Saturday - Sunday, 5-6 July 1986: Chugging through Matabeleland

August 13, 11:40AM, Halfway House, South Africa.

After three days of hiking around the magnificent Victoria Falls and photographing them from many angles, I walked over to the Victoria Falls Hotel where I checked my bags with the bell captain.  It is an elegant structure dating back to British colonial days and rather expensive for this part of the world:  Z$99.50 for a single room or Z$139 for a double (US$55 and $77, respectively).  Not all accommodations in the town are that stiff.  When I got over to the train station, I noticed a sign advertising the Victoria Falls Rest Camp & Caravan Park where you could pitch a tent for Z$2.10/night.  Chalets were available for Z$7.70 per person and that included cooking facilities.  Of course, I had paid nothing for my lodging having stayed with an Italian business associate of a Rotarian in Livingstone on the Zambian side of the falls. 

Bulawayo-bound overnight train waiting at the Victoria Falls station on 5 July 1986.  Note the unusual locomotive with the water tank in front of the boiler.

 

My train, which was sitting at the station, included seven 4^th class coaches, three 1^st and 2^nd class sleepers, a buffet car, and a baggage/guard car.  It was pulled by a 15 Class Garratt articulated steam locomotive with a 4-6-4 + 4-6-4 wheel arrangement.  She sported #421 and a nameplate which read “INTUNLA”.  The Garratts are strange-looking steamers including several different classes all with a separate water car actually running in front of the engine.  They were manufactured by Beyer-Peacock & Co. in England between 1926 and 1958.  The 15 Classes were produced from 1947 to 1952.  They used to be found all over southern Africa and Australia, but Zimbabwe is the only country to still have them in active service.  Except for these Bulawayo-Vic Falls passenger trains, they are used exclusively for shunting and hauling goods (freight) trains.

Route of my over-night steam train from Victoria Falls to Bulawayo, Zimbabwe

There were two other guys assigned to my second class compartment which could sleep as many as six with a full-train.  An African man around my age or a bit older dressed in sport coat and tie brought his bags into the compartment a few minutes after I arrived.  He smiled and said he’d be back later after talking with a friend down the hall.  The other fellow then arrived.  He was a white Englishman in his 20s.  He seemed somewhat nervous about leaving his bags alone in the compartment, but then decided it would be alright because, as he said, “I assume we’re all Europeans [meaning whites] in this compartment.”  I said nothing but couldn’t believe this racist jerk.  Here he was in a black African country assuming he was going to get assigned to a compartment with all white people.  What was worse was his impression that whites could be trusted but blacks could not.  As it turned out, our black compartment mate was the head of education for the Zambian prison system.  He was on his way to an education conference in Harare, Zimbabwe where he was giving a paper on prison education.  So much for racial stereotypes.  

Our train pulled out at 5:31PM (only one minute late).  About 15 minutes later, we passed a goods train on a siding which was being pulled by a larger Class 20a steam engine, the last class of Garratts produced.  I was trying to get a couple photos of our engine and train as it went around curves before the light became too dim.  Even though my car was toward the rear of the train, I got cinders in my eyes when I stuck my head out the window for a look.  The engine had a great whistle, and I could hear the chug-chug-chug as we climbed out of the Zambezi valley toward Hwange.  The chugging wasn’t audible whenever we were on a downgrade.

The late afternoon sun illuminates the cars as we climb out of the Zambezi valley

 

Back in my compartment, the Englishman was making a fuss because the steward had come by to make up his bunk.  Why couldn’t he do it later?  I told the English ass that that was the way they did it.  The steward obviously had a bunch of other bunks to make up, and it was too much of a hassle for him to skip back and forth.  The English guy had been in Africa for several weeks but obviously wasn’t adjusting well to the African way of doing things.  I wondered why the fucker had even bothered to come.  The best way to get along in Africa, I’ve found, is to go with the flow.  Getting upset or uptight gets one nowhere.  As for bedding on trains, I never pay the extra cost.  I find it much simpler to roll out my sleeping bag on the bunk. 

I didn’t actually see the sunset, but I watched another spectacular African dusk.  The sky was orange and purple with trees silhouetted against it.  I stood looking out the window in the corridor until the color show was finished.  The air turned cool and I turned hungry.

Down in the buffet car, I had a ¼ roast chicken, tomato soup, roll, fried potatoes, pumpkin squash and peaches for Z$7.50 (US$4.25).  It wasn’t bad.  I noticed that the English jerk was putting the moves on some African honey in the buffet car.  Despite his initial racist comment, I had since noticed him getting friendly with women of both races.  I suppose that when it came to carnal satisfaction, he wasn’t all that picky.  When he was off in the privy, I spoke briefly with the black girl he had set his sights on.  She was wearing a sweatshirt from a small college in South Dakota.  She was a Zambian, but had been in the States with some Christian-related group.  I doubted she was more than 20 and figured the English anus wouldn’t get far.  I was correct – he returned to the compartment by himself ½ an hour later.

After dinner, I watched the train snake around corners in the moonless night.  There must have been a million stars clearly visible in the dark sky.  Around 8:30, we pulled into Hwange, the headquarters for Zimbabwe’s largest game park.  On one side of my car was the station, on the other a large well-lighted rail yard.  Several Garratts were shunting cars around the yard which had a smoky haze hanging over it.  A couple African guys walked by banging the wheels of our cars with metal rods and listening for sounds that would indicate cracks.  There were no diesel-electric engines in the yard – the entire Bulawayo-Vic Falls line appears to be steam.  It was almost like taking a trip back to my Appalachian childhood in western Pennsylvania. 

At 8:55, the train was off again, the white smoke from our loco glowing in the lights of Hwange.  We had picked up another occupant in our compartment.  He was a young black guy who didn’t have enough money to afford bedding.  I went down to the buffet car to have a couple Castle Lagers before bed.  The friendly Zambian prison educator was there, and we started talking politics.  Soon, he said we probably shouldn’t be talking politics in a foreign country.  It was okay to talk politics in Zambia because it is a free country, he added.  I thought his comment was funny, because we weren’t arguing or saying anything controversial.  As I recall, we were speculating about the situation in South Africa – certainly not a taboo subject in Zimbabwe.  No, I wouldn’t be dumb enough to criticize Zimbabwean government officials in public in Zimbabwe.  I also thought it was funny that he felt Zambia allowed freedom of speech but Zimbabwe did not.  Maybe he hadn’t spent much time here.  The prison educator drank too much and made too much noise when he came to bed.  In general, it was a noisy night, and I didn’t sleep very well. 

I was up before sunrise to get more pictures of the landscape and our train before we arrived in Bulawayo.  We were due in at 7:30AM and arrived about 30 minutes late.  I noticed that our engine was still a 15 Class, but we had changed locos during the night.  All in all it was a nice train ride covering 275 miles for only Z$19.50 (US$11.00).  The interiors of the cars were mostly varnished wood and were reasonably well-maintained.  My only complaint is that they don’t run this train during the day so I could see the scenery.

Zimbabwe sunrise, Sunday, July 6, 1986

 

By the way, taking the train or flying is the only way I’d travel through this section of Zimbabwe, called Matabeleland.  Several white motorists have been murdered by bandits or terrorists along this route.  Bus passengers were even held up at gun point not long ago.  In Africa, it always pays to know the territory!