The other Mauritania

”Do you know a place where I can sleep?” I asked and stretched my legs, threw my backpack over my shoulder. I had just stepped out of the taxi in Boghé after a long and hot drive that took me a few hours southeast of the capital. Where ever I saw the trees were tall and green, wagons were pulled by well cared about horses and the air was lightly humid. I filled my lungs with the smell of green nature and slowly let go of the breath.
“What? Sleep?” the man who sat next to me in the taxi asked.
“Yes, something small. Do you know any?”
“Don’t you know anyone here?” he asked with big eyes and said something to the other guy in pulaar.
“No, no, I don’t know anyone here.” I answered. “I just came to see what place it is.”

Half an hour later he entered a house with me where the door stood open. “Salaam aleikum!” he said from the inner yard and a woman from a room furthest inside the building answered. Her name is Fati, and she is nowadays my mama.

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