Ahmed Kerfuffle of '10 (Ouadane & Guelb er Richat, Mauritania)

Dec 15^th, 2010 - (Nov 13th – 14th) We left Tanochert in the morning and continued through the desert to Ouadane, a desert outpost once a staging point for trans-Saharan trade. No one was particularly chipper. Ahmed was no exception. Had it not been for the consistent mesmerizing nature of the landscape I should think I would have been much more somber. However, not even Ahmed's relentless prevarications, protestations and bitchinations were enough to dampen my mood when presented with scenery that truly defies adequate description. Still, our cheerless leader gave it his all.

We arrived in Ouadane around 10 am in the morning and were under the impression that we would then be headed to the Richat Structure (Guelb er Richat). In fact, it was Ahmed who suggested this itinerary days before. However, after arriving in Ouadane he told us it was too late to head to Richat. According to him he normally leaves around 7 am to visit the crater and returns sometime around midday or early afternoon. Keep in mind that he once told us he never gets moving before 8 am. Why would he?

He was worried about going alone (i.e. one vehicle). He was also worried that the sand would be too hot making it difficult to maneuver through. Are you f***ing sh**ing me????!!!!! We had been driving through the 'hot' sand for six days. Not a word about this before and as far as the time of year was concerned November is relatively mild in relation to temperature. What the friggin hell was he talking about?

So he suggested we hang out in Ouadane and leave for Richat early the next morning. The Three Musketeers (Me, Lelsie, and Yoris) considered this and realized that not only was this plan asinine it defied logic. It made no sense to squander an entire day and then spend the following day driving from Richat all the way to…..well…..frankly we had no idea. Planning ahead was futile and seemed to be subject to Ahmed's whim anyway. So we pressed Ahmed again.

He enlisted the help of an employee of the auberge (inn) we had stopped at to encourage us to stay put for the day. We resisted. Ahmed relented. We departed….but not before finding the local police and registering for the umpteenth time. During the break we had a little fun with a group of local children.

Photo by Leslie

High-fives all around!!! (Photo by Leslie)

Photo by Leslie

As if to say to me, "I salute you, Goofy One."

On the way to Richat we stopped at the site of an old Portuguese trading post (the visible remnants are actually the remains of a French fort built later) no doubt a focal point of the slave trade. While there we were invited into the tent of some local nomads and treated to pleasant conversation, oodles of tea, and a spot of goat's milk. We all enjoyed it thoroughly but were a little perplexed by our extended stay (about an hour and a half) in view of Ahmed's professed time constraints. His capacity to boggle knows no boundaries.

The Richat Structure is a geological anomaly whose origins appear to be in dispute. Originally thought to be the result of a meteorite impact it is now generally believed to be some sort of geological uplift (perhaps due to magnetism) made prevalent by erosion. However, while we were there locals (including Ahmed) told us it was actually the result of volcanic activity although I can find only scant evidence of this theory (deemed improbable). This formation is well known as the 'bull's eye' by generations of astronauts as it is clearly visible from space. Whatever its origin it is a fascinating phenomenon and well worth a look. Its featurelessness is its most salient feature. It may be the result of geological unrest but it feels like ground zero of a past nuclear explosion. You can almost feel the shockwave.

Although we had every desire to continue to the center of the ring Ahmed was adamantly opposed. He was worried about what would happen in the case of a breakdown, clearly a legitimate concern. One vehicle. No cell coverage. Understandable. However, his concerns always seemed to arise at suspicious times and, if the truth be told, we had been faced with this problem throughout our journey. We had food, plenty of water, and the capacity to walk back to Ouadane if absolutely necessary. However, our exasperation with Ahmed prevented us from resisting. Resistance is futile. He even made the comment (directed at me) that this 'was not the Dakar Rally'. I am not a violent man but I began fantasizing about providing Ahmed with the business end of an open-handed slap. Serenity now.

We a called it a day and made our way back to Ouadane. After a late lunch I went for a stroll into town. A walk through the old city is a bit like following in the wake of a bulldozer. It is in shambles. However, enough is intact to appreciate the virtuosity of its creators and its designation as a World Heritage Site. Definitely worth a wander, especially at sunset.

One section of the old city is still inhabited.....by a colony of Rock Hyrax. They are intriguing little creatures (averaging 20 inches, 8 pounds) that can be imbued with an almost sinister if not ghostly aura in the right circumstances, like when you find yourself in an ancient abandoned city at dusk in the middle of the desert alone. 

The little bastards were following me. No shit. Its what they do. Rock hyraxes use sentries to alert the colony of impending danger. I was playing the part of 'Impending Danger'. I stood there mesmerized by their bizarre loud grunting alarm call and their apparent attempts to out flank me on more than one occasion. They exhibited no fear that I could detect and, indeed, appeared to be on the verge of a full assault. They outnumbered me 50 to 1 and, truth be told, I found them a bit intimidating. The thought of being torn to shreds by a gang of quasi-desert rats was a little unsettling. Not how I pictured leaving this world. Incidentally, hyraxes closest living relative? The elephant. No shit.

