fear |fi(ə)r|
noun
an unpleasant emotion caused by the belief that someone or something is dangerous, likely to cause pain, or a threat.
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| Photo Credit: Pedro |
Trains and I hadn't been friends for while. Okay, so I realise that a train is merely an inanimate object, yet that apparent fact had not once been enough to halt the rush of fear that could sting my body at the bellow of a horn. Sheer panic would set it. Some days, no effect - I wouldn't even notice the sound. Other days a screech in the distance would send my Nervous System into a frenzy. My brain would coax my body into the belief that it had just been fired upon by a thousand Irukandji jellyfish. Google it, Irukandji syndrome is excruciating, the venom from these badboys can kill a guy. Ugh, this unwavering fear needed to be smooshed into the sand!
Facing a fear was not a thought I'd normally let scurry across the abyss of my mind. Given the undesirable fear induced reactions of my body, I thought it was about time for me to try. My solution was to belittle my fear and get a little perspective. We fight fire with fire, right? Imagine yourself face to face with your fear, but instead of any old setting, you were in the gnarliest place you'd most easily be granted a visa for. Yup, I had try it. It was adventure time.
Lucky for me I was travelling in Morocco and the perfect set up was only a stones throw away in the Islamic Republic of Mauritania. I knew that the Iron Ore Train, one of the longest trains in the world, ran though the middle of that country. It was a place I'd have to literally cross a mine field to get too. Friends had recently warned me that Mauritania was a place as dangerous as they came; consequently, a place many governments alert you not to travel too. It's a place women were rumoured to be abused to the extent of genital mutilation. Mauritania is reported to be slavery's last stronghold; a place where an estimated 10% to 20% of the population lives in slavery while activists are arrested for fighting the practice and the government denies it still exists. The government is concerned with further spread of Al-Qaeda from the red zones of the Islamic Maghreb. In recent years, French tourists had already been captured, tortured and murdered in west. The fuelling forewarnings were welcomed, these notions (chinese whispers or not) definitely put my fear into perspective. The train seemed as though it would be the least of my concerns. How minuscule would your fear seem in comparison to such a place?
As a gal travelling solo I like to think that I'm brave, but even this endeavour was way too scary for me to attempt on my own. Fortunately, I had just met a bunch of travellers at a hitch hike gathering. I was surrounded by full on life livers who like me had nowhere to be and everywhere to see. Sure enough I found two thrill seeking German lords (also solo travellers) who were sold on hopping the train. The opportunity to hitch hike through the Western Sahara was an added bonus for us all.
We got our shit together and hitched off from Marrakech, our destination was Nouadhibou train station. We made it all the way down Morocco with nothing but ease; Moroccan people are some of the most compassionately hospitable human beings you'll ever meet. Down south there was an annoying number of checkpoints that not even a fiche could quicken, but the Western Sahara landscape made everything okay. Hitching itself was exhilarating, but my god, the way the desert dunes melted into the road, the baby camels visible on the horizon, the sand dancing across the centre line... it was awe-inspiring-worry-erasing scenery.
We made it from border to border over the No Man's Land mine field, unscathed. Crossing a mine field really didn't feel like anything at all. You'd be none the wiser if it wasn't for the burnt out cars laying upside down slightly off piste. We took a load off in town while we waited for another friend to arrive. It didn't take long for us to meet most of the other mzungus in Nouadhibou. After a few days 10 of us had forged friendships and decided to ride the train together (As a side note: mzungu is a common name for Westerns used more in the southern Africa. I like to think of it as a term of endearment).
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| Team Mzungu from left to right - Pedro, Danni, Me, Justine, Florian, Eric |
The big day was upon us. Nervously waiting for the arrival of the train, it became evident that Mauritania might actually be as dangerous as I was warned. The train station was swarming with men in electric blue track suits, wearing khaki turbans wielding AK47s - magazines loaded. I’d never even seen an AK47 before, let alone this many. A Mauritanian customs officer arrived to check out documents, he explained that the men would be going on the train and for our own protection we should sit as close to them as possible. I didn't know if this was comforting or if it scared the shit out of me.
The train arrived, 2 hours late, as was apparently the norm. The whole journey to this point was so distracting, I could no longer differentiate between the actual causes of my worry. We got an ore carriage to ourselves, being careful to choose one close enough to the men with the guns, but not too close. We knew we had 12 to 17 hours ahead of us and everyone was excited. The roofless metal carriage was a matchbox shape no higher than 150cm. We befriended the locals occupying the next carriage down and we were invited to jump ship, to join them for tea. I don't know what was more insane — was it that they brought a gas bottle on board to make tea or that carriages were jumped ON A MOVING TRAIN in order to have tea! Tea culture is ridiculously big in Arabic culture. I swear to you that the men in Morocco, the Western Sahara and Mauritania go to cafes and gasbag for hours on end — way more than you or anyone you know.
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| Our tea loving friend in the next carriage down |
So, there I was balls deep in the desert of a pretty scary place, on one of the things I feared the most. Unknown hours had passed by after an indescribable desert sunset. As hard as it was to drown out the constant noise it was all actually pretty special. The forward motion of the train felt secure compared to the stationary mid desert moments in the looming darkness. After a while someone asked for the time, 10:10 was yelled out over the sound of the train. With that, the underlying reason behind my fear smacked me hard in the face. I lost a loved one to a train and 10:10 was the anniversary date of his death. Out of all of the possible times! There could have been a one second difference on either side of the minute and the time wouldn't have held any significance at all. Yeah, it might have been a coincidence but I don't believe in those. I felt as though my brother was letting me know that he was with me. This moment was worth every worry leading up to it.
My tears of happiness lead to more unbelievable stories, fears, hopes and dreams being shared between us all. Countless shooting stars were wished upon. Headstands were done. Laughs were had. Friendships were cemented. Laying in a sleeping bag under the stars on a moving train for hours on end was as equally phenomenal as what had just unfolded.
Honestly, I don’t know if the random body spasms have stopped. What I do know is that fighting fire with fire, in this context, was absolutely idiotic. I wouldn’t recommend that you try to conquer your fears this way. This whole idea of mine was pretty stupid... but I'm a bit stupid more often than not. There is a fine line between being fearless and senseless. Its cool not to let fear rule your life, but being afraid of something is normal. This fear might always haunt me, and for good reason, but I have replaced a horrible memory of trains with an amazing new one.
