The Rosso Border: When It All Goes Wrong

“Mos Eisley Spaceport. You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. We must be cautious.“
~ Obi-Wan Kenobi

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Crossing the Rosso border between Senegal and Mauritania is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. But that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s a *good* experience. The border at Rosso is often called “the most corrupt border in the world”. Unfortunately, it’s also the only viable option for those looking to travel between the two countries without their own private transportation. And though it’s… well… the only blatantly corrupt border we’ve ever experienced, I can tell ya it didn’t disappoint. However, as we found out later that night, James and I came away with two very different experiences of the ordeal.

ANDREW:

Lately, The Adventure Dudes have been on a real Africa kick. In January 2018 it was Rwanda and Uganda, and at the end of December 2018, James and I flew into Dakar, Senegal for a two-week trip to West Africa. (You know the routine: see cheap flight deal, message James, BOOK IMMEDIATELY!, research later). Well, during that research and preparation I kept trying to decide where else to go besides Dakar. Because here’s the thing – if I’m booking an intercontinental flight, I’m going to try and bag as many countries as I can while making sure we’re still taking enough time to experience them all. It’s a fun little balancing act, to be sure.

Mauritania

That’s where Mauritania comes in. I was exploring a map of West Africa and checking into the Gambia, Guinea-Bissau and, yes, Mauritania. Trying to decide if there was another place we could/should go instead of just sticking in Senegal for two weeks. That’s how I stumbled across this:

There’s an iron ore train that travels daily from the middle of the Sahara Desert to Nouadhibou on the Atlantic coast of Mauritania. It’s the longest train in the world, and yes… you can jump on and ride it for 12-24 hours under the stars and across the sands of the largest desert on Earth. I was mesmerized. I needed to do it. So I showed it to James and he jumped. It was settled. We’d do Senegal then cross the border to Mauritania and ride the train.

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JAMES:

I don’t love talking about this experience. It flies in the face of who I try to be. I’m a huge proponent of travel, for new experiences and putting myself out there to prove to myself and others that what we hear is rarely what we get. But for one who thrusts oneself into the unknown on a pretty regular basis, I guess it only makes sense to think that not every landing would be soft, not every encounter ranking five stars. It’s just math.

24 Hours in Mauritania

Mauritania Day was the least pleasant I’d had in all my travels. We exchanged $300 in local currency before embarking on our adventure and by sundown of the same day, it was gone—spent on local guides, on tickets to ride in beat-up old station wagons crossing the Sahara, on fluctuating fees for crossing the border, on filling bellies and a place to sleep.

Our guide since arrival in western Africa, Mamadou, crossed the Senegal River with us into Mauritania to help navigate the turbulent waters of border bureaucracy. From nearly the moment I set foot on Mauritanian soil, I was hollered at from every direction by men dressed in uniforms, hustling the crowds toward processing.

I was waiting on Andrew and Mamadou to get out of our crossing boat and asked the screaming officer, in the worst broken French imaginable, to wait for my friends as they were still climbing out of the canoe that brought us over. More screaming. Something to the effect of “see this stripe? <gestures to uniform> I do not WAIT. You do what I TELL you.” Asking the official to wait for my friends wasn’t the best idea, but I am certain getting separated in the craziness was even less wise.

“Most Corrupt Border on Earth”

Every action in this country required a helper who knew the language. I found that one out firsthand when I tried to cross the border and my visa was about 30% more expensive than what Andrew had paid. Yeah, come to find out Mauritania is considered to have the most corrupt border on the planet earth.  

And did I mention that during this process Mamadou was deported?  Yeah.  The officials on the Senegal side told him he could come over with us to Mauritania with no problems. Just guide the tourists through processing and come on back. We learned soon enough that wasn’t exactly true.  Uniformed officers led him away, one holding each of his bony shoulders, back to the canoe to go back to Senegal. Can’t have a translator getting you through the border now, we need to be able to rip you off. Yup. That’s Rosso.

Mamadou Does His Best

Before he was removed, Mamadou tried to connect us to another guide who would help us through the border, but his English was very limited and there was no common language we shared. He was tasked with procuring transportation across the desert to Nouakchott. He found it for us, but the language barrier made it difficult to understand exactly what he wanted in exchange for helping us get a ride from the border to its largest city. Much emotional hand-waving chased us from the border as we moved toward Nouakchott, crushed in the back of the cab in such a way that we spent the whole trip jealous of sardines tucked neatly into their cans.

