Da Kayes a Bamakò in treno (2° parte) - De Kayes a Bamako en train -

 

 La Land Rover caricata sulla piattaforma

 Alla stazione di Kayes incontrai un residente francese il quale mi consiglio di non lasciare incustodita l'auto. Del treno da Dakar nessuna notizia. Aspettai fiducioso ma a lungo, infatti il treno arrivò il giorno dopo. Dormii dentro la Land Rover, ma fu quasi impossibile riposare bene per il troppo caldo.
Finalmente arrivò il treno da Dakar ed i ferrovieri spinsero letteralmente, con la forza delle loro braccia, la piattaforma per attaccarla al convoglio. Il tempo passava e niente si muoveva. Chiesi notizie in giro. Aspettavamo un altro treno che veniva da Bamako con la nuova squadra di macchinisti maliani, poichè l'attuale era senegalese. Per fortuna che la stazione era piena di venditori e si poteva comperare ogni cosa come frutta, polli, profumi, dolci, magliette ed acqua fresca ma non idonea per il mio stomaco. Il luogo era molto animato e rumoroso esattamente come un mercato. Finalmente il treno da Bamako arrivò in stazione. Dopo circa una ora vidi che tutti i venditori ambulanti lasciavano liberi gli spazi intorno al treno e ciò significava che stavamo per partire. Era ormai il tramonto. Il sole ancora una volta si scavava la sua tana all'orizzonte. Finalmente il treno si mosse e partimmo. La velocità non superava i 50 km ora. Nelle carrozze passeggeri non vi era sufficiente posto ed alcune persone presero posto sulla mia piattaforma che era abbastanza capiente. L'aria era calda. Fu quasi impossibile chiudere occhio per riposare. Venne il controllore a chiedermi i biglietti che esaminò con cura. Anche i passeggeri che stavano sdraiati sulla piattaforma furono oggetto di controllo. Vidi alcune persone che cercavano di nascondersi sotto la mia auto. Capii che qualcuno era senza biglietto e quindi cercava di sfuggire ai controlli. Il controllore agiva con cattiveria. Quando prendeva un povero cristo senza biglietto, prima gli chiedeva la somma dovuta, se costui non aveva di che pagare allora cercava di spingerlo giù dal treno. Seguitò ancora a strillare, ma poi giunse una calma surreale. Era tardi e tutti erano stanchi. Con la notte la temperatura si fece più sopportabile. La notte era completamente buia, non c'era uno spicchio di luna in cielo, solamente miliardi di puntini luminosi. Tutti si prepararono per cercare di dormire un po. Arrivammo alla stazione di Kita. Una piccola cittadina lungo la ferrovia. Naturalmente il treno fu preso d'assalto dai soliti venditori. Dopo una trentina di minuti il treno ripartì. Ma con mia grande sorpresa comincio' a rallentare fino a fermarsi completamente. Speravo che non fosse un guasto. Il treno iniziò piano piano a fare marcia indietro fino ad entrare di nuovo nella stazione appena lasciata. Ma che era successo? Qualcuno aveva fatto i segnali prestabiliti con una lampada tascabile al conduttore del treno, che naturalmente partì. Ma lasciammo il controllore "cattivo" a terra; così la marcia indietro era per recuperarlo. Una volta a bordo iniziò a strillare contro tutti in lingua Bambara. Era arrabbiatissimo. Sputi e saliva uscivano dalla sua bocca mentre urlava. Masticava la kola. Qualche passeggero ci rise sopra per il brutto scherzo giocatogli. Poi tutto si calmò ed il treno proseguì la sua lenta corsa notturna verso la capitale.

At the station I met a French person who told me not to leave the Land Rover alone because the place was full of thieves. Briefly I spent one day and a half at the station, eating and sleeping in the car. The weather was so hot that it was impossible to sleep during the night. I forget what I did for the toilet. Finally, the train arrived before evening. The railway people pushed my platform by hand and they attached it to the last goods wagon, and I was so happy; but the time passed and nothing happened. So I decided to check around to see what was going on. Somebody said that another train would come from Bamako, and the Malian crew would drive this train to Bamako.

The station was full of sellers; it was possible to buy everything, fruit, perfumes, chickens, cold water (good only for Africans), sweets, t-shirts. The place was so noisy and animated, like a market; before nightfall, the other train arrived at Kayes station. After one hour's waiting, I finally saw the sellers leave and the train started to run to Bamako. The train was made up of different passenger and goods wagons. The average speed per hour was about 30 km. On the passenger wagons the seats for all the people weren't insufficient; so some passengers came to take a place on my platform. I tried to spend the night eating fruit and sleeping with one eye open. Later on, the ticket collector came by and started asking train tickets to the passengers. I saw some people going under my car and somebody else going around my car not to seen by the ticket collector. I didn't understand what was going on; somebody saw me a little astonished, so he told me that some passengers were without tickets. The ticket collector was very nasty with those people; when he caught one of them, first he asked to be paid for the ticket and if the passenger couldn't pay his ticket, the man started to scream; I saw the ticket collector try to push the people without tickets out of the train. The ticket collector stopped to deal with the people without tickets and he said that at the next station he would call the police. An unforeseen calm came. It was only possible to hear the noise made by the train wheels running on the rails. The temperature was more tolerable. The darkness was so deep; no moon in the sky; I was thinking that on so dark a night it was  impossible see somebody or something: well, the night was so dark and the African people too....( it is not a matter of racism... it is only an ascertainment ). A light breeze came and everybody made preparations to spend the night. After a few hours, my attention was attracted by excited activity; some hoots came from the train's locomotive. Somebody said that in a few minutes we were going into Tintibà station. From the roof of my car I saw some red or white car headlights. The train finally stopped at the station. A lot of people were around. The station wasn't illuminated; only the goods sellers had an oil lamp. People got down from the train, people got on. I didn't see the ticket collector, but I saw people running away very fast from the platform where I was. A lot of passengers switched on their battery lamps. I bought oranges just to try to soothe my thirst, without bargaining (the bargaining is so common in Africa: if somebody doesn't bargain one is judged by the sellers not to be a very good buyer). The train suddenly started to move. Some sellers walked near the wagons to get the money from the passengers who had bought merchandise. After a few kilometres, the train stopped in the middle of the bush without an apparent reason. I saw somebody get down from one of the first wagons; in effect I saw a pocket lamp move; I supposed that it was somebody with the lamp. the man was walking in the direction of the end of the train; it stopped every now and then near the wagons. In the end, I understood that we had left the ticket collector at Baguineda station. Somebody made the right signal with his pocket lamp and the train driver understood it like the good one's done by the signalman. By the way, the train started to go back to Tintibà station to pick-up the ticket collector. I was thinking in my mind that only in Africa can something like that happen. In fact the ticket collector was there at the station waiting for the train to come back. He got on my platform and he started screaming in the Bambara language. Finally, the train set off again on its way towards Bamako. All the passengers turned off their pocket lamps, and everybody tried to find a good position to spend the rest of the night. The ticket collector disappeared. Nothing else important happened until morning.