Chapter VI. Training Day

Wow, what to say about the train? It was totally wild. It’s supposed to be the World’s Longest Train at more than a mile long, I guess by number of cars. It screeched up at about 7:30 pm. I know it’s supposed to be the longest in the world, but I really don’t think it is. At least, ours wasn’t. In addition to the mile’s worth of iron ore cars, there are two passenger cars way at the end of the train. But you have to pay for them and why would you sit in a train car when you can sit on one? We selected the car that looked like its load was the least rocky (no one wants to sit on chunks of iron ore for 12 hours and Greger scrambled up. We hefted our bags up to him and then climbed aboard. The iron ore was black, gritty and smelled/tasted very metallic. We were instantly dirty. At about 8, the engine started to chug. The sound as the train pulled away was incredible. CLANK CLANK CLANK! I stood on top of the ore, grinning under my turban feeling total exhilaration – “Here! We! Goooo!” One volunteer described the ride as a weird dream: around, in front, and behind there is nothing – just sand, an occasional mountain, sky, and you on a pile of iron ore in the middle of the Sahara.

We’d been warned by other PCV’s who had made the trip that it is very cold, so we’d bought clothes, coats, and blankets in Nouakchott. It definitely was NOT cold for the first half of the trip. It was like someone had put a fan in front of an oven. We chitted and chatted for a while, constantly trying to blink the metallic grit from our eyes, but eventually got sleepy and staked our claim on sleeping spots. Greger and Bobby curled up next to the wall of the car, sheltered from the wind. I laid on top of the ore, with my head facing front so that the big bundle of my turban blocked the wind a little. It wasn’t too bad, but then at about 3 am, it got freaking freezing and we bundled up in every piece of market garage sale clothing we’d bought. I had on jeans, a t-shirt, long-sleeved shirt, winter coat, and a blanket and was still chilly.
I awoke to grey light in the east and sat up to examine the surroundings. The sand was whiter and more powdery. The boys woke up and we had bread for breakfast, laughing at each others’ complete filth. Bobby looked like he’d been made up to play an Arab in an old timey movie. Greger looked like a hobo. I looked very ill, as the black dust had settled mainly around my eyes, giving me this awful sunk-eyed exhausted look.

Thirteen hours after leaving Choum, the train chugged into Nouadhibou. From our perch, we looked out on a sea of tin shacks with TV antennas. After registering with the gendarmes, we taxied it into town and stopped at the first hostel we found. Though the water was cut when we arrived, it eventually came back on and I took one of the best hot showers of my life. The black grit was in every pore, every crevice of my face and hands.