Atar
I have got a bony knee of an gendarme (who watches us over) under my chin - everything in a friendly plan. El Hadj entrusted him with our well-being and the presence of an uniform in the vehicle saves us from having to undergo frequent passport controls at checkpoints. The jacek's elbow is piercing my stomach. We four persons are confined in the back seat of a vehicle during a night rally that takes us from Chôum to Atar. We make a stop in the middle of the darkness, in the middle of the frozen and wonderful desert, without anything standing in between starry firmament and the eyes stuck upwards. To stretch the legs, to spread myself out, where reigns the Scorpio, the indisputable sovereign of the mauritanian night sky, to satisfy the desire of the infinite.
Atar is supposed to be the center of the redistribution of the tourism in the sourroundings. Three weekly flights from Marseille supply the zone with tourists who, lead by the all-terrain "camels", are dispersed in more reduced herds, following the routes established for this purpose. Colorful, safe and with the fabulous dune photo at the bottom.
We pass the afternoon in the terrace of the AMOGJAR restaurant. The linguistic spheres melt: Castilian and English, French and Arabic. Wonderful mélange to live moments on immense wish of encounter and respect. From western distances resonate the reactionary speeches of priests ans politics about the tolerance. This windy evening was a purifying antidote, opposite to a feigned amplitude of views of the developed society.
The afternoon matures in the home of one of the companions, in the old district of Atar. At night we cross under the starred immensity an enclosed patio. Candles, carpets; leaned on surmis we share milk and warm up ideas as small glasses of tea are about to arrive. A calm flow of the dialogue between the six, a proximity of the eyes, a communion to create a space that joins.
The farewell is full of tenderness, fed on the uncertainty that, if really the felt commitments, hardly said, will be safeguarded from the distance that will separate us tomorrow.
We spent the morning before leaving for Chôum receiving a first lesson of arabic. The confusions of the greetings, the shaking of hands and if not, looks. See you, Saleck. See you soon, friends.
Pas d'Amogjar
Pas d'Amogjar - cave paintings
Pas d'Amogjar - Fort Saganne
