In order to be at the border with Mauritania early, we got up when it was still dark. We still had 86km to drive from our hotel to the border post. A quick wash and then breakfast at the back of our cars in front of the hotel as the hotel restaurant was still closed.
The drive to the border required more concentration because it was still pitch dark although my high beams and the extra LED bars helped to illuminate the nightly desert. The desert is very much alive also during the night, we noticed. Along the way, we saw as many as 20 mice crossing the road just in front of us as well as one fox.
During yesterday’s drive I have also crossed the 10,000km of this expedition.

When we arrived at the border post of Guergouarat, the imam had just started calling for prayers. It was still dark. We joined the queue of vehicles waiting in front of the gate. The border had not yet opened yet. It was 07h15. In the many minutes that followed I had time to walk past the queue of cars, consisting mainly of Moroccans and Spanish registered vehicles. There are also a few French and a Mauritanian, a Brit and an Italian waiting with us. Most of the drivers are of Moroccan or Mauritanian decent though. We were vehicles number 51 and 52, when we arrived. In the meantime some cars moved out for some unknown reason.

The border station community was still asleep and started waking up slowly with the daylight coming. The cafes opened and the petrol stations started their businesses.
Someone with knowledge at the gate told Brahim that if the Moroccan authorities are going to deport the group of illegal immigrants today, including probably the ones we saw walking along the road north of Dakhla yesterday, then they close the border for a considerable amount of time until they have processed everything.

Slowly we were making progress and the queue moved forward. Within 2.5 hours we made about 10 cars progress.
About an hour after the warning at about the border closure, at around quarter past nine with a police escort, six touring cars drove past us to briefly stop at the gate and then moved on inside. On board of the first one were only police and military personnel, the following five touring cars were filled with the illegal immigrants. They were being processed ahead of us all, which factually meant, that the border was closed until they had been officially deported according to the international rules. So we waited.
After two hours waiting since the busses arrived and not having moved ahead, we were number 24 and 25 in the queue.

And then we had to say goodbye to Brahim. We took a last photo together right in front of the border station that is somewhat obligatory, if you come down this far. He took a taxi from here back to Dakhla where he wants to visit a very old friend from childhood days. Safe travels mate! Thank you so much for two incredible weeks we have been traveling together. You have been an absolute asset to the expedition, helping to organise the daily routines, be it negotiating the prices with the camping owners, buying supplies such as bread or kefta, asking for information or routes, or just doing the dishes at the end of the meal. We had so many good conversations and laughs in the car and at the campings together and learned so much from you about Morocco and the Moroccans. Bonne voyage and see you soon!

At midday the heat was brutal. Just shy of 30°C and climbing. All of a sudden we made a leap forward when we had expected that all the officers had gone to lunch.
Trucks clearly have priority. On average for every twelve trucks, they let one car move through. Several overlanders with big rigs built on a truck or van basis, have long passed us in the truck lane. After 6h45 waiting, we were still number six and seven waiting in line in front of the gate.
Punctually at 13:55 the gates closed on the Moroccan side for their lunch break. All officers then just disappeared.

The lunch break is from 14:00-15:00 on both sides of the border, with one big difference! There is one hour time difference between the two countries and it can happen to you that you get through one after their lunch break, you stand in front of closed gates on the other side because of their lunch break. African logic and organisation!
According to one of the fixers there, the reason for us cars not moving forward is, that the deported immigrants are still in the no-mans-land and that would ‘pose a risk’ for the cars to be hijacked. True or not, it seems to be one of the explanations why we were still in front of the gate and hadn’t been let in.
We had already seen the ten motorbikers and a support vehicle from Spain in the hotel last night. They arrived late, much later than us and pushed in front. Eleven vehicles and twelve people to process takes a lot of extra time that was sort of stolen from us.
The lunch break was over and the border guards came back slowly. We were finally allowed to enter the compound at five minutes past three o’clock in the afternoon. Almost eight hours after we had arrived in the queue.
We went to the emigration booth to be stamped out of the country in our passports and, of course, the bikers were right in front of us. Then on to the customs booth. Closed. Why? The customs officer had not yet returned from lunch it was said. So we waited. The time was ticking. Less than two hours before the Moroccan side of the border closes. Shortly after 15h30 he showed up and ordered a check of our cars, including the Spanish support vehicle and another British car. Two custom officials came with a hand-held x-ray device, tried to scan the bumper of the vehicle, the dashboard and some other parts. It looked brand new to me and as if they wanted to test it on us and show it off. Their findings were inconclusive and therefore they ordered a full x-ray scan as with the trucks. We had lost valuable time.
At ten past four we queued up for the full scan with the trucks. Less than one hour before closing. Fortunately two friendly truck drivers let us jump the queue for the scanner and reversed out. Apart from us two other cars were scanned. The support vehicle for the Spanish motorcycles and our friendly Senegalese-French in a British car.
At 16h20 we came out of the scanner with request to further examine the vehicle by unloading everything and have the two dogs pass by everything on the ground and the inside of the cars. Although frustrated by the extra procedure, of course, we had to comply and all started unpacking. The first dog was apparently trained on narcotics. He was a Malinois and found nothing. The second one was apparently trained on money and his breed was difficult to determine, as he was very black but looked like a kind of German Shepherd. He was so tired and again, like to police dog on the way over, much more interested in resting somewhere in the shade and was, therefore, very disinterested in his current job, that he had to be called to order several times. Who would be at +30°C in the burning sun of the Sahara and with a black coat?
He also didn’t find much and we were allowed to repack the cars. We did so very quickly, as it now became a race against the clock. We drove to the exit to only hear that we needed another stamp on all the documents. Into the main building we literally ran, to be forced to wait in front of an office where our papers would again be scrutinised, registered in the computer system and then eventually stamped. The two officers, a young and and older one, did their best, but also had to administer all the documents, such as bill of lading, from the trucks passing through the border. The older officer was, however, more focused on killing the many flies with his self-made whacker than processing the documents. Many precious minutes passed and finally we got our stamps, raced back across the customs area to our cars, handed them in at the appropriate booth, just to be stopped again for two more passport checks and registration that we had left the border post. FINALLY OUT!

