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Published: April 6th 2010
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You might think it a little odd to write a blog entry just about a train journey, but I'm going to give it a shot. I've actually been looking forward to this for some time due to a love of train rides inspired by long trips to see family in Scotland as a child, plenty of travel in China, and reading too much Paul Theroux. Trains were supposedly the great emblem of colonial rule and the means for bringing the three C's to Africa: commerce, Christianity and civilisation. In reality they were a tool of exploitation and a look at a map shows train lines penetrating the skin of Africa and, like deformed mosquito proboscises, driving straight for the continent's resources, sucking it dry. Nowadays, like so many colonial leftovers they have been lamentably allowed to decay and crumble and many of the great railway journeys that were once undertaken are now impossible. I therefore jump at the chance to hop aboard the Tazara line between Dar es Salaam and Kapiri Mposhi in Zambia; a welcome change from endless bus rides.
First however, I must get from one side of Tanzania to the other. To neatly prove my point
Tanzania's Central Line has recently been suspended indefinitely so instead I get a bus from Kigoma on Lake Tanganika all the way across to Dar. When I inquire about tickets I am told I must wait four days for the first available seat but I manage to harass one guy enough for him to assign me a "staff seat". The next morning however I discover that this just means the floor, which will be my abode for the entire journey of 30 hours! Honestly, thirty years in prison would be a less punishing prospect for my poor posterior. On this agonising odyssey I am lumbered with my very own Scylla and Charibdis. In front sits a vast, swarthy man who insists not only on angling his corpulent limbs to cut off my already limited leg room but also on planting his huge hairy knee with its ample foliage right in my face. Behind me on the floor reclines an equally obese young mother. Her infant is an absolute brat, which is a surprise because African babies have impressed me so far with their stoicism and durability on such long journeys. This one insists on soiling itself every few minutes. The
mother treats the toddler as a young child might treat a pet goldfish it has just dropped on the carpet; with a sort of guilty attention and but incomprehension of what to actually do. She replaces the little hell-raiser's dirty garments but doesn’t apply anything else and pretty soon there is shit smeared all over the floor behind me. Unfortunately, crossing Tanzania doesn't offer much in the way of distractions. When travelling long distances you must often make your own fun and I'll admit that I could make much of an effort, but the scenery outside is bland, flat and interminable. Without doubt this is one of the least enjoyable journey's I have ever made.
I spend a few inconsequential days in Dar before I am able to catch one of the twice weekly trains to Zambia. The old hulk is certainly showing some signs of wear and tear - I'm pretty sure the large, squishy depression in our carriage corridor is in fact a big hole concealed only by the worryingly thin plastic flooring, and the windows have unpredictable and bloodthirsty guillotining tendencies. However, I've treated myself to the only marginally more expensive first class and the
four bunk cabins are comfy and spacious enough as is the dining cart that only has one item available on its menu; chicken and rice, which constitutes my entire diet (besides a kilo of ginger biscuits, mmm) for the next two days.
On the first day we pass just south of Mikumi National Park and I spot plenty of elephant, giraffe and zebra wandering about near the train tracks. It is the first archetypal African wildlife I've seen apart from the ubiquitous baboons that roam the continent. The first night is far from peaceful. At one stage for about an hour the train repeatedly slows down and jolts back and forth as the driver sharply applies the breaks many times. This violently jolts me around my bunk, making sleep impossible. I question staff the next morning about the need for such an uncomfortable procedure, which woke our entire carriage. The reason: we are ahead of schedule. My jaw almost hits the ground, cartoon fashion, such is my incredulity at this inexcusable stupidity. Not only is repeated hard breaking by far the least comfortable method that could be employed to slow us down – and the driver chooses to
do it at night, on a sleeper train! - but it also fails to factor in that we may break down in the future (which we do… twice!) on a train line notorious for delays; I chat to one guy who did the journey once when the trip took four days rather than two, such was the catastrophic level of breakdowns. I have become used to some barmy travel practices across the continent, but here my brain hurts trying to fathom what exactly was running through the driver's head as he slammed on the breaks time after time.
Most of the mzungu depart the train at Mbeya a little way before the border. After a long wait there we soon grind to a halt again having only just left. We have not broken down (yet) but a train further along the line has, so for three hours we wait while our engine is detached and loaned to another locomotive in order to clear the track ahead. This means we arrive very late to the border and I look on with bleary eyes as the immigration official puts another stamp in my passport.
I am uncharitably told
by an old Africa hand that Zambians are the laziest people he has come across on the continent. I am generally sceptical of such disparaging comments by foreigners, preferring to find out for myself before forming an opinion and trying (mostly successfully I hope) to avoid generalisations. However, there does appear to be very little activity along the train line on the Zambian side (something which I will notice in Lusaka and Livingstone as well). In Tanzania we were bombarded at every stop, no matter how remote, with enterprising people bearing buckets of produce on their heads. In Zambia there are only a few kids who fish for hand-outs. I’m surprised by the relative lack of vibrancy. By this point I have travelled through places, such as Sudan and Ethiopia, where civil war and infamously exploitative governments have ravaged the land, partly explaining why these countries are still undeveloped. Yet in Zambia, which has essentially been peaceful for fifty years, there are similar levels of progress, and less energy. Comparative developmental progress, both between African nations and in contrast to other parts of the world such as East Asia, is obviously a very complex topic, with many competing explanations and
narratives. I also do not wish to be unkind. However, I can only speak of my own impressions, and I find the Zambia zeitgeist uninspiring.
Delays mean we arrive very late into Kapiri Mposhi, but I feel the overpowering need to get to Lusaka that night owing to my lack of Zambian currency. I therefore do something which is never advisable; I catch a minibus after dark in Africa. To compound this stupidity I soon discover that the two crew members are a pair of despicable gangsters, violently threatening passengers into paying the excessive fee they demand and even chucking out a man when he refuses. My companion from the train and I also suspect that the driver is drunk, but when we discuss it amongst ourselves he angrily turns round and bawls at us in a wild, slurring diatribe that acts as confirmation of our fears. Unfortunately by this stage we're already well on our way and have no real choice but to stay put. Mercifully we arrive around midnight still intact and quickly hurry off in search of accommodation.
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mwansiol
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while i respect your opinion that Zambians seem rather lazy that's not always the case. Even though it's hard to accept for some, there are many who are victims of their circumstances and there are others who simply enjoy living on handouts while some simply don't know how to break the cycle of dependency .Anyway the Zambian population is young and Even though we've grown up in the hand-out era, a significant number of us will raise it up from the dust at least our country is not overpopulated phew! And the positive side to being underdeveloped is that...there's sooooo much that can be done...please visit again in a few years.