Speaking of nuclear fallout our relationship with Ahmed took a serious nosedive. This time the fault lay solely on our shoulders. After dinner we needed to speak with Ahmed about the remainder of our trip. We initially planned to head south after visiting the Adrar and visit the eastern Tangent (possibly going as far east as Tichit, a semi-deserted village in the middle of hell and gone). We'd read it was a fascinating place. However, we were a bit hesitant to embark on such a potentially taxing journey with a disgruntled guide at the helm. We had the feeling he was as exasperated with us as we were with him.

We had the brilliant idea to capture our exercise in futility (i.e. negotiations) on video…..without telling Ahmed. We wanted him relaxed and natural, not tense and artificial (the result of my 'inner Scorsese'). Why we would we commit such a colossally stupid and insensitive act? I can assure you there was no malicious intent. We figured trying to capture the essence of our constant skirmishes with Ahmed would be a unique souvenir and something we would cherish viewing for many years to come. 

He caught on almost instantly and was extremely displeased. For the next twenty minutes he went 'off' using the word 'espionage' incessantly and with a demeanor more appropriate for a spy film. He was angry. We understood. We apologized repeatedly. He kept firing away and highlighted the lack of respect that forms part and parcel of our deceptive act. He had a point. No one would argue with that.

Unexpectedly, right after Ahmed unmasked our surveillance operation Yoris (an integral component of the spycam preparation) sprouted a conscience and informed us of the 'messed up' nature of our actions. Way to hold firm. Good thing we weren't planning a coup or terrorist operation as I believe even the slightest pressure would've made Agent X (i.e. Yoris) sing like a canary.

The more Ahmed ranted the angrier I became. How about his complete lack of respect for myself and Leslie? After all, he did attempt to woo her away from me with promises of a better life. And let us not forget that in order to disguise his indiscretion he chalked it up to Leslie's inadequate language skills and treated her like a moron. Respect? F U buddy. Two wrongs certainly do not make a right but double standards really chap my asshole.

In order to appease Ahmed the Terrible Leslie took the unfortunate step of erasing the footage of our indiscretion in his presence. This seemed appropriate at the time but hindsight fills me with regret. I know she did the right thing but I would love to review the video and audio (it continued to record even after I placed it out of view) of what will be remembered as the Ahmed Kerfuffle of '10. Damn it.

If the evening had a theme it would be 'the lady doth protest too much'. The gravity of his protest made me uneasy. It was as if he had something to hide and gave him a slightly dangerous aura. Considering where we were and our reliance upon him I swallowed my anger. When he finally settled down and inquired as to our plan I uttered a single word, 'Nouakchott'. I said this with a 'we are tired of your bullshit so take us to Nouakchott as fast as you can you cantankerous prick' sort of way. He agreed and left the room.

We had a fitful night's sleep for two reasons: 1) we legitimately regretted our actions; and 2) our trust in Ahmed degenerated considerably. I was not entirely sure what he was capable of but thankfully the night passed without incident. We left early the next morning for what would turn out to be a long quiet drive back to the capital.

Before we left we managed to have a final brush up about expenses, mediated by Yoris. We were also assisted by the owner of the auberge where we slept in Oudane (Auberge Vasque – zaida_vsque@yahoo.fr). Her assistance was a vital tool in keeping Ahmed honest. Not only did she sense his bullshit she called him out on it. We are in her debt. This woman is the very definition of charisma, a soul whose light warms all that have the good fortunate to meet her. She will charm you, disarm you, and neutralize your power to resist. She possesses a sense of confidence and an independent spirit that is uncommon in a male dominated society. Few times during my travels have I been as frustrated with my lack of language skills as I was in her presence. She had a fascinating story to tell. If only I could listen. Damn it.

For reasons beyond me Ahmed claimed we had enough fuel for the remainder of our drive even though, in hindsight, this was a ludicrous. Initially, I believed him, so much so at one point when he wanted to fill up I questioned the need to do so. He responded with, “I know my truck” and that “we only had gasoil (diesel) for 80 km.” A mere three hours earlier we had plenty so I started to wonder if he were not trying to recoup a few bucks from us with a fuel subsidy. I glanced at the fuel gauge, disagreed with his assessment, and pushed him to keep going. That was rash. We actually made it 160 km (so much for 'knowing' his truck) but not before driving the needle close enough for it to start humping the 'E'. Imagine if we'd run out of fuel simply because I refused to believe he was being honest. Talk about a hollow victory. Our antagonistic relationship was turning me into querulous bastard. Damn it.

The ride back to Nouakchott was punctuated with a few near death experiences. It was then I realized the full extent of Ahmed's less than stellar eye sight. Driving in Mauritania at dusk and into the night is a terrible idea even with eagle vision, to say nothing of impaired vision. Prayer time is especially precarious as folks are everywhere along the side of the road engaging in Islam's sacred ritual. Some folks barely even pull the car off the highway. Headlight use is an anomaly, not a standard practice. In the dying light we nearly collided head on with an approaching Mercedes. And more than once we passed cars going in the opposite direction without any lights at all even in the dark of night. Not cool. There are few instances during my travels that I've been that fearful of bodily harm. Prevailing driving conditions are bad enough but throw in a exhausted disgruntled vision-impaired driver and you have the potential for a horror show.

Upon arriving in Nouakchott I settled up with Ahmed. We both apologized and bid farewell. He wanted to speak with Leslie but I told him she was sick in the room. She'd had enough. Who could blame her?