"Welcome to Our War Zone"
Day Ten
Having a hangover on a train is not so great. Especially when you know there is - quite literally - nothing you can do about it. Can’t go for a run and sweat it out. Too difficult with the sway and the noise to sleep it off. So - you just have it, and regret it, and wait for it to go away. Hydrate. Spend lots of time out on the OC in the fresh air. Today was a full day on the train. No getting off. Tomorrow is the exact same. I know there have been millions of times back home when I would pray to have a day or two completely to myself. A good book. Nobody bothering me. But now that I am here, and have had a number of these types of days both behind me and ahead of me, I miss having things to do. Miss being needed. Miss the routine. This has been an incredible experience and will continue to be, but today I find myself missing home. A lot.
Our trip through Zambia was not at all what we expected and ended up being the most jarring day on the train. We had been used to beautiful landscapes, wonderful views from up in the hills and mountains, with an occasional stretch through a village where you could really get a sense of the people and how they lived. Zambia, however, is equal parts beautiful landscape and very populated villages of varying sizes. Marketplaces. People. Poverty. Extreme Poverty.
Someone had told me before I left that this trip would “flip a few switches" for me, and while I was hopeful that would be the case, I was not totally sold. Since I have arrived, I have certainly had moments of discovery. Clarity. But today - without question - flipped a switch. Every village that we passed through brought with it large groups of very small children who would wave and cheer as we passed by. Many of them would squat down to put their ears to the track, feeling the vibration of the passing train. Many would run behind the train and get so close that you closed your eyes and hoped they wouldn't actually catch it. I worried that they might get injured, or not be able to find their way back. We saw children who couldn’t not have been older than five or six years old carrying small babies either on their hip or shoulders. Babies holding babies.
I rarely saw anyone older than a teenager with these throngs of children and wondered aloud where their parents were. I was stunned to see all of these babies and small children wandering around this track without a parent in sight. Jan told me that our train historian had given a lecture on this exact subject matter. Apparently the rate of HIV and AIDS in this part of the country is so high that many of their parents are actually no longer alive and the older children either in the family or in in the village look after the orphan children who can’t look after themselves. The rate of teenage pregnancy is also alarmingly high and on average, most teenage girls have between 3 and 5 children before they are 16 years old.
All day long, with no less than 10 minutes in between, we would pass by another village and what could have easily been hundreds of children would appear behind the train. They would wave frantically and smile. Some blew kisses. Some held out their hands and begged for candy. For money. Their cheers are so loud it is almost deafening. The first few times it happened, it felt joyful. Happy. Good for the soul. But after awhile, it felt much less that way. The cheers became almost haunting. Depressing. You start to wonder what they will go back to once this train passes by - this thing of wonder and excitement for these children - and disappears into the distance. They go back to their reality. With nothing. The hope is that in these more remote villages, they don’t know any differently. You hope that this life feels full and happy for them. At least for the little ones…until they get old enough to know better….which was our reality as we approached the town of Lusaka, the Capital City of Zambia.
“Welcome to our War Zone” was painted on the side of a run down building and it could not have felt more accurate a description. All along the rail were piles of burning garbage, as far as the eye could see. A little further down the track, we encountered one of the largest markets I have ever seen, but it was run down. Grimy. Smoky from the burning garbage. These markets lined the track for what felt like miles. The train ended up stopping to switch drivers almost right in the middle of this market and the massive crowd of people around the markets began surrounding the back of the train. Some smiled - mostly the little children and babies - but the older children and adults did not smile. They just stood and stared. For the first time since I have been here, it felt uncomfortable. Threatening. I started to feel a little ashamed, actually. Here we were in the middle of their reality. Sitting on the back of this train watching them. Some in our group started taking photos. I did not. It felt wrong. Intrusive. So I just sat and observed. The little boys began to pick up rocks and pretended to throw them at us. An older man walked by and asked in broken English, “Why are all of you white people on this train here?” I felt sick. A question nobody wanted to answer, but the question was entirely fair.
There was an announcement over the PA system that all guests should please come into the train and come off of the OC. They had been through this stretch before and they knew what was to come. We hadn’t even gotten to the “bad stretch” of Lusaka, and yet, I couldn’t have imagined it any worse. The train continued on and it did, in fact, get worse. The markets disappeared and the large piles of garbage along the rails got larger. Some piles burning, while others looked too big to even manage. There were small children running through these piles and along the tracks with bare feet holding their hands out to the train begging for money. The air was thick with smoke and smelled about as bad as you can imagine. It is the second time I cried on this train, but this time I knew exactly why. Extreme sadness. Guilt. When you experience something this real and this raw, I would certainly hope anyone would feel this kind of emotion. There would be something seriously wrong with us if we didn’t.
Shocking. Sickening. Heartbreaking.
The older aged children and grown adults began throwing large stones at the train and yelling what I can only imagine was the worst profanity they could think of. The Lounge Manager Gert told us that previous trips had resulted in over 40 broken windows. We luckily fared much better this time around. But this now feels like an acceptable reaction from them. We were Trespassers. Intruders. Invaders. Sitting on the back of the train just passing through their hell on the way to our next exciting experience. Before we went back to the comforts of home. If there was any silver lining to this experience, and it was difficult to find one, it was to two signs I noticed as we came out of Lusaka. Two very large billboards thanking “America” for funding their new infrastructure program which would bring a new water supply, sanitation and drainage system to Lusaka and you could actually see the beginning signs of the project. So I suppose there is still hope here but at the moment, it doesn’t feel very hopeful.
The teaching moment here is pretty obvious. The next time I ever consider complaining about the same stupid shit I used to back home - minor inconveniences, traffic, the heat, the cold, delays or disruptions to my day - I will remember all that I saw and experienced here today and throughout this trip. I will also be sure to sit down with PJ and William and show them the photos and describe the reality that some people live each and every day. The conditions in which they live. The many things that they are without. I know that my boys are appreciative of what they have but this will be a good reminder that they are never to take anything for granted and always be grateful for what they have. For who they have.
My Dad and I decided to eat in the Lounge Car tonight. I wasn’t feeling up to another four course dinner, now for much different reasons and we were both tired. We had a nice, quiet dinner. Tomato, cheese and avocado sandwiches. A glass of wine. A short visit with Richard and Jan who also decided to skip dinner and be on their own. Early bedtime. Hoping that maybe tomorrow is a better day.
