Western Sahara Mauritania and borders

After Sidi Ifni, we arrived in Gulemim- the gate to the desert. We slept near the road, surrounded by stones, faded and thorn bushes. Iin the morning we caught the greatest hitch-hike so far! Two Italians driving an old school camper (almost 21- years old) and their two dogs stopped and gave us a ride! Simone and Chiara- 25 years old were just like us, like the same music, have the same ideas and were also going to Senegal! On top of that, they had real Italian spaghetti and wine :) It had been long since we last had European food. We joined them through the desert, stopping for sightseeing and photos and had great time together.  The first night we spent at one petrol station in Laayoune. The next day we continued our trip with them and reached Boujdur, where they stayed at a camping and we slept on the beach. 

Our journey continued 3 days throughout the desert. Except for the several herds of camels and, though rarely, a car with some tourists, the road was absolutely empty. Infinite peace and quiet. The landscape was almost the same- long narrow road, from time to time stones and bushes or dunes, very occasionally an inhabited village and quite often policemen that had blocked the road. Every time we were asked the same questions- where we were going, what we were going to do there and what is our profession. They did not want to let journalists in Western Sahara because of the conflicts and fights there. A week before we arrived in Laayone, there had been a riot. The desert people protested in a tent camp, but the police and the army came, started shooting and then burned the whole camp. Nobody knows how many victims there were, the police claims 10, but the Saharians say at least 100. Some Portuguese people told us that helicopters and soldiers were shooting in the river, thinking there were more rebellions hidden inside. It must have been like a real American action movie, fortunately we missed it. 

With Simone, Ciara and their home

Police block is so popular that there are paintings on that subject

Stopping and answering stupid questions was somehow very wearisome, but we tried to fancy it as much as we could and laughed every time they asked the same thing. The policemen always wanted some kind of ‘fish’, we would then give them our passports and documents and the car card, but nothing helped! They just wanted that ‘fish’ and whenever they would say ‘fish’, we started laughing. We also laughed when another policemen asked for some wine or beer. However, it was not funny at all when the next uniformed wanted a bribe of 80 Euros because the international insurance of the camper did not apply in Morocco. We went to Dahla with the idea to make an insurance, but Eid Al Adha had just started and every family was to sacrifice a lamb and nobody was working. We decided to continue toward the border without insurance, it was only 400 km away.

Road block :)

The road through Western Sahara

Ничия земя-между двете граници

We arrived at the border at 4 pm, knowing that the customs officers would close at 6, and were in a hurry to cross it. From Moroccan side everything was normal- again we were asked for ‘fish’, then again wine. It was really long endless waiting in the heat. After 2 hours we left Morocco, the road ended and we found ourselves in nobody’s land- 4 km of desert and sand without any paths and ways. At that place no laws could be applied, it belongs to nobody and there is nothing! In addition, there were people living there , offering money exchange, and as we knew from internet, they would give us wrong directions, they would lead us into a sand trap and when the car gets stuck, they would want money to help and pull it out. When cars traces got split in several parts and we did not know where to go, all of them started screaming “Left! Left!” We did not know which way to go and we continued straight. Then a Mercedes appeared from the opposite side with a local guy inside who started shouting, but we ignored him and kept driving slowly along the uneven land. He got very mad and got off the car, and shouted that he is a police officer. We also knew that in Mauritania there were many fake policemen and we demanded an ID and documents. He pulled some crappy paper with his photo on it and then we were absolutely sure that he was not a policeman. Anyway, we drove after him and arrived at the border just before they were to close. If they had closed, we would have had to sleep in this noman’s land. Of course, the Mercedes man wanted some money, then he started yelling again, but we were too busy and drove as fast as we could to cross the border where we thought we would be safe. But there a real officer stopped us and yelled almost as bad as the previous one, pushing us backwards. He made us go back in nobody’s land for to give the Mercedes some money. We told Simone not to give anything to him, but he did not understand what was happening and gave the fake cop some 200 Dh (20 euros). We were absolutely furious!  It was really a lot of money for us and he just took it for 5 min! We got off the camper and told the “policeman” to return the money. It seems he freaked out and asked Simone why we had wanted the money back. Finally, we gave him 5 Euros and he returned the 200 Dh… which was fair enough. 

