A Day With the NRC

I'll make a confession right away. I'd never boarded a Nigerian train before.

You see, when I was offered employment as a pupil engineer by the Nigerian Railway Corporation in 1979 after my youth service, I resumed at the Lagos headquarters but worked for only two days. I was scared.

Everywhere and everything around me was so archaic I feared I was walking back into the Stone Age with my eyes open. The engineering draughting room where I was posted had such breath-ceasing furniture and equipment I absconded.

A month later, a colleague saw me at the Marina and informed me my salary was waiting for me at NRC. I was shocked. "What for?" I asked him.

I never worked and was willing to dash them my two days, days I'd spent in fear rather than service.

Thinking back, I now realise that my name may have entered an extending list of ghost workers that serviced the greed of some unscrupulous officers at the place. I never went back to check and correct things. I was content to run for my life. Adding to that experience other unpleasant tales I'd heard, the idea of traveling by an NRC train had been simply too creepy for me. So you can imagine what my imaginations were when I had to travel in one to attend a funeral at kabba in Kogi State last week. The roads are criminally bad and insecure. I had no choice.

The ticketing and boarding scene at the Ujevwu terminal was a little rowdy--only a little, I should emphasize--but generally, given that this was a Nigerian service, perfectly acceptable to me, especially knowing from decades back the culture of the company providing the service. Boarding for the return trip at Itakpe was no less spectacular. Hundreds of passengers were cramped in a receiving enclosure for close to twenty minutes to fight for oxygen. Beyond the brief but scary crowdedness, boarding was a pleasant Nigerian surprise, I must confess.

Ujevwu, this sleepy little town in Udu Local Government of Delta Sate, had since risen to prominence following the inauguration of Buhari's transit trains from this part of the South-South to the Middle Belt and beyond. His criminal neglect of roads and highways across the country, with the insecurity along their routes, had garnered patronage for the trains and etched Ujevwu's unknown name in gold. Names of other towns and villages, hitherto forgotten, come up for mention as the trains stop here and there.

"Where are we now?" my neighbour, roused back from sleep as the train bumped to a stop, asked. "Ekehen," I proudly answered him, as though I knew the place like the back of my hand. It was an additional vocabulary to my Nigerian geography.

I'd been booked to travel on first class or VIP, but the official who shepherded us in mistakenly led us to economy class. The place was hot...as in, really hot with the crowd of passengers waiting to commence the journey.

"So what's so special about this class?" was my first loud query as I found myself a seat. Not to worry, it looked clean and classy enough--like my modest master bedroom at home. "Don't worry," somebody reading my mood assured. "It gets comfortable when they switch on the AC. But that's when the train begins to move." "Ah, I'll endure O," I promised. Did I have a choice?

The real taste of a Nigerian service such as this would be in their toilets, I decided, so off to a toilet I went. Unbelievable! The seats and covers of the WC were in place and perfectly fixed. The cubicle was as clean and pristine as Buhari's kaftan. "Up Buhari!" I hailed silently and personally commissioned the place with my urine. When I got properly located in first class, I was impressed with the facility. It had foldable tables for eating. You felt as though you were in an aircraft. Soldiers with guns walked the aisles every now and then to let would-be-criminals know they were on board, too. There was also a nurse on board in case you decided to fall sick. By the way, when you board a Nigerian train, do yourself some good--sit near a woman, if you can find one with a vacant seat next to her. Aha, you've already misconstrued me. Do something about your dirty mind!

I was only going to talk about eating. A woman, I said O, not a lady. Ladies care for themselves in such places. A woman cares for her neighbour. Don't ask me the difference between a lady and a woman. Don't be naive. Shine your eyes.

I did sit near one and got myself free biscuits. Another soon handed me a small cooler of ukodo and a can of soft drink. On the return trip I landed myself with free bananas and peanuts. Look, women are wonderful people. Their overweight baggages might irritate you at first but...it pays off for you in the end. So just leave them and their heavy overburden alone. Help them if you can. I had nothing to offer save my healthy appetite. So, if you're like me, take my advice. It is a timely one too, given that no snacks are served or sold on board, a huge missed opportunity, if you ask me, for a six-and-a-half-hour trip which ours to Itakpe was. Now, brace yourself for this bit of surprise. We took off on time, on the dot of 8 o'clock! Another unbelievable Nigerian service offering! The return trip wasn't bad for timing either. When the AC came on, no one was reminded to close their open windows. Then we glided on noiselessly and smoothly, very much as though the tracks and wheels were peeled eggs. Soon, snores could be heard from passengers who had been lulled into a happy sleep. Travel by Buhari's roads and tell me how you can fall asleep! Now, the jolly ride is a significant development. Smoke from burning coal billowed generously from the exhausts of the Nigerian train we used to hear about, a development climate protesters could commit murder for today. They bumped along and sang loudly and noisily, 'Lokoja too far, Lokoja too far.'

When you boarded them in those days, I was told, you just couldn't wait to get off at Lokoja. Not this time. This one was too comfortable to leave in a hurry. What with the hotness of the season!

Look, you could board a Nigerian train these days just to get away, but do get yourself into first class because co-travelers in economy had woeful tales to tell about overcrowding, something I hope the NRC will do something to avoid.

There seems to be a lack of coordination of bookings as the train makes its numerous stops and more travelers board. The situation creates an opening for the ubiquitous Nigerian corruption to creep into the booking and boarding process. No one should be made to travel standing for five hours, whether or not the cool ambience is inviting. Even the waiting time at Agbor 'to fill the generator tank with fuel' was a cherished experience. Never heard about such a thing before for a train but then, this is Nigeria. Fuel is a golden commodity in a country where everyone, including the NRC, must generate their own power.

I had prayed before we traveled, yet I had my ears out for any sudden jolt as we glided on the magic tracks. News of criminals and urchins harvesting rail tracks and causing havoc were not uncommon since the Nigerian rail service resurrected from the dead. But on we went smoothly, peacefully, restfully.

After one and a half hours of this dream start, I gave up my faithlessness and decided this was going to be a heaven-on-earth journey, and it was. I should write my next book sitting in a Nigerian train. Well done, GMB, dis one no bad.

Another thing. I'd boarded trains abroad before, but this one seemed to be in love with its siren. It kept hooting every now and then. When I asked why, I was told it was a safety precaution to warn villagers to clear off the tracks and avoid getting crushed.

"Good idea," I thought. Except that track harvesters would also be spared. Would it be a relief to see one crushed! NRC is doing a good job if they don't backslide. Kudos to them.

Things take an opposite turn when you get off a train and have to connect your final destination by road. Any road. That's when you realise Buhari has two heads, one for good and one for bad. The bad one needs to wake up from its endless slumber.

(For more articles visit my blog at https://www.chrisekpekurede.com)