2005-07-30 - 7:47 p.m.

When Brock asked me to go to the beach I probably should have thought better of it with all the things I had to get done before leaving Nouakchott. I had been to the beach in Nouadhibou before, but never in the capital city, so I agreed. Two friends of his that work with some Christian mission in Selibaby were going to pick us up around ten. Again, I should have rethought my plans when they showed up an hour late. They were using the churches Land Rover that I quickly found they had little to no experience with (It took them 10 minutes just to switch to 4wd). We headed out of town and turned off the road some 20 minutes along. I had my doubts about our chosen route, especially when we came to a 5-foot drop off and nearly got stuck in the sand reversing. After a few sidetracks and wrong turns the beach finally came into sight. In our final descent we got stuck in the sand, but jumped out to enjoy our surroundings, leaving our transport problems till later.
There was a shack nearby that seemed to be inhabited by a lone Mauritanian. Other than that we had the beach to ourselves for miles. The wind was quite strong bringing in some great waves. Maddie and Molly, who had come along spent most of the day getting blasted by sand lying on the beach. Brock and I spent the next three hours body surfing, chasing crabs and trying to knock each other over in the water. It was a splendid time, but around 2 we decided it was about time we start to make our way back to civilization.
We had to dig the tires out of the sand and give the Land Rover a push to get it moving. There was quite a debate about what direction was the best to get the vehicle turned back around. In the end we headed out onto the beach where we had hoped the sand would be firmer. It wasn’t. We had to dig the vehicle out of the sand 7 times. Brock and I stayed hanging from the back for most of the trip so we could easily jump off and start pushing whenever we started to get stuck again. The Land Rover itself seemed to be having problems. At first, I thought it was for fear of losing momentum that our driver wasn’t taking the vehicle out of first gear. I also thought this was the reason for the black smoke billowing out of the tail pipe. After hitting hard ground however, the smoke screen and sound of high revving engines continued.
We stopped and found that we were out of first gear. There was something wrong with the vehicle. I suggested taking it out of 4wd, but after doing so we couldn’t get it back into any gear. We were stranded. I began to get nervous. I still had lots of time before leaving town, but I still had presents to buy for people in addition to packing. In the end I apologized and said that I had to leave the group and would walk back to the road in hopes of hitch hiking into town. Everyone understood, and the girls opted to go with me, but not 5 minutes into our march we were met by a truck with 3 Mauritanians (two men and a woman). They pulled off and I explained the situation. They told us to hop in and we rejoined our group. The Mauritanians looked at the car and told us that our shift disc had cracked. They said we could get in with them and they would get a hold of someone from their beach house. I felt odd moving in the opposite direction from the one I wanted to be moving, but I agreed. At the beach house they were able to call a friend who agreed to come out and help. They said he would only be half-an-hour, so we could wait tell he arrived. I had serious doubts, knowing for most Mauritanians a half-an-hour usually means 4 hours or more. I was then completely shocked when our host pulled out a bottle of Johnny Walker Red Label. To those avid drinkers back home, this may not seem so bizarre, but this is Mauritania. Nobody drinks. Not only is against the law, it is against their religion. I could only make rash assumptions, but the foremost in my mind was that these were the last people I wanted to be relying on when I was stranded on a beach 40 minutes from town by car.
Again I apologized to the girls and Brock, but I had to go. The older Mauritanian insisted that I stay, but I was adamant on leaving. In the end he agreed to take me to the road where I could try to hitch hike into town. At the junction I exited the vehicle and waved thanks. I said a silent prayer for my friends still back at the beach house. A few vehicles passed by, but an enormous dump truck brimming with seashells came to a stop when I flagged it down. The men inside looked down at me as if I was the oddest thing they had ever seen. I asked if they were going to Nouakchott and whether or not I could get a ride. They agreed and I hoped on top of the shells and held on for dear life. A great relief was lifted off my shoulders. Those of you that know me well are aware I’m a horrible worrier. I couldn’t get the idea of me missing my flight home out of my head. It is hard to believe that less than 24 hours later I was sitting at an Outback Steakhouse in Cincinnati, Ohio eating a quarter pound cheeseburger and drinking an ice cold Dr. Pepper. I had made it back to the states for vacation and what a trip that was.

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