Strange desert plants

Marocan music

And there the real hustle started - men in uniforms and men without uniforms started asking for money, offering money change, hotels etc. The funniest thing was that at the border there was no electricity and the police officers were using flashlights to write our names in notebooks. Maybe that’s the reason why the border is closed at 6 pm. Everybody was amazed that we were Bulgarians. Some of the policemen in West Sahara have never heard of Bulgaria and asked us several times “Where are you from?”. At the border of Mauritania one of the policemen said, that we were the first Bulgarians he had ever seen, and that we were the first Bulgarians in Mauritania. After 8 we managed to go through all the counters and started for the nearest town - Noadhibu for the night. The moment we thought the whole hustle was over we were stopped by a police patrol and were asked for ‘fish’ again. We couldn’t understand what that ‘fish’ was and kept offering our passports, papers, but the officer wanted only ‘fish’. “You don’t have fish? That’s a big problem!” At the end we understood that “fish” meant a copy of our passport. All the time, on every check we were supposed to leave one copy of our passports! 

Fortunately we had a copy and after taking it, they let us go. Before leaving we saw how one of the copies was blown away by the wind and the policeman didn’t even try to retrieve it- that important the fish was. Exactly 2-3 kilometers from the first patrol we came upon another one and they again asked us for a “fish”. This time we didn’t have a copy so they had to write down the details from our passports. When we arrived in Noadibu we made 30 copies of our passports- to have for the whole trip. We stayed there for 2 days and then we continued to the capital- Noakchot. While traveling, there were many police blocks, but with the “fish” we passed quickly. In total we gave 15 copies in Mauritania. In Nouakchott we slept on a gas station. We couldn’t find any camping sites, nor could we find where the centre was. Everyone we asked gave us different directions. The city was big, chaotic, with one-storey buildings and lots of old Mercedes cars.

Coiffeur West Coast Yo!

Bread

Village in Western Sahara

Public bus in Neaukchott

On the next day we continued to Senegal with the camper. We didn’t want to stay longer in Mauritania, because there was travel alert because of recent kidnappings and we were advised not to go there. They even didn’t let us stop on the road, for our own safety. The last 50-100 km were a terrible- the road was terrible- full of holes. But the real nightmare started on the border in Rousso. The border was the river Senegal, where everyone was washing and bathing. We were swarmed by 10 locals, who wanted to help us with the papers. We wanted to find a police officer, so we knew what do to- there were no other cars, but ours. We found the police officer sleeping under his desk on the ground. He said that he would open after 3 pm. And it was only one o’clock. The local guys didn’t stop following us, trying to explain to us what to do and at the end they took us to the ferry to buy tickets. We didn’t have Mauritanian money (Ougia), so one of them paid for us and became our guide- big mistake. Two Germans arrived on bikes. They had traveled by bikes for 46 days from Munich. They were also attacked by the locals, but they managed to evade them and ignored them, the blacks were very angry at them and started calling them “Nazis, go away! Either pay or go away from here!” It was total chaos and there was no information. We had to pay crazy taxes for passports, taxes for the municipality, tax for the camper- in total 45 euro. Our guide came with us on the ferry and didn’t leave us alone. He wanted 145 USD! At the end, after lots of arguing and treats we gave him 55 euro and he left us alone. The Germans also had problems. They have given 10 000 ugia (around 30 euro) to the one calling them “Nazis”, on the ferry they were told that their tickets were fake and they had to go back and buy new ones. They stood their ground and had to push the officials and refused to pay second time. The biggest problem came after all this. Cars older than 5 years were not allowed in Senegal and to be allowed to pass we had to take a document from Dakar and to leave the camper at the customs. It was insane! At the end we stayed with the camper with the two dogs, while our Italian friends traveled to Dakar for the precious paper (720 km in both directions). When we saw the exchange rate of Senegal money (franks) we knew for sure, that the Senegal consul in Casablanca was corrupted! He took from us 50 euro for visa, but on the visa it said 20 euro (in franks). All those borders and all the bureaucracy were absurd! There was something totally wrong in the whole system. And as long as this system stays, corruption, lies and wars will never stop.

Mauritanian side of the border...

Senegalise side of the border...

Mauritanian kids

Senegalise kids...

The Senegal Ruso- on the other side of the river was the Mauritanian Ruso- is a little village. The poverty and misery were horrific. Everybody was bathing and washing in the brown river and then dried their clothes on the dusty ground. Most of the people were bare footed. There was no such thing as trash bins and as a result there was trash and garbage all over the village. Unfortunately we also were also made to contribute to the garbage dump as there was nowhere to throw our garbage. 

At the moment we are stuck in Russo and we are waiting for our Italian friends to come back from Dakar with the solution to our situation with the camper…