who were sleeping outside to become quite thoroughly drenched, bad luck to them!

Between our book reading and iPod listening, the other pastime has been leaning out of the window, not so much because of the view (what view?) but because it was a good way to cool off. We were now approaching climates where standing in the shade was too hot and being exposed to direct sunlight was like opening an oven door. Whereas before we were using mostly campsites, we were now bush-camping every night and our firewood supplies were dwindling. With scenic photo-stops becoming nonexistent, most of our stops were basically brief toilet stops, hopefully at service stations with running water but mostly by the side of the road. At one point our driver, Gav, lurched the truck to a halt right in front of what was reported to be a minefield, according to a sign with a large red skull upon it, and decided that this would be the optimum location for a quick 'piss stop' and perhaps a photo (of the sign, you know, for comedy value!).

It really is a somewhat disconcerting thought that the man responsible for our safety, our tour leader, possesses the kind of personality that would, upon spotting a sign warning of a minefield, stop the truck and decide it would be a perfect place to make a toilet stop. We're talking about the same man who has cheerfully stated that he's not all that bothered about being killed on the trip, and also managed to chuckle light heartedly whilst entertaining us with various perilous stories, including the time he was almost squished into a crunchy 'people pate' by a seriously pissed off hippopotamus on a wildlife spotting boat-trip. Did I also mention that Gav and Summer, despite being tour leaders for many years, have never actually driven down Western Africa? So this trip is mostly guesswork. I don't wish to appear too critical however, they're bloody good guides and most affable people indeed.

Eventually (on day 28) we reached the Morocco/Mauritania border and were ready to leave Morocco, or Western Sahara as I like to say because 1:) They want their independence and 2:) I get to add one more country to the list of ones that I've visited, therefore bringing me ever closer to the impressive tally of 100 (I've lost track of the total at the moment but it'll be around 85 when we finish this trans-Africa trip). You would expect the process of leaving a country to be considerably less burdened with pointless, bureaucratic nonsense but that would have been wishful thinking. Hopping down from the truck and doing our best to stay in the shade (where it was merely 'too hot') and waited. About four hours later we were finally given permission to leave Morocco and we crossed the border, not into Mauritania, but into a rather disturbing waste ridden no-mans-land. The Mauritanian border was nowhere to been seen, it was reportedly several miles off in the distance, a distance that would have been crossed in no time were it not for the fact that the terrain was so rough that even a military tank commander would think twice before crossing it.

We slowly started to crawl our way along this rather apocalyptic, garbage strewn wasteland. Countless rusted or burnt out car wrecks lay all over the place and the amount of refuse and detritus scattered everywhere seemed to have reached levels normally only expected after a city is obliterated by nuclear fire. It was morbidly fascinating to my less than orthodox tastes but a level of unease was growing among my fellow passengers when we feared that we may actually have to unpack and camp in this hellhole, due to the fact that the Mauritanian border post was about to close. This would have appealed to my macabre side but we ended up being allowed into Mauritania where we were allowed to set up camp right next to the border post while they processed our passports. Eventually, by the time we had eaten dinner and it had long been dark, they handed back our passports and we would have been ready to go, were it not nearly time for bed.

The next morning (day 29) we set off and made it all the way to the capital, Nouakchott, a near 500 kilometre journey no less. What made it all the more interesting was our military escort, which consisted of AK-47 armed soldiers perched on the back of a Toyota pick-up truck, (what is it with heavily armed Africans in Toyota pick-up trucks? It's possibly the most ubiquitous sight in news reports about Africa, regardless of the specific country!). Stopping only a couple of times, either for a refreshment stop or to swap our escort vehicles, we eventually rolled on into the capital and were delighted to find a very cosy and inviting hotel, complete with beds, flush toilets and, most importantly since we hadn't encountered them for a week, showers! As with Abdullah's little guest house, most were content to sleep outside on the roof, although this time we were provided with mattresses and mosquito nets. The latter proved to be completely ineffective however as I woke up the next morning with several fat and extremely well fed mosquitoes trying to find their way back out. Good thing I brought my own mossie net, we're almost at the Malaria zone. Or perhaps I'm already infected with some horrible debilitating tropical disease and these words will be my last.

We spent the next couple of days in Nouakchott, mostly not wandering far from the quiet comforts of our snug little hotel. Nouakchott didn't really have much to offer but we were happy to chill out, knowing that once again we would soon be deprived of the conveniences of toilets and running water. On the second day we wandered out around what we figured must have been the town centre, along with various sprawling markets and shops. We were treated to some delicious and very cheap food at one of the small cafes we found so that was a pleasant surprise.

We left Nouakchott (32) and once again picked up our military escort. Our escorts were not exactly the most jovial bunch of souls we had ever met. When we tried to stop for bread in a small market they threw a hissy fit and made us carry on. This determination to cover as much distance as possible did not abate for most of the day and we found ourselves continuing to drive after dark, something that had only happened once before on the trip so far. Gavin tried to stop and convince the soldiers to let us stop and set up camp but they wouldn't have it! We eventually reached a small police outpost where we were permitted to set up for the night at the rather late hour of 8pm. Keep in mind that the cook team still had to prepare and cook food for the night so it was extremely late before we all got our evening meal.

The next day we continued our forced mission to cover as much ground as at all possible, though our progress was hampered along the way by poor road conditions. At one point we came across a huge trailer that had flipped over next to some extremely unstable road surfaces. We hopped out of the vehicle and used our shovels to even out the soft sand so that our truck could make it over without suffering a similar fate. The soldiers watched over us with their AK-47s and I remember thinking that the photos I took would have been quite an amusing sight, it looked like we'd been captured by militia forces and made to endure hard labour at gunpoint! Yet again it was late in the day when we made it all the way to the Mauritania/Mali border where our escort hastily washed their hands of us and left us to be dealt with by the Mali authorities, we were their problem now! We camped and officially entered Mali the next day (day 34) and then resumed our journey in the morning, this time free of our oppressive military guardians. One of the most interesting things to happen that day was when we came across the site of a rather unfortunate car crash. Fortunately no one was hurt or even, amazingly enough, remotely scratched despite the fact that the car we saw had suffered a blowout and veered off the road and into a small trench, now lying at a rather precarious near 45 degree angle. With a combined effort of all on board the truck we literally managed to lift up the car with our bare hands and hoist it onto the road. The car still needed two spare tires whereas the owners only had one but we were able to help remove one and give one of the locals a lift to the next town where he was able to get it repaired.

After another night by the roadside we found ourselves in Bamako, the capital of Mali. We were all pleased to find that our campsite, run by former African Trails overlanders, was a delightful place. Named the Sleeping Camel, we were happy to spend quite a few days there enjoying the excellent facilities and friendly staff. Without the looming glare of military escort we were free to explore Mali at our own pace and would spend several weeks in the country. We were also delighted to find another truck, extremely similar to ours and with just as many people, all embarking on more or less the same trip. Once again we had encountered (we briefly met in Morocco) the trans-African truck belonging to the company Oasis Overlaning. It wouldn’t be the last time we would cross paths (actually make that: meet up on the same path) with them either but now we were able to spend some nights together, swapping stories and exploring the city. But first we drank lots and lots of beers!