Linda called, just to find out how I was doing, and to ask if I knew she had a third child. I swallowed, a bit embarrassed that she was the one calling me, and that I didn’t know she had a third child.
Linda is one of the boys and girls in the church who adopted me as a father. All of them treat me as if I was their father. They call me Daddy or Daddy Sote.
I told her that I was okay. She asked where I was. I told her I was in Ibadan, carrying out an academic research. She wanted to know what it was all about and I told her. I will tell Linda anything unless I don’t have the answer.
Then she wanted to know when I would be leaving Ibadan. I told her it would have to be Friday, to return to Lagos for the weekend.
Then she sprung the question, “Are you coming by train?” I said, “No,” adding that from the time of the news report that an Ibadan-Lagos train sputtered to a halt in the middle of nowhere, because diesel fuel ran out in the engine, I ruled out ever travelling by train in Nigeria.
Linda paused, then resumed, “Daddy Sote, you should travel by train. It’s pleasurable. You will enjoy it.”
Just because it was Linda that was making the suggestion I said, “OK.” I love all those kids to bits. I actually feel as if they are my biological children.
She said she would book the ticket and revert. She added that before the end of the day, I would receive an email confirming the booking. Then she signed off.
Later in the day, I got the ticket confirmation and I called Linda to tell her. She wished me a safe journey and asked me to let her know if I had any problems.
What did I do next? I immediately took a trip to the Obafemi Awolowo Train Station, at Moniya, in Ibadan. I went to do a recce, so I’d know how long it would take to get to the train station from somewhere near the University of Ibadan campus where I was staying.
I noticed that the journey to the station was a bit long. The road became a rough patch of red earth as you moved closer to the station. I had a headache when I returned to my hotel room after the recce.
It seemed as if taxis and tricycles didn’t like to take passengers to the station. So you could only take a motorbike if you didn’t have your ride to take you to the railway station.
I took a mental note of that. I decided that I should leave early so that I would get to the station early, so I won’t miss the train.
I remembered the “Catching The Train” routine we used to perform during inter-house sports in secondary schools in those days. The idea is that you dress up as fast as you can, whilst pretending that you were making haste to catch a train.
As you know, trains are expected to arrive and depart on schedule. I think it was a way to inculcate the spirit of punctuality in us.
So, on the appointed day, I took my luggage and made my way to the Obafemi Awolowo train station at Moniya. I arrived on time and went inside the departure lounge to await the train. I observed that there were no restaurants where one could take a quick bite while waiting for the train.
After some time, a young man came in to ask all passengers to please step outside the departure lounge. We all complied, though I was wondering why we had to step out and form a queue.
The reason became apparent. The officials started asking passengers to show the email evidence or receipt of the booking of their trips. I showed them mine and I was asked to go in.
I reckoned that the officials, who should have checked us in before we entered into the departure lounge in the first place, came in late. And, now they had to put us through the stress of going inside the departure lounge, being asked to step outside to form a queue, and then stepping back into the departure lounge again.
I was a little bit irritated by that. But I shrugged it off, determined not to allow their unprofessional attitude to affect my intention to enjoy the ride.
Obafemi Awolowo, the first Premier of Western Nigeria, is one of my heroes. I wouldn’t allow an omission by officials of Nigeria Railway Corporation to spoil my mood at the railway station named after him.
After a short while, the train arrived – on time. I took a mental note of that. The doors flicked open and I entered, checked the number on my ticket, looked for my seat and sat on a very comfortable seat.
The announcer welcomed us aboard and told us a few things about the ride. This included the information that we could order for food and drinks on the train.
Without wasting time, the train moved. I got up to order a plate of rice and a soft drink. I might say I wasn’t too impressed with the quality of the food.
The service too was a bit sloppy. I got very concerned when the food vendors told me they would only collect cash. After paying for the food and drinks with cash, I barely had enough cash to buy anything else.
It would have been useful if they had added the information on the ticket that they only trusted God, while others paid cash for the food and drinks they bought. I would have been better prepared. I generally do not carry cash on my person.
But the trip was smooth and enjoyable. It felt like I was inside an American Amtrak train, with adverts that boasted that you could see America at “see level,” meaning that a train ride affords passengers to see the flora and fauna, the varied landscape and culture, of America.
I saw another aspect of the geography and way of life of the Yoruba nation as we approached the Ladoke Akintola Railway Station at Omi Adio, Wole Soyinka Station at Abeokuta until I disembarked at the Babatunde Raji Fashola Station at Agege in Lagos.
As we approached rural areas, I saw clusters of villages with farms, footpaths, mud houses, scanty markets, churches bigger than private homes, big trees and men sitting, while women seemed to be engaged in endless cooking. I didn’t notice mosques.
When we approached more urban areas, noise from the honking and vrooming of all manner of vehicles took over the air. Loud music, from hip-hop, fuji and gospel artistes, also wafted in the air.
Houses in the more urban centres were bigger and wore brighter colours. You could see the beautiful window blinds of the houses through the window of the train. Window blinds of houses in rural areas usually wore boring monochrome colours.
I saw many “Keke Marwa” tricycles and “Okada” motorbikes. People were selling all manner of items in shops, on carts and their bodies. Everything reflected the chaos you would expect to find in an unplanned urban centre.
The train finally arrived at my disembarkation point, the Babatunde Raji Fashola Station at Agege. With others, I stepped out of the train and followed what looked like a labyrinth of staircases, skywalks, passages and doors, that finally emptied off into an open space that looked like an airport taxi park.
There were private cars – jeeps and saloon cars – and taxis, parked, awaiting their passengers.
But a bit outside of the premises of the station, I saw some passengers boarding Marwa tricycles to go to their various homes and destinations.
I got home and tried to do a review of my trip. I concluded that it was a great experience, bar the headache that lingered from riding the rough road that led to the Obafemi Awolowo Station at Moniya in Ibadan.
And I thought if the government could do something about that road, the experience could be 120 per cent great. This improvement may have to be made to the roads that lead to the other railway stations too.
I am told that the roads leading to them are also woeful and that the stations are generally isolated, in the boondocks, like the Obafemi Awolowo Station at Moniya, Ibadan.
Why would the government spend so much money to construct such modern railway facilities and neglect to provide proper access roads to them?
In all, I thank Linda, who paid for and encouraged me to take the train alternative on my return journey from Ibadan to Lagos.
I look forward to another trip, with the hope that the access roads to the stations would have been fixed before then.
Fixing that road and arranging regular transportation for patrons will be a major marketing plus for attracting patrons in the future.
- Sote is a columnist with The Punch
This post was originally published on here
