Much of the first day was spent in the car, roaring through the desert plains as we made our way east. Long car rides usually make me antsy, but I found myself lost in the setting as the hours rolled by. The scenery changed, my mind wandered, and anything that had weighed me down mysteriously disappeared.
A few hours into the drive it was tea time. Mauritanians take their tea very seriously; it’s almost like an art form. They do a series of long pours from a tiny kettle into a set of equally tiny shot glasses. They then pour the tea from glass to glass, and then eventually back into the kettle. They repeat this process a few times to acquire the perfect taste and temperature.
During this time, Ahmed decided to share some of his personal views. Perched beneath a tree, the three of us sat cross-legged, sipping our tea, rattling things off in a mix of English, French, and Spanish, simultaneously butchering all three.
Mauritania’s population is mixture of Moor and Black African. The Moors are from Arab or Berber descent and the Black African’s are split into two ethnic groups: Haratin (Black Moore, descendants of those enslaved by the ‘white’ Moors) and Soudaniens, who mainly live in the South along the border with Senegal. It’s confusing.
Ahmed sees himself as someone who embraces all cultures and backgrounds. He claims that he’s against racism and doesn’t care where you’re from, what you believe, just as long as you’re not black. Yes, he’s not racist — he just doesn’t like black people. I’m afraid Ahmed’s poor unfortunate soul is in need of a dictionary. He also shared with us that true Muslims don’t discriminate against other religions or take multiple wives. It’s more of a peace, love, and acceptance. Interesting tidbits to say the least.
He also thinks that Western men who travel throughout the region are full of ill intentions. He later went on to say the same thing about older Western women, too. In his eyes, they’re all trying to take advantage of the younger population. Apparently he has to fend off sexual advances on a regular basis. Oh, and I should probably mention that Ahmed is somewhere between 50-60, and far from bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.
We were surprised to learn that he once married to a younger Ukrainian woman and they have a 10 year old son together. They met while he was working as a boat captain, in a previous life, but it didn’t work out (now there’s a shocker). She returned home, therefore his relationship with his son is virtually nonexistent. He would later express his desire for another Mrs. Ahmed, who could bear him two children. Ideally, she would be young and American… and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see where this is headed.
After our fun filled chat, it was back to the car. Only this time, instead of pleasurable thoughts, my mind was consumed by an ocean of bullshit. Or in other words, Ahmed.
As the sun gave way to another day, we setup camp alongside the train tracks. His friend, who provides security for the tracks, was kind enough to let us stay next to his shack for the night. We cooked dinner, drank tea, and spent the rest of the evening relaxing underneath a blanket of stars. Surreal is all I can say.
