The Epic Train Debacle

Since I have been away for the past four days and haven't had access to internet--more on that later--you will have to think way back to last Thursday, Feb 5 for those who are keeping track, for this one.

It was a disappointing day of touring possible volunteer sites, during which we spent considerably more time on a hot, un-air-conditioned bus than the missionary community, children's ward of a TB hospital, and a high school we were meant to see. And somehow the sweltering present while we trudged through the sites with gave way to a strong wind as we finally arrived at Muizenberg Beach, nearly three hours after our ETA. And when I say "strong wind" I want to be very clear that this was not a pleasant, hair blowing, sipping pina coladas on the shore type of wind; it was severely closer to a blown over when you walk, stay huddled in your towel, forget about learning to surf sort of wind. Not the idyllic beach day I was picturing by any means. So, after not even 2 hours of beach time, I jumped at the chance to take the train along the coast back to my house.

And this is where the adventure begins.

Our SOLmates (Student Orientation Leaders that live with us now that orientation is over) promised that the third-class ride would be an "experience," and that we were to expect some strange glances, but did nothing in the way of preparing us for the chaos to come. I, with a group of roughly 20 American students, chaperoned by our two 20-something local South African SOLmates, boarded the third-class rusty train car to find a few people scattered about, sitting quietly, staring ahead. The train is not the same sort of gleaming locomotive found in boxed sets on toy store shelves, nor did it compare to the grime-coated cars of New York's subway system. This was a train from generations past, with doors that didn't always close, that steadily made its down the tracks, stopping at unnamed stations along the way. But it seemed safe enough, a reliable mode of transportation, and while we were the only white people on board this was something we were beginning to accept and expect.

But then, stop after stop, more and more people piled on. As we were pushed towards the middle of a car growing increasingly crowded, with only one set of working doors, us 20 or so students realized we were about to experience rush-hour in Cape Town. At one point, as a new wave of people, an impossible number considering the amount of space I thought there was left on the train, poured through the doors, I noticed two things in quick succession. First, that a woman sitting across from where two of my friends and I were standing broke out into an chorus of hearty laughter. Second, that all three of our jaws had slackened and our eyes had opened wide as we watched the engulfment of people filter onto the car. The three of us then joined the woman's laughter, and she wiped her eyes to murmur, "You three look so scared."

Stuck shoulder-to-shoulder in a crush of tired workers, I began to notice that the train only stopped at each station for a very short amount of time. Some quick figuring of our distance to the door divided by the amount of room we had to walk led me to believe that it would take a miracle to get all 20 or so of us out the single working door before the train began moving again. I counted down the stops to the one where we were meant to get off and I felt my pulse rate rise. I knew that it wouldn't be the end of the world to miss our stop, that I could easily get off at the next one, but the challenge of actually making it off the train was one I definitely wanted to meet.

Finally we reached Rondebosch, my neighborhood--which I knew only because the African woman squished to my right told me so--and the push towards the door began. And the entire train population, seeing our struggle, decided to help. Men spread their arms and legs to make a clear pathway for us, while others literally pulled our arms and pushed on our backs to help us maneuver the crowd. "Get the Americans off!" could be heard through their chuckles and cheering.

As the train pulled away, and we were relieved to find that the majority of us did actually make it off the train (those that didn't met us shortly), we doubled over in hysterics, reliving the teamwork it took to get all of us off the train. Knowing we were a complete spectacle kept us laughing most of the walk home, as we pictured the story we provided for those workers. Their dinner table conversation that night would surely include the ridiculous Americans, just as ours would feature the heroic (in our minds) South Africans.