train ridin'

Every day, a train goes from northern I-can’t-believe-people-live-here Mauritania to the country’s “economic capital” Nouadhibou. This long slow train hauls iron ore in its open beds. Just think of black chalk dust that clogs pores, fills ear canals and basically makes anyone who chooses to ride in such a car look like the chimney sweeper in Mary Poppins.

It is not only free, but surprisingly legal to climb aboard at one of its few stops, nestle amongst the piles of iron ore and settle in for the overnight trek from desert to ocean. This is what we decided to do, thus beginning our fourteen hour train journey that my mother’s glad she didn’t know about until it was over.

In order to not ruin our clothes we all wore secondhand mechanics uniforms that we found in the Atar market. Armed with already filthy blankets and hats and scarves, we fell asleep to the sound of clanging train tracks and the gentle patter of iron ore specks landing on our heads. I awoke to (surprise!) dunes of sand as far as the eye could see and a sunrise obstructed only by the occasional burst of iron ore dust flying into my face.