Trains

Yesterday afternoon, I had come with Ginn from Khayelitsha back to her house in Somerset West, which is about 20 miles from Cape Town. For whatever reason, Ginn was not able to bring me back to my house, so a friend of hers dropped me at the Somerset West train station. Thus began my three-hour odyssey home.

I have to say, though, that I love riding the train. Even though the ticket person always tries to sell me a first-class ticket and direct me to the first-class car (the cost difference is just a few cents), I insist on riding third class. Life is much more interesting in third class, especially around rush hour. In the third-class car, I am guaranteed to be the only white person, and just as sure to meet someone really interesting. In third class, I am much more likely to be evangelized, which is just so great.

If you want to know what Afrikaans sounds like, play the video below. First there's a clip of the evangelists singing to their captive audience on the journey from Somerset West to Bellville, which took about a half-hour. The musicians got off a few stops before Bellville, so the woman in the group took over with rhythmic, charismatic preaching in Afrikaans. Occasionally she would slip into English, but primarily she preached in a rousing and repetitive Afrikaans. Some people on the train were really into it. Most everyone was respectfully quiet, even if they weren't paying any attention. I have to say that the home group has nothing on these folks.

In Bellville, I switched trains and headed for Cape Town. If you would like to see my route, click on the maps below to make them bigger. Start at Somerset West on the lower right on the first map, travel up to Bellville, switch to the other green line and keep going left to Cape Town, then follow the purple line on the other map from Cape Town down to Plumstead.

The whole deal took three hours, with some waiting at various stations. After Bellville, I put on headphones and was immersed in the dance-party playlist and packed in with the crowd on the way to Cape Town. When the doors opened at a big station and everyone got off, so did I. Walking along with the music, I looked up and realized I wasn't in Cape Town. I was in Maitland. So I joined another crowd, headed to another track, and hopped on another train. Then: another big station, everyone getting off, me going with them, not Cape Town, up the stairs, on another train. Even though I kept messing up, I loved walking up and down the stairs with the crowds, same white earphone cords running to my pocket as everyone else, moving confidently along the tracks, through the gates, past the ticket-checkers, under the sky. I loved being a part of that bigger forward motion, not scared of anything, blending in as well as anyone. I didn't mind getting on and off at the wrong stations over and over. It felt like rhythm somehow. I liked being carried along by the sea of faces, disregarded for the most part, accepted, and somehow, strangely, fitting in.

On the third try, I got off at Cape Town for sure, and looked for track signs for Simon's Town. The sign beside the train I just got off lit up for Simon's Town in six minutes. I hopped back on. I sat down and watched people and listened to music as the sun set on Cape Town. By the time I got to Plumstead it was dark, but I only had two blocks to walk, so it was no problem. Other people were coming off the train and walking in the same direction. The music was still going. The night was lovely even though it was still raining slightly. When I walked in the gate, Gogo was there waiting for me, and she had saved back a hot supper of chicken, vegetables, butternut (yum!), and fun conversation. It was very good to be home.

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