Riding the longest train in the world…illegally | Mauritania’s iron ore train

Not much to my surprise, after I returned to the UK for a couple weeks in April, people were incredibly curious to hear about the train I’d ridden in Africa – twice. It was a thrilling experience, made all the more nerve-wracking by the fact it had been made illegal for tourists to ride the train 4 months earlier due to extreme safety hazards and harsh conditions. I hope you enjoy reading my ramble about our heist and tips for anyone who’s keen to also ride the train.

It began with 4 of us – myself, Lucas, Jaidyn and Luca. Thrill-seekers, we’d heard about riding the iron ore train and this was a mission we were prepared to accept. The train is used to transport iron ore across the country from the mines at Zouerat to Nouadibhou. Locals also hop onto the train as the most efficient way to get across the country. Getting down to the train was a whole ordeal in itself. We applied for our visas back in mid-February in Mirleft, Morocco. From there we began our journey down through Western Sahara, hitchhiking through Guelmim, Tan-Tan (we were picked up by the loveliest guys who very generously bought us lunch, refusing to accept money from us), and Laayoune, eventually making it by bus to Dakhla. 

It was there that we met Susan (a girl we’d met through a Whatsapp group chat for Mauritania travellers), tasted some street food snails, and enjoyed a beach day and sunset drinks before heading to the Islamic Republic of Mauritania.

The next morning, we crossed the border into Mauritania, where I managed to queue jump the whole line of white tourists on account of my name. Luca was ceremoniously wrapped in a local’s headscarf, and we’d made it into Nouadibhou! As soon as we stepped foot off that bus, we realised we’d entered a whole other realm. There was none of the cushiness of Morocco. In the 3 weeks we ended up spending there, I can count the number of English-speakers we met on one hand. The French I’d learned up until age 15 and retained was suddenly vital to supporting 5 people in ordering food, organising accommodation and getting around. Streets were hectic, taxis were unmarked, so you just hailed down the most beaten-up Mercedes you’ve ever seen – doors missing, bumpers fallen off, windows smashed, seat belts non-existent. We made our way to Auberge Sahara with a little detour to get money from a thankfully functional ATM as between the 5 of us we had zero local currency (Ougiya). We later learned it was a good idea to exchange money at the border for a very decent rate. The lady running the auberge was extremely kind and welcoming, giving us local food recommendations for our hungry bellies.

The food. God, “eating out” in Mauritania was a culture shock. I remember getting back to the UK and trying to explain how jarring it was to go from Mauritania back to Morocco. In a nutshell, eating out in Mauritania for the large part involved walking into a single room restaurant, essentially someone’s kitchen, and asking them for 5 meals for your group. Or, as we did on this first night, paying for 2kg of meat for them to cook up with some potatoes for us. There wasn’t any option to personalise your meal, you got what you were given, and you ate it.  

I remember getting extreme second-hand embarrassment when we returned to Morocco. We stood in a queue for some street food and listened to the girl in front of us order sandwiches for her friends, one without onions, one with extra tomatoes, one with spicy sauce but no garlic sauce. It was a real moment of realisation for how fussy, oversaturated with options and privileged we are in the West to even have the choice.

Anyways, back to the train. In our hostel we met Ben, another friend who we rode the train with. The next couple days before we rode the train were filled with purchasing all the essentials we’d need:

-        Warm clothes – jackets and gloves

-        Heavy duty plastic bags to stop iron ore ruining our stuff

-        Electrical tape to cover our phone charging ports and mics

-        Blankets

-        Food (tinned tuna, date-filled biscuits)

-        Ski goggles (we picked up a couple left behind by other travellers in our hostel)

-        5L of water each

-        And in Lucas’ case, a local’s prayer mat that he thought was a rug

Bellies filled with omelette and mayo baguettes, Luca got swarmed by half a dozen kids before all 6 of us squished into a taxi to the station. 

There is a train schedule, but naturally nothing runs to time in Mauritania, so we ended up waiting 5 hours at the station. It’s a funny set-up, because it is still legal to ride the train but only on the passenger cart, and there’s exceptions for locals as it’s their way to get across the country. We rocked up there, told security we were there to ride the passenger cart, and hung out with some workers of the mining company SNIM. They made us tea, teaching us the correct way to prepare it (pouring many times between 2 cups until the cup is 10% tea and 90% sugary froth). Susan and I unfortunately failed in the tea pouring test after we spilled it everywhere, so we decided to leave it to the expert. Our new local friend whipped out his pellet gun and took us outside to shoot it at a can, a sure-fire way (pun intended!) to pass the time. 

Around 3.30pm, our excitement rose as we saw the train pass by, on its way into the mines to empty the iron ore before it would return. Pretty soon we’d be on that empty train! 

At 5.30pm we made our way to the tracks and excitedly awaited its arrival. 

Half an hour later, the tracks rumbled as the train approached and came to a halt. We had limited time before the train would start up again, so we hurried to pick a cart, chucked up our belongings onto the carriage and clambered up the ladder. 

We’d made it! Post celebratory boogie to Break my stride and Messy, the anthems of our trip, we set up hammocks, wrapped our faces in scarves to protect us from the sand and iron ore blowing in our faces, then settled in to watch the sunset. The sun set, stars emerged in the dark night sky, and Luca whipped out an entire fresh cake for us to celebrate with – we’re still confused about where he’d kept the box hidden until then.

One of the most memorable feelings from the train ride was the jolts, as anyone who has ridden the train will enthusiastically recall. It’s one of the reasons this train ride is notorious for being so dangerous. Anytime the front of the train hit a small bump in the track or slightly slowed/sped up, we’d hear a chain reaction getting increasingly louder as it approached, until it would hit us, the whole carriage would jolt, and we’d all be shaken. I don’t know how many times I fell over from this insane chain reaction. You definitely didn’t want to be hanging off the side of the train peeing when this happened.

