Budget Travelling Across West Africa

I felt oddly disconnected from this realisation, even a little thrilled, as I found myself on my back on the other end of the carriage. It was pitch black, save for the flames from the small homemade stoves used to break Ramadan, and I had been scalded by mint tea for the third time. In fact, I was on the only passenger carriage of the longest train in the world, carrying iron ore through the Sahara; 2km in length, we were never able to see it end to end.

Stepping on or, rather, climbing over the heaving mountain of people that blocked the entry, I knew this would be a challenge. With only metal bars for seats, I found my corner for the nine hours that lay ahead. Nothing, however, could have prepared me for the jolts that reverberated through the train as the driver, 2km ahead, touched the breaks. Disorientated, bruised, and with an enormous trunk hanging precariously above my head, I knew I had been lucky.

Mauritania is not a tourist destination. You’d probably be justified in saying Mauritania is not a destination, full stop. I highly suspect that most of its 24,000 yearly ‘visitors’ end up going there begrudgingly, and for much the same reason we did: to get to somewhere else. Unable, it being so soon after the 2012 military coup in Mali, to fulfill my childhood dream (thanks to ‘The Aristocats’) of visiting Timbuktu, we were heading for West Africa.

Already ravaged by hungry ‘border-bed-bugs’ (the worst kind) and burnt to a crisp by the ruthless Saharan sun, there was the added bonus that the FCO advised against ‘all but essential travel’ in Mauritania due to the risk of kidnappings. More worrying still was the fact that this invalidated our insurance; one little bite from a rabid animal and we would have been in severe trouble.

I found my way back to my corner and tried to lodge myself between bars. Despite the fact that it was hours yet before I would be released from this prison, I warmheartedly thought back to how, 12 hours ago, a complete Nouadhibou stranger had given us his phone, simply so he could contact us for dinner. Mauritania was full of surprises, and the incredible hospitality of the people was one of them.

Undeniably traumatic at times, it was a special kind of trauma. Perhaps it was my sheer lack of expectation, or perhaps it was the lows made the highs even more memorable, but I’m unsure whether I will have such a delicious love/hate relationship with anywhere else.