We literally raced across the no-man’s-land to be inside the Mauritanian border post before they close. With just a few minutes to spare, we arrived to find two worship busses standing in front of the entrance, their passengers praying in the no-man’s-land, the muezzin had apparently called! Furthermore adding to the chaos were about twenty or so illegal immigrants who had been deported from Morocco earlier and tried to get your attention, and two empty Moroccan trucks trying to get through this chaos to their side of the border before their border wouldn’t let them in anymore.
The icing on the cake were four fixer who tried to have you park in their spot and have them handle all the paperwork proceesses. I was having none of that and was bold, ignoring them, almost driving across someones foot I believe, to be directed by a soldier to park inside the border post next to other overlanders. Trevor pushed hard as well and managed to get in and as well park right behind me. When I got out of the vehicle I had to shrug off these pesky fixers again, while making my way to the first office to register our arrival. One of the fixers was so bold and started showing me all kind of pictures of a German guide book that featured him. I congratulated him on this to further ignore him and only deal with the officer in charge who was professionally handling my passport and car papers. After that I had Trevor done the same. We walked across to the next office to register as a tourist. The officer there told us in French that I, as a German national, am a tourist, but Charlotte and Trevor, as South Africans, are on home turf and didn’t need to register. Trevor misunderstood this statement and believed that he didn’t need a visa for Mauritania. While I was waiting in the office to be registered as a tourist, Charlotte and Trevor walked outside and there were they had been awaited by the same fixers, who stuck to you like flies. For whatever reason, Trevor agreed to have this one guy do the paperwork for them, instead of waiting for me and we would do it together without a fixer and save ourselves the hassle and money. Anyhow, when I came outside, I saw those two taking off with the fixer to arrange something and I decided to stick with my plan to do it myself. On I went to get myself a visa for 55€ in hard currency in another office. The fixers try to put their clients’ passports constantly on top of the pile and you just need to be alert and bold to tell them that yours is next in line. The officers usually cooperate with you, if you are friendly and firm. After a bit of an argument, my passport was line up properly and Trevor and Charlotte came in. Both not happy with all the mess and disagreements between each other. Trevor was unhappy about the visa situation, where he thought he had heard from that officer that they didn’t need one and now they are sitting here and they do need one after all. Charlotte being exhausted from the entire day. I got my visa done, received my passport back with the visa sticker separately. Do it yourself! Fine, help the poor chap, who was in his own and to handle all these visas including those of all the truck drivers. I have always been followed by a money exchanger. He seemed to be friendly. While waiting for my visa, I negotiated with him the exchange rate to change Moroccan dirhams into Mauritanian Ouguiya. The first two offers were a bit low, but the third one I could accept. So money changed hands while sitting on a very comfy green velour couch. I saw all the Spanish motorcycles outside and sincerely hoped to be able to beat them and soon be ahead of them. Although they had a fixer for their paperwork, but twelve people with eleven vehicles still needed to be processed by the same officers that also need to process my paperwork too.
With my self-affixed visa, I could leave the police section. A short and friendly chat with the guards and on to customs in the next section I drove. I knew where to go to get my passavant (or temporary import permit) for Eeyore and there was a big pile of passports and vehicle papers from the Spaniards on the table. Damn. The lady already being occupied with them, just waved to me to see her boss instead. Of course. I happily complied and now I had finally jumped ahead of the motorbike gang.
The next step was to see another police station again, the one of the immigration police. Those guys actually stamp you into the country.
All stamps and passavant at customs sorted and daylight starting to fade, I quickly needed to get Eeyore insured for the time driving on Mauritanian soil. One of the fixers was friendly enough to assist me and directed me to a grocery shop that also functioned as money exchange and insurance broker. This is Africa! That guy tried to rip me off by reading the price from the wrong table, but me knowing what I had paid a month earlier, could easily point out to hime the correct price in the correct table. Deal done.
Trevor was standing outside with his paperwork sorted and paying his fixer while the sun had set and hundreds of people, travelers, fixers, officers and merchants, were buzzing around you, a relief came over me. We had done it. We had managed to pass through this border crossing in time to make it to a wonderful spot in Nouadhibou tonight. We set off and drove in the fading light the about 45 kilometres to the lodge, where we will spend the next two night. Tomorrow is a day to relax and recharge our batteries as this day has really taken its toll on us and has worn us out. The sun, the heat, the uncertainty when would the queue move again and we could finally enter the border station, can we quickly go to the toilet or get some food or will the queue move on at just that moment, the uncertainty if we would make it across in time or have to camp in no-man’s-land for the night, the frustration of yet another process to complete and more stamps to collect and then those pesky fixers sticking to you like flies on honey.

When we finally arrived at the lodge, Victor, the Dutch owner was just about to light the BBQ for dinner. We had arrived at our destination after more than 14 hours after setting off from the hotel in Bir Gandouz. We only drove a mere two hours today. So more than 12 hours of waiting and running around getting paperwork done. Ready for our beds and relieved to have made it.
Oh, by the way, the chicken and fish from the BBQ were excellent and the company of all the other overlanders too, in case you wonder. But that will be a story for another day.