Pamela Asigi
16 July 2007
Kiffa, Mauritania — Mohamed Ould Birame sat forlornly, staring at the empty desert sky.
The searing temperature mercilessly hit the feet beneath the 57-year-old Mauritanian fisherman, his feet sinking in a few centimetres beneath the hot sand. The blustery wind offered no respite, temperatures at his native Manghar village were past 100 degrees Fahrenheit.
"It's never been harder for us," the father of five quipped. "I used to get fifteen fish in one catch, now getting fish is a mirage in my face, the fish numbers have gone down in the last decade. In fact sometimes we spend a whole day in the high seas and come home in the evening empty handed." As a seasoned fisherman, Mohamed should know better.
Climate change is slowly taking root here only that Mohamed does not know it. All he knows is that the fishing seasons have changed.
In Mauritania, a country of 3.1 million, fishing is the preserve of the Imraguens, the natives. The activity restricted to the few oases dotting the largely desert country. "Azoul" and "Courbine" type of fish have helped provide a cheap source of protein for a large segment of the country's population. But fish production has been hard hit by climate change.
"We now only fish for three months in summer and three months in winter...unlike in the past when we fished all year round," Mr Mohamed tells me through an interpreter. Mohamed speaks Hassanya, the main language in Mauritania. It is an Arabic dialect passed down generations. "In the 1980s we had lots of fish but in the mid 1990s their numbers went down.
Now it is worse," he tells me as he shuffles his feet, looking at his dusty sandals.
"Now we can't sell our fish; it is only enough to feed ourselves," he adds with a finality that betrays his pain.
The stifling heat is taking its toll as Mohamed tells how climate change is forcing a lifestyle change on a community that knows little or nothing about global warming. But anyone who visits Mauritania knows that the problems surrounding the area are by no means limited to climate change.
Motorised boats
The big motorised boats that invaded the 750 kilometre long coast line of Mauritania destroyed the natural habitat for the fish. Mohamed says they no longer allow motorised boats in the seas, but that seems to have come too late.
Mohammed is keen to tell me story of an ecosystem in distress.
"You see that closed path" he says pointing to shrubs 200 feet off the distance, "this is where the "Azoul", a type of summer fish used to lay its eggs, the ocean reached all the way up there'.
Today thanks to the receding waters, fishermen like Abdul Ali and Said Athman whom we encounter on the shores are forced to head farther and farther from shore in pursuit of their catch....often coming home empty handed.
According to a United Nations Development Programme, Mauritania is one of the poorest nations; ranked 153rd out of 177. The capital Nouakchott enjoys fairly basic infrastructure. Mohamed's village is miles away from civilisation, right in the middle of the Sahara. The rustic charm of the settlement is quickly overshadowed by the punishing heat.
The Sahara has one of the harshest climates in the world. It has many strong winds that blow from the north-east. Sometimes on the border zones of the north and south, the desert will receive about 25 cm (10 in.) of rain a year.
"The rainfall happens very rarely, but when it does it is usually torrential. This occurs after long dry periods, which can last for years" Mohamed tells me as he counts his fingers waiting for the next rainy season.
Daytime temperatures can be 136 degrees Fahrenheit (58 Degrees Celcius), but freezing temperatures aren't uncommon at night, reaching as low as 6 °C.
With these kind of sporadic weather patterns, Mohammed says there is very little they can do when it comes to farming.
But still he says: "Dinner is also quality family time for the family."
"We have to sleep outside after this," he says. "The heat here makes sleeping inside our makeshift huts impossible. Five years ago, we could."
We head back west to Kiffa a small town, 100 kilometres from Mohammed's village to go and see crocodiles. The drive takes us through the scenic view of hundreds of sand dunes piled next to each other. And that's all that is to see. Most land is desert with few scattered shrubs. After a two hour drive we arrive at Bougari, a village 60 kilometres from Kiffa.
"You see that" says Ben Amu an environmentalist from Mauritania who accompanied us on this fact finding mission, pointing at volcanic rocks at a distance. " Ten years ago it was all covered by water, but now its all dried up' he mumbles as he sips the last drop of water to quench his thirst. About 300 metres away we get to a pond and Ben Amu insists that we must wait to see the crocodiles.
"This used to be a seasonal river and was inhabited by tens of crocodiles, he says pointing farther and we had tourists coming here from all over the world but that has since changed, there is no single tourist coming here because there is nothing to see" he quips as he wipes his sweaty face.
"Today the temperatures are fair, 50 degrees is quite low, It is much hotter during mid summer and the temperatures can go up as high as 56 degrees". At this point most of us can barely breathe, let alone make another step, the oxygen levels in this part of the desert is fairly thin and the stifling heat does not makes things any better.
As the heat wave took its toll on me, I remembered my last contact with comfort. It was in the sleek four by four air-conditioned Toyota Landcruiser that drove us here. I still recall that sinking feeling I got when my feet dug into the hot unforgiving desert sand, the heat cutting through my shoe and nearly burning my skin. Climate change is real; the thought had dawned on me.
After a 30 minutes wait in this unbearable heat, we manage to see the crocodiles, but only four are still thriving here. The rest have since died and Amu fears that if warming continues, then the crocodiles will all be gone in five years.
The environmentalist is well aware of the issues surrounding climate change. He says: "How do we adapt to a changing climate? I think if these Industrialised nations do not curb carbon emissions, then countries like mine that are already feeling the heat will suffer", he tells me in a mixture of French and Hassanya, his native language.
Amid the unforgiving climate, Mauritania mainly relies on food imports from neighbouring Morocco.
Meanwhile, in the face of rising temperatures and increasingly dramatic and destructive weather patterns, many local communities here begun taking matters into their own hands.
We decided to head further North 250, kilometres away to a small village called Berbarra., right in the middle of the desert lies an oasis of sorts one may say.
The temperatures are soaring but the bleating goats and the crowing cocks bring life to this small village. Tahya Mohammed, the chairperson of a women's group proudly leads me through the bushy path to their source of happiness, the solar pump.
She proudly drinks water from one of the pipes that feeds the 10 acre farm. Solar power is a blessing in this village inhabited by about 500 people..
"Before 1985, we basically used motorised energy to pump water and it was too expensive", but with the solar energy, life is now bearable and cheap.
Tahya is well aware of effects of global warming, "but again we were taught using solar energy we would reduce greenhouse gas emissions".
Their daily use
Backed by UNDP, the group managed to install the solar pump at a cost of $15,000. More than 40 families use this pump for their daily use and also for cultivation.
"We get about 12 tonnes of water during the rainy season between October and April. We plant a variety of green vegetables, palm trees, tomatoes and potatoes.". Perhaps the women here feel the impact of the project, "we used to walk long distances in search of water but now it's a stone away to the water source", Tahya tells me as she leads me to the chicken house.
My source of income basically comes from this project, I rear chicken and goats and sell vegetables. That is how my children can manage to go to school." But that is the much they can reap from this project. They too are worried about the rising temperatures, 70 year old Hadawine Abba, an elder in this village however says with the lowering of the water table, they can hardly harvest enough dates for sale.
"When I was growing up, dates were very lucrative, one date tree could fetch you money enough to sustain you for a month, but now you must have ten palm trees to get enough money". He hands me a few dates.
"With one palm tree you could get 70 kilos and fetch 6,000 Ougiyas (Sh1,500). Iif you have ten of these trees, then you will fetch Ksh. 15,000 or 60,000 Ouigiyas, that is enough to sustain a whole family for a whole year, now they hardly make half of this money."
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