The Worst Ride of Your Life

Fast forward seven hours of cramps in a Caprice Classic wagon, one mechanical breakdown, two prayer stops, about four police stops, a video rendition of a Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons hit, and small talk with a seven-foot Gambian, we’re finally in Mauritania’s biggest city.

During the trek across the wasteland with a seatbelt buckle gouging my liver, I turn to Andrew and tell him if a flight back to Dakar is less than $300, I’m ON it. He’d actually given it a higher ceiling of $500. OK, awesome. We’re on the same page. We’ll get to the metropolitan area, hose off, get something to eat, and we’ll be on a flight in the morning.  Coolcoolcool.

The station wagon dropped us off in the center of “town” and we had to find a way to get to our hostel. We flagged down Mauritania’s answer to rideshare and were on our way. Andrew and I were let off about a five-minute walk from the place, checked in, and started the most difficult conversation/argument of our friendship.

When we were cruisin’ the dunes en route to Nouakchott, I thought it was pretty solidly decided we were heading back to Dakar. Not so, dear friends.  Somewhere between seatbelt hell and the big city, he’d had a change of heart. And honestly, I wasn’t thrilled about calling it quits on Mauritania.  The train ride across the Sahara and some pretty cool adventure opportunities were waiting for us there. But after what we’d already seen and mostly lived through, I didn’t make any moves to unpack.

When Everything Breaks Down

Andrew Paul Redlawsk is 500 pounds of passion packed into 130 pounds of person.  The conversation/disagreement that followed was…unpleasant, to say the least.  Everyone in the hostel heard it, but I doubt many could understand all the loud coming from that room.

Like with most folks, yelling is a good thing. It’s the quiet fury that gets dangerous. Once we turned down the volume, things got a little scary. Andrew said he wanted to stay. He said I could go back to Dakar, but if I did, it would be flying solo. And I wasn’t havin’ it. Not one iota of it. He’s a grown-ass man, but I’d fireman carry his narrow behind outta there SO QUICKLY.

Hard Decisions

Luckily, or maybe unluckily, it didn’t have to come to that. Andrew had had a little debit card trouble back in Senegal as he tried to withdraw cash from the ATM in the bougie hotel – the machine ATE HIS CARD. Turns out he’d recently gotten a replacement debit card but accidentally brought the OLD ONE instead of the new one. Brilliant. In the heat of discussion and talks of going separate ways, Mr. Redlawsk had forgotten he had no funds on which to travel.

There was no way to withdraw enough money in this place to let him go his own way while I tucked tail and went back to Dakar. We had no idea how to budget it and there was no way to get that kinda cash out of my account to facilitate it anyway. So we booked our flights back to Dakar.

A Reckoning with Fear

Then my ugly tears of relief started to fall.  I told Andrew how scared I was during most of the day.  It wasn’t like a fear I’d experienced before.  I’d put myself in some questionable situations before, but the emotions I felt then were more anxiety and anticipation of the unknown than what felt like a very real fear for my safety.  I also learned during our planning to return to Dakar that Mauritania is also relatively well-known for human trafficking—a li’l factoid Mr. Redlawsk conveniently forgot to mention, but something I’d already known and was willing to risk.

It was a tense evening.  Andrew accused me of falling for the media’s fear-mongering, among other things.  And if I’m being honest, he was probably more right than I’d care to admit.  It wasn’t easy to hear, but it wasn’t inaccurate.  I’d heard horror stories about some of it, but lived through enough to know it wasn’t all fable.  And I didn’t have to endure any more of it.

Getting Out

We got our final farewell “and don’t come back” when the taxi driver we found took us to the airport and tried to gouge us for the fare. We gave him every cent we had left in our pockets of the local currency, but it still wasn’t enough. So, we told the guy we’d get more at the airport to give him but stiffed him once we got through security.  Am I proud of it?  No.  Am I willing to forgive myself and move on?  Already have.

After some serious conversation and some time to cool down, I hope when we told each other we were OK with the decision to return to Senegal we really meant it.  I know I did.  Andrew got some pretty serious digestive distress issues shortly after landing, so I’m thinking a clean bathroom and the cool of a set of hotel sheets made the escape a little easier to stomach.
See what I did there?

