The most disturbing thing about the train, is that it exists. That hundreds of Mauritanian workers and freelance merchants have to take it on a regular basis, like this, covered in dust and dirt. What for me was a one-off adventure, stuff to write stories about, for Mohamed and his family was just another commute to work.
I don’t know what bothers me more: the fact that more than half of these people, who navigate across the bay daily in decrepit wooden boats, cannot actually swim, or that I just saw a godzilla-sized rat lurking between the rocks by the water.
Assane and his two travel companions are driving an old pickup truck from Spain to Senegal. It is a lucrative business, for those who like extended road trips and do not mind a bit of bureaucratic hassle here and there. The pickup is loaded with all sorts of stuff, but they find space for my backpack on the top, and squeeze me in on the back seat.