The Islamic Republic of Mauritania and the Western Sahara

We departed Senegal in the early hours, and the vegetation turned brown then disappeared altogether. It was the Harmattan, as dry and dusty northeasterly trade winds picked up sand from the Sahara and carried it towards the Gulf of Guinea.  Visibility was about one kilometre and we climbed and climbed and finally got on top at over 4000 feet, the hard blue horizon stretching forever above the yellow haze.  That sand was in everything, you could taste the dry chalkiness in your mouth, eyes watered with irritation, the helicopter doors jammed in their tracks, and things ceased working with increasing regularity.

We soon settled back into the dust into Nouakchott in the Islamic Republic of Mauritania, the winds howling at over forty knots, yelling at each other over the tumult.

The people were friendly and it was a relatively easy fuel stop.  The Chief Pilot of either Heli Union or Heliconia, I can't recall which, greeted us in the  flight planning office.  We all inquired about employment in this depressed market, but without EU licenses and passports, there wasn't much of a chance that he could help us out.






As we flew further North the effects of the Harmattan dwindled with each passing mile, and we soon descended into Dakhla, Western Sahara, hot, tired and thirsty.  Being governed by Morocco, I knew the bureaucracy would be intense as I flew and managed an operation in the area a few years back.  I wasn't disappointed.  Not one country to date had even asked to see our passports, even with the overnights, as we were simply waved through as Air Crew in Transit.  Actually I was hoping for a few interesting stamps in my passport and we all wondered why we spent a day and a few hundred dollars at the Liberia Embassy in Libreville to get their VISA.  No one cared.  But here?  First we filled out two forms for the first military officer that arrived, with passport information, pilot licenses, all the aircraft documents, every piece of paper we carried was scrutinized, and a drug dog was led through our aircraft and bags.  Then we headed up to the tower and did it all over again!

Once again we had issues with our Service Orders for fuel, so after a few long distance calls to the U.S. and repeatedly calling the refueler, we were fueled and ready to head on but it was now after 6 pm and getting dark.  As we tried to depart the airport the police finally had their go at us, asking us all the same questions and having us fill out all the forms all the others had requested in triplicate.  He obviously did not believe our reason to be in his little domain as he repeatedly asked everyone just what we planned on doing in Dakhla, then asked again.  Finally sorted, we headed outside to find hailing a taxi was not one of our options, so I found a local fellow headed to his minivan and pleaded for a lift to a hotel.  He seemed quite happy to help out and wouldn't accept a cent.  This is often my impression of the Middle East; mind numbing bureaucracy and unbounded hospitality.

We had more aircraft issues in the morning, but after many a false start, we were pulling pitch and continuing North to El Aaiun and more police and paperwork....