18th of December, 2017.
Everyone told me that the driver, Azzis, was a trustful man. How I supposed to believe if I did not know the guy? I sit in front and at the first gas station he asks me for the money. I thought I supposed to pay when we get in Nouakchott. He calls Oussama and after I talk to him I pay.
The whole travel sucks because since I am concerned about if I will ever get in Nouakchott plus with all my stuff, I could not relax in any moment. The fact that Azzis does not speak anything of English or French makes everything worse.
I eat my bread in the car around 10 a.m.
We hit the border around midday.
It is bigger and more chaotic that I imagined. With a lot of space, some shops and hotels, so many and different types of barriers and policemen. No one looks trustful for me.
The first step it is for Azzis bring us and our passports to make our exit of Morocco. A kind of nice policeman, who does not speak too much English, but enough to ask me basic information, finished the process. Azzis kept going from a side to another, what starts to annoying me and also he keeps changing the guy in the back. Just one of them it is with us since the beginning. Later I would discovery his name: Abdul.
At the Mauritania Embassy, as usual, they make me more questions than to any other citizen. When I showed them my hotel reservation, I started to get concerned because it looked like they were trying to get in contact with the hotel. I start to think in a excuse to had cancel my reservation when they move me to another room. There, an old guy who looks like some kind of “big boss” and does not speak English, make some questions while another guy is ridiculously lie down in a couch. After a few minutes, they let me go. With the Mauritania entrance stamp in my passport, I thought everything is finally finished. Oh, man…
When I get out of the building, the shock: where is the taxi? Where the hell is the fucking car? When we all got in the building, the taxi was parking exactly in front and now was gone. At that moment, I start to think about everything I had lost, all my stuff was in the car. I had with me just my passport and some money. All my photos (which I keep in my computer and in the SD card) were in my bag in the car. After that moment, I start to think how all of them had planned that: put me inside, alone, so then the driver could leave without problems. What a hell I would do now? No one there speak English, I had almost no money and nothing else. What I would do?
I come back inside and ask to one of the guards where the hell is the driver. He come outside to check out, then checked with the guys at the gate (fucking ridiculous security of shit! So many stupid men standing over there, just to stop the good people, while leaving all the worst bastards pass through just for a few Dihrans) and I do not understand what they say but the guard tells me: “ The driver is coming”. I wait just a few minutes while complaining with a guy, who showed interest in my case but unfortunately speak just a little bit of English. I come back inside to look for that kind of “big boss”. When I tell him the driver is gone, he also come outside and start to ask to people what is going on. It is when the stupid Azzis appears, crossing the gate with a big surprise face, do not understanding what is happening. Asshole! According to him, he just had crossed the gate to look for a place to eat. The “big boss” smiles in relief, shakes his hand (they are kind of friends, both assholes…) and order to him (do not asked me how but I could understand) to drive me until the hotel I had the reservation. Me and Azzis walk away. He laughs. I want to yell at him and tell him to go to hell. I should! I could had done in English, Portuguese or Spanish and he would not understand.
Abdul came in my direction and started to say the same thing as Azzis, that they just crossed to eat and wait for me. It is when we introduced ourselves. Azzis then asks me to stay close to him all the time now. Suddenly, Abdul starts to talk with that other guy, the one who showed interest in my situation and when he sees me, he yells: “Mademoiselle!” I walk to them and we try to start a conversation. I ask for the bathroom, they walk with me. They keep check Azzis all the time now. The other guy, it is a truck driver going to Burkina Faso to delivery some frozen fish. He had just got married to a beautiful woman (he showed me pictures of the marriage) and had a baby of 12 days. Twelve days! Abdul is married to a black woman also beautiful. Both sounded like good men. We have tea. The truck driver goes to his truck and brings us yogurt. He take a picture of Azzi’s car. “Just in case”, he says.
I believe Azzis went to take a nap after lunch because we wait there for over two hours!
When we finally leave (now with an old man in the back with Abdul), another nightmare starts: each few kilometres, a police checkpoint stop us and ask for the passports. The problem is always me, of course. For some of them we pass quickly, thanks to the few copies of my passport I had on me. In the others, they are a ass.
Is the same ridiculous system that is more fail than hide the sun with a strainer. They choose the fucking cars they want to stop. It is just a chance game: when they pick up the right one, good for then! When they do not, probably most of the time, a lot of shit happen, with drugs and guns and bad guys getting inside the country, while some good people have to be patient for being interrogate about their tourist travel.
One of the last stops, the policeman asks for all of us get out of the car. For the first time, the problem it is not me but Abdul. The guy asks him take his bag to the office, crossing the road, and wait for him there. My big backpack he did not even look at it. He takes a quickly ridiculous look in the whole car, while a few other ones just pass throw. Talking to Abdul, just asking a few questions, and not even checking his bag and let us leave. The human being is miserable.
After over an hour we are in Nouakchott. I call Moulayerchid from Azzis phone, so he explains to him where we should meet. There, while I am waiting, I eat half of my pasta (because of everything that was happening that afternoon, I forgot to eat and now I was starving!). When Moulay arrives, I take my bags, shake the old man hands and ask to them to give my regards to Abdul. I forgot to shake Azzis’ hand. It was his punishment.
