On the Road
Written by Youssef Arrouss
Youssouf Arrouss
Summer is very brutal in Africa, especially in Mauritania. During August 2005, an intense heat wave baked Nouakchott. Apparently, it was unusually hot when I arrived to the airport . Almost every passenger felt it and those who were obliged to endure unusual physical exertion outside did not forget to say it was extremely hot to every acquaintance they met. As a matter of fact, it was the hottest day of that August on record.
The flight from Mohammed V International Airport to Nouakchott lasted less than three hours .This short time of the trip can strongly push even ungrateful people to show high appreciation to modern technology for facilitating our lives to this extent. In the past, this trip could take more than five days which was not only time-consuming but also very exhausting.
In the airport, there was a surprising number of police officers and soldiers who scrutinized the coming passengers carefully. This was just a reminder of the sensitivity of the period politically. A few days before, I watched on TV that the Mauritanian military had seized total control of Nouakchott and other cities. They had taken advantage of the president being outside the country to organize the coup.
Visiting a country for the first time is a challenging experience that vexes any green traveller. Indeed, before coming here, I read a lot about Mauritania as being populated by overwhelmingly hospitable people and blessed with some of the grandest scenery on the planet, but reading is not always the right way to get information about a country .I mean what one reads can be true or can be completely the opposite, so I approached everything cautiously in order to avoid being culturally shocked.
I rented a car in the airport and headed for Zouérat. The scenery between Nouakchott and Atar is exceedingly beautiful, consisting of hills and valleys, and a charming profusion of trees and shrubs. The sun was shining and a lot of sheep and little lambs were grazing and skipping about the dry grass. The road to Atar was so uneven that I was compelled to get out of my car at the foot of every hill and walk gently up them.
I arrived in Atar about one o'clock. It is a small town in the northern west of Mauritania. It is best known to foreigners, like me, as a gateway for tourists to see the remains of the ancient Moorish cities of Ouadane and Chinguetti. It is also an essential stop in the Paris Dakar Rally.
When I phoned Mr. Talbi Ahmed, an old friend of mine, to get some information regarding the city, he expressed a strong desire for a meeting. As soon as we met, he greeted me with a real smile and gave me a warm hug which made me feel as if I was still at home .Atar was not part of my journey plan .However, staying in Atar for one night was irresistible, especially when I received a generous invitation from Mr.Talbi.
Mr.Talbi is short and scrawny, with a long grey beard that looks like the kind of beard worn by religious people. He traditionally wore a white and blue Jalaba on which a few decorative sigils were embroidered. The Jalaba was made darker by sweat, constant wear and irregular washings. Under his Jalaba, he wore leather sandals.
He led me to his small house, where we partook of a delicious dinner of the Riz au Gras which is a traditional dish in Mauritania. I soon learnt that the Riz au Gras is usually prepared for lunch or dinner on happy occasions. This made me feel very special .This Mauritanian food custom was passed from one generation to another.
Being in Atar coincided with a very happy occasion: a local festival was to take place at night in favour of the hasani poetry. Being of a curious disposition, I decided to attend and witness it. In fact, I knew very little about Hasani poetry, but I was very familiar with the language because I had been to the south of Morocco several times .Actually, Hasani is a dialect spoken not only in Mauritania, but also in the western region of Algeria, the south of Morocco and other African countries.
I arrived at the place of the festival very early to take a seat at the front. Most of the attendees bore care-worn faces. Even if the night was very hot, several thousands of people assembled; amongst whom was a considerable number of ladies. To my astonishment, I heard Mr. Talbi announcing that Mr. Arrouss would deliver a word. Well, this was very strange for a mere unknown rambler like me to be called on to speak. After a little hesitation, I walked to the platform covered with blushes like a bashful, young girl of thirteen. I talked for some minutes, apparently much to the satisfaction of the attendees. The participants came from different regions of Mauritania. The variety of areas that were represented made the festival a great success. The participants were well selected and they all made vital contributions to our understanding of Hassani poetry. When the festival concluded, we walked quietly down to his house and retired to bed.
I planned to leave Atar for Zouérat at six in the morning, but Mr.Talbi was very tired because of the festival and he had to take enough sleep, so I was obliged to wait until ten o'clock. When he got up, we broke our fast together and I got in my car.
The road from Atar to Zouérat is flat, and the scenery is pleasing to the eye. I reached Zouérat at three o'clock, and took lodgings at Narjiss, a comfortable hotel. Zouérat is the biggest town in the north of Mauritania. The town is well-known for being the centre of iron ore mining in Africa. Most of the inhabitants work in mining. The people, nevertheless, are very poor and constantly complain bitterly about their sufferings due to low wages.
After getting some rest in the hotel, I walked out alone, and met with several terrible cases of poverty. I saw two boys, one 12 and the other 14 years of age. It was four o'clock in the afternoon, and they told me they had eaten only a small piece of dry stale bread since the previous day. They had four younger sisters at home, crying for food and they had come out to see if they could find any dirty food which had been thrown away. Their father was dead and their mother was handicapped. I gave them some money and they happily left. I kept walking to the local market, but I did not find anything special to buy as souvenirs. In fact, the city was not remarkable for beauty, so I got back to the hotel and went to bed early in order to head for the airport early in the morning.
