Dag 68: Nouadhibou

(English Translation Below)

Dag 68: Nouadhibou
 
Ons kom tot stilstand. Nêrens heen om te ry vandag nie. Net petrol ingooi. En blog skryf. En lees.
 
Dis donkervroeg maar ons is altwee wakker. Besig met ons eie gedagtes. Luister na die muezzin wat die oggendgebed oor die moskee se luidsprekers sing. 'n Vrede wat oor die dorp kom hang.
 
Dan pieng De Witt se selfoon. Ian, die Ierse vriend wie ons op die pad ontmoet en mee in St. Louis gekuier het, het malaria. Hy is in Morocco. Ons sal môre by hom aangaan om seker te maak hy is oraait.
 
Later, toe ons terugkom met ons tenks vol petrol, is die hekwag nie dadelik daar om vir ons oop te maak nie. Dan kom hy. Gebedsmatjie in sy hand. Hy maak vriendelik oop. Ons ry in en parkeer. Dan gooi hy sy matjie weer oop, sekuur in Mecca se rigting, en gaan voort met sy middag-gebed. Ons voel sleg dat ons hom gesteur het.
 
Die aand lees ek verder aan James Hollis se 'Finding Meaning In the Second Half of Life'. Hy betreur die vervlakking wat die moderne verbruikerskultuur teweeggebring het. Die wegstroop van alles wat 'onwetenskaplik' is, het ons ook van ons ontsag vir die misterieuse ontneem, sê hy. Ons slawe van ons sensoriese prikkels gemaak.
 
Later, toe die muezzin se gesang vir oulaas oor die koel seedorpie sweef, en honderde gebedsmatjies Mecca se kant toe neergesit word, lê ons en uitsien na môre se ry Morocco toe. Die woestyn van legendes wat voorlê. In oneindige misterie.
 
Day 68: Nouadhibou
 
We come to a halt. Nowhere to ride to today. Just fill up with petrol. And write the blog. And read.
 
It's still early and dark, but we're both awake. Engaged in our own thoughts. Listening to the muezzin singing the morning call to prayer over the mosque's loudspeakers. A peacefulness hanging over the village.
 
Then De Witt's phone pings. Ian, the Irish friend we met on the road and spent time with in St. Louis, has malaria. He's in Morocco. We'll go see him tomorrow to make sure he's okay.
 
Later, when we return with our tanks full of petrol, the gatekeeper isn't immediately there to open for us. Then he comes. Prayer mat in his hand. He opens kindly. We drive in and park. Then he unfolds his mat again, precisely facing Mecca, and continues with his afternoon prayer. We feel bad for disturbing him.
 
In the evening, I continue reading James Hollis's 'Finding Meaning In the Second Half of Life.' He laments the superficiality brought about by our modern consumer culture. The stripping away of everything deemed 'unscientific' has also robbed us of our reverence for the mysterious, he says. Made us slaves to the stimulation of our senses.
 
Later, as the muezzin's chant floats over the cool seaside town for the last time today, and hundreds of prayer mats are laid down facing Mecca, we lie and look forward to tomorrow's ride to Morocco. The desert of legends that lies ahead. In infinite mystery.

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