Terror in the train

Trains are some of my biggest themes in a lot of my writings. This is because I love the very idea of a choo choo train. My early memories of train imagery is from the snake-like movement and its rhythmic pulsating sound. All of it found in early childhood poetry, which I enjoyed thoroughly.

I was among those who enjoyed the last vestiges of a train ride before trains simply vanished in Nigeria. And with the return of the trains under the Buhari administration came unparalleled excitement. I not only travelled the Abuja-Kaduna, Kaduna-Abuja route more than 30 times but also became part of the team of Comperes for the commissioning of the Lagos-Ibadan rail lines and the start of the Kano-Maradi one.

But this week, no one paid it any heed and darkness and eeriness crept up in loud sounds. Bombs, guns, hooded men and sorrow. Clenched teeth, mangled iron, blood and disappearances. Some travellers have been abducted. The commando-like operation took travellers by surprise and left victims and survivors numb

My daughters took the train to Kaduna and then travelled the 45 minutes stretch to Zaria where their university welcomed them. Indeed, the renewed train journey in Nigeria has me front and centre across the nation. While I had complaints about gaps here and there, I was a woman with a mission. To tell people that the train is okay and reduces burdens.

That using it is a must do for quick journeys into Kaduna. That even for pleasure, one should take the train. Its nice. Try it. I was proud that the train is working again. The train is convenient, and the coaches are not bad.

Train travel has always been my favourite no matter what part of the world I am in. The English countryside with its undulating countryside greenery is something to die for. The moors and meadows read years before in an English novel come into view.

The cows have grass in their mouths chewing unconsciously as at least 20 of them come into views. Horses stroll casually up and down the fields. It’s a calming scene and the quiet throttle of the train gives me reason to stretch and smile, while my brain resets as I write a literary piece that leaps off the pages.

This is replicated wherever I go. The scenery outside the window on Nigerian trains maybe slightly different but the effect of the train on my brain is the same. Those many times I have travelled between Abuja and Kaduna and vice versa have birthed many pieces, some academic, some literary, some lecture notes and some keynotes, among many others.

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I have taken the train at different times. The 2pm. The 6am and the 3pm. More importantly, I have taken the 6pm. The one that stops in the middle of nowhere with the only light around a pitch dark area being the one inside the train. When we peep through the window, we see only darkness and a bit of eeriness. But usually I meet friends, family and fans on the train. And we are usually animated.

So, the darkness is often temporary and we pay it no heed. But this week, no one paid it any heed and darkness and eeriness crept up in loud sounds. Bombs, guns, hooded men and sorrow. Clenched teeth, mangled iron, blood and disappearances. Some travellers have been abducted. The commando-like operation took travellers by surprise and left victims and survivors numb.

So much has happened since that first attack. A second attack took place 24 hours later. The train station was not closed after the first attack. Fatalities on both days. Missing persons. Shifting blames. Broken families. Broken bones. Peeping out of that window two months ago. The darkness. The eeriness. We chatted and wrote stories. Who would have known? Peace to Kaduna. Peace to Nigeria. Mangled bodies. Mangled Iron. Who are these people? No one deserved any of this.… Peace. prayers.