Torture by train

Ryder Gabathuse | Thursday March 24, 2016 11:17

 

FRANCISTOWN: Last week I made a last minute decision to travel to Gaborone by a Botswana Railways night train on the popular economy class after failing to secure space in business class due to over-booking. It is a decision I have lived to regret.

As the long distance bus fares continue to rise because of escalating fuel prices, the train has become the cheapest means of travelling by train between Francistown and Gaborone and that means overcrowding in the BR coaches. So it is a wonder why BR has decided to stop the daytime train, which can help in relieving pressure off the night service. At night, there is a stampede for the tickets. Some people simply return home, as the tickets in most cases do not match the available seats on the coaches. I arrived at the Francistown station on time but frustrated that I would not sleep properly on the nearly 500km journey. Sleeping is a luxury that regular train travellers do not enjoy.

At the railway station in Francistown, the long meandering ticket queue said it all. At the entrance, two or three guards controlled the uncompromising people with some occasionally breaking the rules and forcing their way into the ticket area. There is massive evidence that BR could still be providing yesterday’s service in modern times. Good service provision, which exceeds the consumers’ expectations, is the in thing in the service industry. Those who fail to play it by today’s demands run the risk of falling by the wayside. Temperatures were relatively low although I was prepared for all the challenges. But of course, BR had spoiled my day when one of the officers told me that the only space available is in the economy class. What immediately came to my mind was my earlier experience of travelling by train those many years ago.

We used to cause havoc by running away from the conductors and the BR guards to avoid paying the fare although our parents duly gave us the money, especially when schools closed or re-opened. As a young man, I enjoyed travelling by train from my home village, Palapye to Shashe River Secondary School.

The night train was mostly utilised by the students although it was popular with adults, especially for long-distance trips from Mafikeng to Bulawayo and within the country. The day train was the most patronised by students.The trouble with the night train then was the Fanakaloo-speaking mineworkers from South African mines.

These miners who were either returning home - some going as far as Zimbabwe - or going back to South Africa, caused trouble in the trains after having one too many.

They rudely pushed and shoved other passengers. Some of them reached their destinations penniless after squandering all their money during the trip. Showing off was one of the tools used by the miners to attract beautiful young women who often shunned them for their rude attitude.

Zimbabwean shoppers were notorious for turning the train seats into bed. They would stretch and sleep on a seats meant for more than one person as other passengers stood. The train conductors and guards would shout at the top of their voices and occasionally push them to accommodate others.

Some troublemakers would fight in the train until they are whisked away by the guards. This is the experience of years of yore.

Back to my Thursday night troubles! When the train finally left Francistown, it was well after 9pm. It took me a while before I could finally find myself a seat and comfort was not even part of my budget for this trip. The good or bad thing about the train is that it brings you face-to-face with many people you have never met before, some of whom speak different languages. You can make friends and enemies along the trip depending on the characters that you meet. My neighbour in this eight-and-half-hour journey was an elderly man of around 60. His hair was steadily greying. On his lap was a black briefcase, which possibly contained his valuables. On top of the case was a take-away plate of papa and chicken coloured with some greens and brown gravy.

Sitting directly next to him was his wife who was also holding her sling bag tightly, a sign that she valued its contents. It was difficult to tell whether she was old or young. A black tukwi (scarf) covered her hair and a thick-woolen jersey covered her seemingly thick body. A multi-coloured shawl covered her legs. Immediately, we took up our seats, it was like we were thrown into jail as our freedom ended. Because we had found our neighbours on the seats, they behaved as if they owned them. It was difficult for them to simply move and give us enough room to settle.

Worse, the husband just opened his take away and started eating the contents with gusto explaining that he was a Zimbabwean living in Gaborone and he had just attended a funeral back home in Harare. He emphasised that he was tired. He did not care about food he was eating dropping on the floor. His wife joined him in eating. The air was already perfumed with human odour reflecting that people had travelled days on end without bathing.

A middle-aged very talkative Motswana woman pulled a sweet reed and started chewing it. She did not pay attention as to where she threw the remnants after chewing. She messed up the passage. The train was so full that there was literally no space available to stretch a leg. The floor of the buffet was like a fisherman’s boat filled up with nets and fish after a good day’s catch. There was hardly any space left to pass through the carriage. People and their goods filled up every available space.

In between the train compartments, people and their luggage occupied the whole space. Some were standing while others were seated. Under the seats, some brave ones stretched their blankets and slept. Potable water for drinking and in the toilets ran out in most of the coach even before we reached Mahalapye. Walking through the passages was not an easy task because of overcrowding.

Train conductors and guards had to push through, as they demanded for tickets from the passengers. The one blunder by the BR is that there is seemingly no control of the number or type of goods that passengers are allowed to carry into the train.

I spotted some youthful Zimbabweans who sell curios boarding the train with huge Mozimbakwe bags containing some of their wares. They are not the only ones as several Batswana also transported heavy goods including television sets.

 *This is a reproduction of an article first published on 08/08/2008 in Mmegi