After a circuit of Aisha, we paused in the shade beneath an outcrop protrusion for the all-important tea interval. It was then Ahmed laid out his future business plan and intent to open an auberge (inn) in Nouadhibou. He needed someone to run it. Thus began a not-so-subtle pitch directed at a certain redhead in our party. This was the second time he lobbed hints at Leslie. And, just like the first, his spiel began while I was out of earshot (taking pictures on this occasion). When I entered the conversation, it didn’t occur to me only one of us was qualified for the position (i.e. possessed birthing hips and a comely appearance.) I briefly entertained the idea of working for Ahmed and engaging in a…
Read MoreIn Atar, we settled at Bab Sahara, a quaint auberge catering to overland traffic. Ahmed was beginning to grind on us. His prevarications, equivocations, and bullshitations became less and less amusing. A cold, harsh reality set in—Leslie would not be his bride (insert link). This, we suspect, was his primary motivation for agreeing to guide us. Now that this was off the table, he couldn’t bother to give a shit. The world had become that much bleaker.
I did the only thing I could—I ordered Leslie to give him a little sugar, put some extra sass in her step, string him along just enough to feed his motivation… um, no. If he thought he had a shot, he might have strangled me in my sleep.,.,.
Read More