The flat, dry scenery extends for miles in all directions. We reach the remains of a single lane blacktop road and follow it to the first Mauritanian checkpoint. Along the way we pass the blown up hulks of a couple predecessors who were less successful in their crossing. Mauritanian soldiers in camouflage fatigues stop us for a preliminary visa check. The game of hurry up and wait escalates.
Nobody smiles and nobody takes pictures.
I stand beside the truck with a firm hand on my ball cap. If it flies off, there is no way I can run after it to retrieve it. The checkpoint itself is nothing but a stack of stones on either side of the road guarded by soldiers with AK-47 automatic rifles. We nibble on lunch. Holding at four bowel movements, the Unit sits quietly, avoiding food altogether.