After a long wait the train pulls out of the station. The coach is packed full. The trip to the border will last a day and a night, which is not pleasant to think about. The windows are sealed shut for some unknown reason in the stifling heat. It seems that everyone chain-smokes here and there is lots of silvery dust drifting in the air too.
When the train stops, the passengers swarm out to relieve themselves but there are no rest rooms—not even a station. No problem. They squat and do their business right beside the train. We are just a herd of human animals, shitting and spitting without any civilized inhibitions—it’s a sanitation nightmare; a regular bacteriological warfare zone, and, of course when I return from the rest break, an old woman has occupied my seat. It’s hopeless. I stand.
For food, I buy curry from vendors served on a practical disposable plate, a large green leaf, and boiling hot tea which I get them to pour directly into my own plastic cup.
Slow going. All day it’s stop and start. Most of the people are ugly and dressed in rags, but one or two of the younger ones manage to look neat, even pretty. All the female children, babies too, wear sexy black eyeliner and lipstick—such a difference from the uptight Moslem world I have inhabited for the last few months!
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