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Nouadhibou's town centre was a rather ambitious term for a dusty crossroads where there was a constant traffic jam. I'm not sure how they managed such a gridlock with a few battered cars and some donkey carts. The streets were lined with stalls selling fruit, fake sunglasses and DVDs. In the middle of it all was a butcher surrounded by large hunks of meat on vicious hooks. Clouded in a swarm of flies, he swung a medieval blade cutting up lumps of camel meat.
All around us, groups of robed men sat on mats drinking tea. Having a cup of tea in Mauritania is not a simple affair; water is boiled in a small pot with a handful of tea, another handful of sugar and a large bunch of mint. Then comes the ritual of pouring it from one glass to another and then back again. It's strong, sweet and very refreshing.
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