AUG 2016
Travel Journal 2016 # 6 Dark Days in the Bright Sun
The flight from Amsterdam to Paris is on time. On the electronic displays I do not find any
information about the departure time or gate of the flight to Nouachott, Mauretania.
I take my chances and walk the long distance to the bus station of the airport to ask.
“Nouachott is located where, Madam?” is the reply at the information desk. Fortunately
I can answer that question. I seem to be heading in the right direction and walk to the
gate. Again passports are checked thoroughly, which leads to long lines of people
waiting. I can feel the tension mount amongst the people. Too many people, too closely
packed together in a limited amount of space. We advance inch by inch.
Suddenly there’s screaming. Men are shouting, women are running, grabbing and
dragging crying children away from the scene. But there is nowhere to go. There is a
fight at the passport control booth. All doors are immediately locked. Men in uniform,
weapons in hand, come running. They arrest the fighting men, and take them away.
People are panicking all around, even though the fight apparently was a conflict about
the place in line. The doors are unlocked again, but many people turn around to leave.
And so it’s quickly my turn to have my passport checked. The flight leaves 90 minutes after
schedule.
We land 35 kilometers from the city in the middle of the desert in a brand new airport.
In less than three months time this airport has manifested, with luggage carousels and
all. The paint would have been still wet, had they been painted. The roads are paved,
there are new hotels, streetlamps with solar panels have been installed along the whole
road from the airport to the city and from the seaport to the city. Even trees have been
planted. Luxury cars are flown in.
On Saturday July 23 all the borders are closed for at least five days. The reason is that
there is a big summit of all Arabian nations. After two days it will no longer be possible
to land here. The airport will be closed for all flights with the exception of the Arabian
delegations.
Demba’s brother passed away in the air on a flight to Paris. Shocked and sad we try to
make all necessary arrangements to be able to bury his brother under the tree in the
village.
Because the borders are closing, they have to reroute through Dakar. Change the hardearned tickets, only to change them again. In the night they drive from Dakar to the
river near Goloya, and Saturday morning early they cross the river in a laana, a hollowed
out tree trunk. Rain is pouring down. The wobbly boat bounces on the waves and the
wind is trying to grab it. A crowd of hundreds of guest silently watches on the bank of the
river, where they have gathered to welcome them home. The women of the village start
cooking early in the morning. The men pray. The children walk around in silence and lend
a hand where needed. Then there is a cloudburst. Quickly the cooking pots are covered
with whatever can serve as lids. It is a true art to keep the smoldering fire going in a
rainstorm.
There are more than a thousand people sitting in and around
our compound. People from the village, from the area, from the
capital and from other parts of Africa. Delegations from Europe
and the U.S. And yet you can hear a pin drop. Demba, calmly
and with great focus, leads the rituals and prayers. Nothing in his
demeanor reveals his sorrow and worries. No visible sign of the
fact that he has not slept for several nights, that he is tired from
traveling at all hours back and forth between the Netherlands
and France, followed by the difficult journey to his village here
in Mauritania, where everybody is awaiting him with their needs
and expectations. The deep respect I feel for this man is reflected
in the reverence of the crowd of family, relatives and the many
guests.
Demba
The group of college students from Nijmegen, who have fundraised for Silent Work for the
past six months, has to hurry to get in and out of the country in time. To no avail. They had
a car accident in Dakhla, Morocco. Fortunately no one is injured, but there is significant
damage to the car. Four of the six students decide to wait until the car is repaired and the
borders open again, two decided to fly back to Amsterdam.
Too bad for them and for us. Plans are wonderful, as long as you are flexible to make
adjustments. And that’s all we do, these days. I ask drivers to accompany me to the
border of Morocco to get the students safely across. For various reasons I have to delay
the trip several times. That requires a lot of flexibility from the drivers, and from me as well.
Change my ticket or not? My travel agent is a treasure, and she helps me navigate the
many obstacles.
Nouachott and our office/house are flooded. The roads have been turned in to mudflats
teeming with mosquito’s which seem to multiply exponentially by the hour. In the
confusion I left my malaria pills and mosquito repellent at home. A mistake.
At nine AM I take my checkbook to withdraw money at the bank.
“I am sorry, ma’am., the check with this number has already been cashed.” She points
at my checkbook: “Try another one.” That works…. Problem solved? Well, no, I don’t
trust it and ask for an explanation. Closer examination reveals that many numbers in my
checkbook have already been spent! “Has that been withdrawn from my account?”
“I have no way of checking that, ma’am.”
“Maybe someone else does?”
“If you want?”
“Yes, I do!”
A few hours later I ask myself why I still haven’t learned, that here you only get an answer
to questions if the owner of the information wants you to. It is five o’clock and the branch
closes. Monday I can come back for a new checkbook, in case I would like to have a
new one.
And yes, I would like to. Very much so.
The borders are open again. And the summit? That was a fiasco. The most important
countries did not show up and very soon after it was decided that Mauretania did not fit
the profile of an Arabian country. After half a day of meeting this was the conclusion and
everybody rushed back to their home country.
But we do have nice, well-lit roads in the capital now!
Another glimmer of light: The Peulh people are
not easily stumped. This boy wants to continue
his education even though his house has been
washed away by the rain.
A boy is doing homework in what’s left of his house after a rainstorm.
I am so proud of these people, who always see solutions. That is what energizes me!
A fatigued but grateful salute from Mauritania.
Woodi Wiljo Oosterom.
For those who are new to Silent Work:
Silent Work has been founded by Mrs. Wiljo Woodi Oosterom in 2000
and is register in the Chamber of Commerce.
Silent Work works for the forgotten children of Africa,
To bring to remote areas
Clean drinking water,
Healthy food (agriculture),
Health care,
Education, and
Jobs
With special focus on the deaf/disabled children of Africa.
www.silentwork.org
IBAN:NL29 RABO 0356 918890
AUG 2016