Capturing Nouadhibou: A Visual Journey Through Mauritania's Port City

Let me be clear—Nouadhibou is not for the photography faint of heart. This isn't Barcelona or Marrakech where every corner presents a postcard moment. Here, the beauty is raw, sometimes hidden, and often challenging to capture.

First, understand that Mauritania remains one of Africa's least-visited countries, which means infrastructure for tourists ranges from basic to non-existent. I learned this lesson when my power bank became my most treasured possession during unexpected power outages at my mid-range hotel.

The climate presents its own challenges. Winter (November to February) offers the most forgiving temperatures, but even then, expect dust—lots of it. I wrapped my camera in a protective camera rain cover which ironically served better as a dust shield than anything else. The fine Saharan sand seems determined to find its way into every crevice of your equipment.

Perhaps most importantly, photography here requires cultural sensitivity and patience. While I found most locals welcoming, always ask permission before photographing people. Learn a few phrases in Hassaniya Arabic or French—both go a long way. When someone declined being photographed (which happened several times), I respected their wishes immediately and thanked them anyway. This approach often led to fascinating conversations and, occasionally, an invitation to tea where I could learn their stories instead of just capturing their image.

The commercial fishing port of Nouadhibou is where I spent my first two days, arriving before sunrise to catch the golden light as it painted the wooden pirogues in hues that would make Gaudí jealous. This is the economic engine of the region, where industrial trawlers share waters with traditional fishing boats in a chaotic dance that somehow works.

The best vantage point comes from the main pier, accessible if you arrive early (around 5:30 AM) before security becomes stringent. I found that bringing printed photos from previous travels to share with the fishermen created an instant connection—suddenly I wasn't just another foreign photographer but a storyteller exchanging visual narratives.

The mid-morning light creates harsh contrasts, but this actually works in your favor when capturing the weathered faces of fishermen returning with their catch. I switched to my telephoto lens to compress the scenes of men hauling in nets heavy with fish, the distance allowing me to capture candid moments without disrupting their work.

The port transforms throughout the day. By afternoon, it becomes a marketplace where women in vibrant malhafas (traditional dress) negotiate prices, their colorful garments providing perfect foreground elements against the blue-gray sea. Here, I often switched to a wider lens to capture the entire scene, using the rule of thirds to balance the human elements against the maritime backdrop.

One particular spot I discovered on my third day offers an elevated view of the entire harbor: the rooftop of the Marché au Poisson (Fish Market). A small tip to the security guard (200 ouguiyas, about $5) granted me access, though I recommend asking permission from the market manager first as a courtesy.

Nothing prepared me for the apocalyptic beauty of Nouadhibou's infamous ship graveyard. Along the Peninsula of Cap Blanc stretches one of the world's largest collections of abandoned vessels—rusting giants that have become both environmental hazard and photographer's paradise.

Accessing this area requires planning. While technically on public beaches, the most impressive collection lies near military zones. I hired a local guide, Mahmoud, through my hotel (expect to pay 1000-1500 ouguiyas, or $25-40 for a half-day). He navigated the bureaucratic and literal sands with equal skill, securing permissions and transportation to areas I'd never have found independently.

Photographically, the ship graveyard demands a different approach than the vibrant port. Here, I embraced the stark contrasts and decay, using my wide-angle lens to capture the immensity of these metal behemoths against the desert sky. The ultra-wide perspective emphasizes the surreal juxtaposition of maritime giants stranded in what is essentially desert.

Timing is crucial—mid-afternoon creates too much contrast and washes out details in the metal. Instead, I visited during early morning and again at sunset, when the light softens and the rusty hulls glow in amber and crimson. The blue hour just after sunset offers perhaps the most haunting images, when the ships become silhouettes against the deepening sky.

Safety cannot be overstated here. These vessels are disintegrating, with sharp metal edges and unstable structures. I wore sturdy hiking boots and kept my tetanus shots current. While the temptation to climb aboard for interior shots is strong, I limited this to vessels my guide confirmed were relatively stable. Even then, I moved with extreme caution, always testing surfaces before trusting my weight to them.

Nouadhibou's markets offer a visual counterpoint to the industrial port and decaying ships. Here, life pulses with an energy that demands to be captured—though doing so requires finesse and respect.

The central market near Avenue Gamal Abdel Nasser becomes most active around 9AM, when vendors have fully set up their stalls but before the midday heat drives everyone to seek shade. I found that spending time without my camera first—purchasing fruit or fabric, exchanging pleasantries—established my presence as something other than a tourist hunting for exotic images.

For street photography, I switched to my mirrorless camera with a pancake lens, its smaller profile drawing less attention than my full-frame DSLR. The silent shutter mode proved invaluable for capturing candid moments without disrupting the natural flow of market life.

The spice market offers particularly rich visual opportunities, with pyramids of colorful powders creating natural color studies. I asked permission from one vendor to photograph his artfully arranged display, and ended up in a 20-minute conversation about the medicinal properties of various spices—knowledge passed down through generations of his family.

The fish market presents different challenges. The smell is overwhelming, the floors slippery, and the action fast-paced. Here, I found a higher vantage point along the periphery and used a medium telephoto lens to compress the scenes of commerce. The constant movement means shooting at a minimum of 1/250s shutter speed to freeze action.

Don't miss the fabric merchants with their rainbow displays of materials. The women shopping for these textiles often wear traditional malhafas that create a visual echo of the goods for sale—a photographer's gift of visual harmony that requires no arrangement.

Beyond the urban confines of Nouadhibou lies a landscape photographer's dream: the place where the Sahara literally tumbles into the Atlantic. This dramatic meeting of elements offers compositions that feel almost primordial in their simplicity and power.

The most accessible location is the northern stretch of the Cap Blanc Peninsula, about 7km from the city center. I hired a 4x4 with driver (2000 ouguiyas, approximately $55 for a full day) to explore various points along this coastline. The vehicle is necessary—the sand is soft, and distances between photographic points of interest are significant.

Technically, these landscapes demand patience and preparation. The contrast between bright sand and dark water exceeds the dynamic range of most sensors. I relied heavily on my graduated ND filters to balance exposures, particularly during the golden hours when the light rakes dramatically across the dunes.

One location particularly worth the effort is the area locals call 'Moon Bay' (not on maps—you'll need a guide), where wind-sculpted rock formations create natural leading lines toward the ocean. Arriving 90 minutes before sunset gives you time to scout compositions and set up for the changing light.

The interplay of elements here is mesmerizing—wind-rippled sand patterns, the rhythmic Atlantic waves, and the constantly shifting light. I found myself working with longer exposures (requiring a solid tripod secured in deep sand) to capture the movement of water against the stillness of the desert.

Don't overlook the wildlife opportunities. The Cap Blanc area hosts the northernmost colony of monk seals in the world, though spotting them requires both luck and local knowledge. Bird photographers will find rich opportunities as well, particularly along the wetland areas where migratory species stop during winter months.