The return
Some day we will visit Azogui; meanwhile we remain surrounded by his attention when waiting to leave in a taxi-brousse for Chôum. Once introduced in the ins and outs that rule the samsar"s governability the impatience is no use at all for us. This way we can spend our time with a fascinating task: learning arabic thanks to Saleck. This event will mark us for ever and ever. Nahnu jukany. Before setting off we share a tea with a stranger; a nonsense term in these circumstances when everything is oriented towards the approach.
Fourteen in a 4x4. We are about to experiente a most usual journey. Finally I tactfully can stretch the Saleck's hands and retain all the sensation of affection contained in his gestures.
Soon we can feel, breathe, touch the sand. We go fast. Half way a short break. There is a time to share zrig in a gargote and the tea. Once again I can state the abstention of the men regarding the food that seems reserved for the women and children and, as in our case, for the foreigners. One of the numerous points that fattens the collection of questions to ask Oumar about. After the time dedicated to pray we left the freshness of khaima, tikits fall behind and we plunged again into the sand.
We spent a rich afternoon in Chôum and at dusk, situated close to the rail, we wait for the arrival of our return - the night train to Nouadhibou. Felt from the distance it bursts in the tranquility of the evening; with other three fellow travellers we get in, searching for accommodate for a place for the night. Our bed is the floor, our shelter the proximity of the other passengers, and a rythmical and penetrating sound - the ballad of an incredible experience that perhaps condenses everything what one can live living together. Waking up from time to time I meet hands that protect me from a possible discomfort; a notion out of the reality in which its use is simply useless.
We remained with the majority.
Already in the morning, sharing dates and bread - with what ease one becomes affected by the nutritional moderation we witness, we scrutinize the dusty outside to make out our destination. The train is slow, the journey lasts a lot. Finally we get out in a hurry, have the last look at the empty wagon that was all life. And we fall in the Oumar's arms.