 The roar of the train was magnificent, and it made for a pretty restless night of constantly waking to see the starry and sandy night sky in between dipping in and out of sleep. The sunrise was just as beautiful and we admired the barren landscape, dappled with patches of greenery and the occasional camels. 18 hours later, we arrived in Zouerat, where the train stopped just before it went into the mines and we finally touched ground again.

We found some food to satisfy our hunger and had a bit of down time to recharge our very empty batteries. 

We decided to take the bus from Zouerat to Choum, as it would be easier to get on the train from there without getting caught, plus we had heard about an Auberge owner who would help us get onto the train. We hitchhiked to catch a bus to Choum and left Ben, who sadly was fined when he got caught embarking the train at Zouerat back to Nouadibhou. 

We decided to chill in Choum for the day, sunbathing in our hostel (Auberge de Choum) in intense African heat, having a waterfight, and exploring the local town which consisted of a one-of-a-kind “petrol station”, a group of local kids that followed us around making rude sexual gestures and a cool tunnel that used to be the road to Zouerat. 

We asked some locals if they could drive us there and they kindly agreed, so we hopped in the back of their pickup truck, and enjoyed a gorgeous drive to this bat- and scorpion-filled tunnel. 

Jaidyn found a goat hoof, with which he made close acquaintance and baptised Audrey, and Luca clambered up to the top of the tunnel.  

We decided not to make the same mistake as our last train and bought some more substantial food to eat this time round. We bought a fuck tonne of sandwiches from Mohammed as locals gathered round in curiosity to gawk at these strange foreigners who were buying 15 sandwiches. Mohammed prepared our food with a huge grin on his face, chatting away to us and taking his time to lovingly fill and wrap each one in foil. This was another reality check moment of realising how capitalism and consumerism have impacted how fast paced and impersonal food preparation is in the West. There’s no way you’d get that sort of service at Subway where you’re in an out in 5 minutes. Half an hour later we were filled with sandwiches to fill 6 hungry bellies (we’d acquired another friend from our hostel, AJ).

The hostel owner, Sidi Ahmed, had intel from his friend who worked at the mines, and he told us to be ready for 11.30pm, when he’d drive us to the train tracks to hop onto the full iron ore train. 11.30pm came and went, and at midnight we heard the rumble of the train tracks, at which point I thought I should go check up with Sidi. I knocked on his door to discover he was asleep. The next 5 minutes were pure chaos. He woke up, checked his phone and yelled, “go, go, go!”. I ran back to grab the others and we all rushed to the car, shoving bags into the boot. AJ in the front, me, Lucas, Jaidyn and Susan in the back. Luca nowhere to be seen, Jaidyn and Susan ran back to discover he still hadn’t packed. Sidi had started driving off just as Luca emerged from the hostel, running after the car, bag in one hand, loose clothes bundled in another, towel wrapped around his shoulders. He jumped into the moving car, laying across us 4, clinging onto us for dear life as the car door swung open and Sidi slammed on the gas. We stopped a couple hundred metres from the train, grabbed our bags and sprinted in the dark to the train, which had just arrived and stopped. “No lights, keep quiet, lay low!” were his parting words to us. We truly felt like fugitives. AJ, Susan, Jaidyn and I clambered onto one cart, Luca and Lucas on the other. We all scurried onto the mound of iron ore, chucking our bags to the sides and laying low. Security cars paced up and down the train, shining lights onto the carts as we all held our breaths. Somehow, despite our hectic arrival, we didn’t get caught! The train slowly took off, Luca and Lucas climbed across the moving cart to join us, and we set up for the night, digging into the iron ore to create a makeshift flat(ish) surface for us all to rest. 

The stars were just as beautiful that night, and we felt the wind whip around us as we lay upon the mound of iron ore. The night was rough – windy and cold – we all huddled together in our blankets to retain body heat as the iron ore beneath us had long cooled. Nonetheless, the mass of iron ore seemed to absorb the train shocks and some of the noisy roaring.

 

The next morning, we saw another beautiful sunrise and warmed up our frozen bones under the sweltering sun. We stopped a couple of times (for unknown reasons), but thankfully it was nowhere near as long as how long I’ve heard other people have been stopped in the desert for. Riding the train in February was also a great time to do it, as the temperatures were fairly manageable even when we stopped. I’ve heard of people stopping in the desert in August for hours – no shade, no breeze, and limited water.

Eventually we arrived back in Nouahibhou and witnessed the most incredible car chase. The local taxi drivers spotted us at least a few kilometres before we reached the train tracks and all raced to be the first one to be there to pick us up. These already incredibly beaten-up cars got even more wrecked by their rough, dangerous and bumpy ride as they chased after us. We almost weren’t able to climb off the train as one taxi driver was stood on the ladder, trying to get us into his car. When we got off the train, 2 locals got into a fight over who would give us the ride back. Needless to say, pretty intense and surreal after a 13-hour train ride! We made the taxi ride back to our hostel, where the owner laughed at how ridiculous we all looked, covered head to toe in iron ore (I had washed my face before the photo below). 

We revelled in our success, reflecting on having had such a unique and memorable experience, especially given that on both train rides we managed to not get caught. To the complete our mission, we made our way to a local beach to wash off – the best way to end our successful mission. Speaking of the mission, we all had a strong sense of satisfaction, and yet almost…emptiness. For a couple months, working our way down to the iron ore train was all we’d been focused on. We’d hitchhiked, taken buses and now achieved the ultimate goal and ridden the iron ore train. What would we do now that we had pulled this off?