A TRAIN-ed Attitude

Professor Ngugi wa Thiong’o in his childhood memoir, “Dreams in a time of war” recounts the railway line as a phenomenon, a journey by train being the only thing that almost challenged his commitment to school.

I remember the first time I saw a train. Behind the lower field of Nyandarua High School in a small town called Rurii. Traversing the land of a mzee called Gachomba, leading to a place called Pasenga on the other side. My brother in his characteristic several steps ahead of me, had already crossed the railway and was waiting on the other side.  As I was about to cross, I saw a mole lying across the railway line. ‘The train is coming” shouted P, my brother.  I could not cross to the other side. I wanted to run back home, but I so wanted to see this marvel described by P ever so passionately. P, who was also my playmate growing up, had taken me to the railway line to witness the marvel of the train. He could tell that the train was about by putting his ears to the rails and listening for sound. But I could not move past the dead mole. He crossed over. Despite the constant warnings he had heard, that the rail had magnetic forces, created by the approach of the train which could glue a child to the railway line. I am guessing it was an adults’ way of keeping children away from the rail. With the train within a visible distance now, he picked me up and carried me across. This recollection came to me in November last year while taking the train home from work together with my friend Rachael. If you like, Rakeri..;-).

Those who have been to Nairobi know the horrors of traffic. I had accustomed myself to the pains by always having two or three unread books in my bag, if only to kill the frustration of two hours on the road covering a distance of less than 11 km from town to where I live. Then I discovered the train. My first reaction was..nooo!!!  way too crowded and unsafe for me. I am dressed in a suit for crying out loud. They are gonna tell I am from another planet…(really???!!, this is me getting embarrassed at the admission of my totally unfounded, egotistic and silly thoughts, they? they? ). I reversed my attitude. I decided to take the train home. We left the main railway station at 5:45 pm, the fixed departure time for the Kikuyu bound commuter train and by 6:20 pm, I was home.

On my first day, I was drawn into a political debate by some young men who, before luring me into the discussion gave up their seats for us. Later, I would have different gentlemen offer me their seats. Sometimes, I declined, particularly to those who offered 3-4 different times/days. One day, I returned the favour, to the astonishment of most of the people around. My offer was declined, politely. For the first time, I felt challenged by these young men's eloquent and level-headed political expressions. Rachael, who sometimes pretends not to know me when I demand to know why there are different entry points for men and women in a supermarket or when I just get blunt about politics to people taking the tribal political reasoning, was smiling all the way home. Later, she said to me, albeit sarcastically, “see, you belong in the train.” She was right; it had taken no more than 35 minutes to get home. I wasn’t feeling tired and moody as I would previously from all the hours spent in traffic. I had developed a TRAIN-ed attitude. 

This may sound bizarre to some reading this post, but transport by train in Kenya is seen as a preserve of the have-nots. The educated, suited, high-heeled, pointed shoe, I-pad carrying office ranking Kenyans prefer to drive themselves to work or take public road transport or taxis. The government late last year opened up the Syokimau Railway Station and unveiled the Syokimau commuter train to ply between Syokimau and town at a cost of Kshs. 200 per day on a return ticket. I pay Kshs. 35 shillings single way, Kshs.70 (less than a dollar) for a round trip. Now you can tell which train is meant for who.  On the Kikuyu bound train, which I use, half of the commuters alight at Kibera. Only a handful of us proceed further on. Most Ngong Road residents prefer to pay Kshs. 150 (one way) bus fare, plus 2-3 hours in traffic depending on the hour rather than take the train. Reason? Attitude.

Winston Churchill said that attitude is a little thing that makes a big difference. I have lived the truth of his wisdom. I save money, I save time and I preserve my energy for a productive day at work. However, a lot of Kenyans waste approximately four hours of their productive lives everyday sitting idle in traffic or having an attitude negative enough to dismiss the idea of commuting by train. Even one that was last replaced 80 years ago, like the one I use. 

The Kenyan railway line started in Kilindini Mombasa in 1986 and reached Kisumu in 1901 through the Kenyan heartland. The railway line gave rise to the native worker who took to residing in towns near railway stations. Devoid of land from which they would grow crops for sale, the railway line became their land. 

 

The railway line on my route cuts through Nyayo Stadium, the rear Madaraka Estate, Kibera, Dagoretti, Satellite and onto Kikuyu. I have made several observations since I started using it. That it is the line that divides the Kibera slums and the middle class estates. When Kibera residents are protesting against the government, they start by trying to ‘uproot’ the railway line. They see it as the line that marks the transition from poverty to wealth. Speaking to Pauline Wanja, founder of “Living in a Shanty Town”, L.I.S.T and an internationally reknown activist about this observation, she confirms it. The railway line first saw the native Africans gain work, by building it and using it for trade. It also saw a lot of them oppressed by the colonisers. The train had three category compartments; the first for Europeans and white folks, the second for Asians and the third for Africans. It was an outright divide, making Africans aware of their inferiority in their own land. History is defined by a single dusk. Each dusking day sets its history and for Kibera residents, the history of this divide is not signified by the compartmentarisation of the train, but by the apparent difference of life on either side of the railway line. 

Kenya may not have a state of the art railway transport. We will get there. But we have trains that ply our routes morning and evening. We do not have to sit in traffic for long hours, especially if living on a route that has a commuter train however unfashionable. The experience draws me closer to the realities of my fellow countrymen. Passing through Kibera everyday gives me a reason to put a lot more effort in my daily work. Not merely to make money but to ensure everybody, even the poor can access justice. I now understand the true import of the term “Wanjiku.” I can afford a car, but I choose not to use one, alone on the driver’s seat, leaving a trail of so many people waiting for transportation by the roadside. Car-pooling is a ‘funny sounding’ concept in our beloved republic.  I choose to jump over this mole of attitude and share the train with so many others. I have not be robbed, I have not been assaulted. I have been treated with dignity and accorded the feminine regard men like to offer women. I have tried reciprocating it ;-). I have been empowered and I have taken the chance to preach peace and tolerance. I have made new friends. Something I never got to do sitting in endless traffic. People I know by name, who I would otherwise never have met, couched down in a bus buried in my books. I am new. I am TRAIN-ed.

By sharing the train with so many others and reducing the number of single person automobiles on the road, I am also reducing my ecological footprint and I am proud of it.