You Don’t Learn When Things Go Well

So many valuable lessons learned.  But the most important, in my opinion?  Take the information presented and let it mold your assessment at every moment along the journey.  It’s hard to walk into any situation without bias.  But the more input I can apply to the current situation and “roll with the punches?”  Well, I think the better off I’ll be in the long run.  And that goes for a LOT of things, friends.

Love y’all.
– James

ANDREW:

Whew. Okay. Here’s my perspective. Expectations and reality are often very different. And when two people have two different sets of expectations going into an experience, you can usually bet that sparks are going to fly. Especially when one of those two is being… well… inconsistent. And in this case, that person was me.

Preparation = Preparedness

Duh. That seems like a stupidly obvious statement, right? But what I mean is this. I’m the one of the two of us that does the bulk of the research and itinerary preparation leading up to a trip. One of the benefits of this is that I know just exactly what we’re getting ourselves into, while James may have a less complete understanding of the situation. This is NOT a criticism of James at ALL. He’s so great at rolling with the punches and going with the flow. I deeply appreciate the faith he puts in me to deliver a successful trip.

But I *knew* how messed up our experience crossing the Rosso border would be. I *knew* that it would be the worst day of the trip. I expected the bribery. The rip-offs. The stress of navigating through a hostile border without even speaking the languages. Because of my research, I was prepared – well… at least somewhat prepared – for just how tough that day was going to be. But I’d accepted it because the reward of getting to ride that train? It was going to make it all worth it.

To Bail Or Tough it Out?

But during the seven-hour grueling trans-Sahara taxi ride my commitment wavered, and I wanted to go home. Nothing I write will adequately describe what it felt like to be crammed in the back of a 30-year-old, unventilated, AC-less station wagon with no shocks bounding across “roads” that were more pothole than tarmac. When James asked about flights back to Dakar I readily agreed, because in the moment, I was truly more miserable than I’d ever been in my life.

However, by the time we got to Dakar and were “settled” in our hostel, I figured…… we’d made it. We were here. Why go back now that the worst is behind us? I’d been far more prepared for the emotion and turmoil of the day than James had, and because of that, it was much easier for me to shrug off and chalk up to “adventure”. But James was done. DONE. And when James has decided something, it is DECIDED. I so appreciate that conviction, but lord did it piss me off that night.

There’s No “I” in Team

I don’t need to rehash what happened between James and me in that hotel room – he did a great job describing it – but after all the yelling and the arguing subsided, it wasn’t the lack of cash that led me to capitulate. It wasn’t guilt. It definitely wasn’t fear. Nope. It was love. Love for my friend and for this incredible relationship we’ve built that’s given me some of the best experiences of my life.

I desperately wanted to stay in Mauritania and see the adventure through. I didn’t want to quit. And I definitely didn’t want to feed the stereotypical stories about Arab countries. That’s literally the antithesis to who I am as a person and a traveler. But I love my friend more than all of that. At the end of the day if the question came down to a stupid train in the desert or our friendship, I’d pick our friendship every single freaking time. So I did.

Everyone’s Gotta Be On Board

There was a point where James almost gave in and said in a tone I never care to hear from him ever again, “fine. I’ll go with you if that’s what you want to do.” And like he wrote above, it’s not the anger that cuts like a knife, it’s the quiet resignation of someone as strong as James Edward Bullard. That’s the thing that gets you. And it was in that moment that I realized that you can’t – CAN’T – go into a true adventure unless the whole team is on board.

I couldn’t say “okay let’s run out into the middle of the Sahara Desert” with a partner who didn’t want to be there. That’s the most dangerous situation you can be in. If we’re not all-in, the only correct choice is to bail. I know that’s true as a climber, a hiker, and now I know it as a traveler as well. I hope y’all take this lesson to heart.

The Right Call

The craziest part of this whole ordeal was that James may have saved my life that night. Shortly after returning to Dakar and checking into our hotel I was struck down with a serious bout of explosive indigestion that kept me attached to a toilet for nearly 24 hours. We even called in a doctor to test me for Malaria, which, fortunately, I didn’t have. But if we’d attempted to make it out into the middle of the Sahara that day as we’d originally planned, I could’ve been in very real danger due to dehydration and fluid loss. Sometimes life has a funny way of telling you that you’re making the right decisions. I’m grateful to James for his resolve, and I’m grateful for an experience that led to better understanding between the two of us.

It’s not an adventure til things go wrong, and a friendship doesn’t become strong until it’s tested. We were. We came out stronger for it. And it’s a story I’ll never, ever forget.

Love you, James. And love y’all, too.

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