Little Jiji: Joyful Journeys on the SGR to Mombasa
A Journey by Train and the Stories That Keep It Alive
Traveling to Mombasa for a government-sponsored conference is an experience that blends practicality with curiosity. The train, known as the Standard Gauge Railway (SGR), offers a fast and economical way to reach the coastal city. Yet, there's more to this journey than just the convenience of travel. It feels like a symbolic route, one that carries the weight of both progress and controversy.
The SGR connects two major cities—Nairobi and Mombasa—and promises regular, reliable trips. It’s cheaper than taking a bus, which makes it an attractive option for many. However, the project has sparked debates about its true purpose. Some argue that it serves more as a statement of ambition than a practical necessity. Critics often compare it to a “beautiful road to nowhere,” questioning whether the investment truly benefits the people or if it’s simply a showcase of modern infrastructure.
As we board the train, the landscape unfolds outside the window, revealing a mix of natural beauty and human development. Sophia, a fellow traveler, points out a herd of giraffes grazing in the distance. “Such a pity that local tourism is still so damn expensive,” she says, echoing a sentiment many share. The cost of experiencing Kenya’s wildlife remains high, despite the country’s rich natural heritage.
Curious about the giraffes’ long necks, I ask Sophia for her take on the matter. She explains that evolution gave them this feature to access the most nutritious parts of trees. But I have my own theory. “Long ago, giraffes had necks similar to cows,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. “Then one day, a brave giraffe decided to challenge Chuck Norris.”
Sophia’s eyes widen. “The same Chuck Norris from the movies?” she asks, clearly taken aback. I continue, “Yes, the one from Delta Force 1 and 2. So this giraffe thought he could take him on. Makosa. Chuck delivered an upper cut so strong it stretched the giraffe’s neck to six feet. Forever.”
To my surprise, Sophia laughs at the joke. “You’re so silly,” she says, wiping tears from her eyes. “Tell me another one.”
I think for a moment before sharing another story. “Do you know what baboons have red bottoms?” I ask. She shakes her head, eager to hear the answer.
“Long ago, an old baboon was running from a lion. It reached a slope, fell on its buttocks, and slid down, escaping the predator. Its bottom became scratched and red. When the other baboons saw this, they laughed. To teach them a lesson, the adults dragged their children against hard surfaces, causing their bottoms to turn red too.”
Sophia chuckles. “So all baboons are born with red bottoms?” she asks.
“No,” I reply. “Every baboon parent has to drag their child against rocks to make their bottoms red.”
She laughs harder, wiping her face with a handkerchief. “You know what? They should do that with humans, too.”
“Drag infants against rocks to make their bottoms bleed?” I ask, half-joking.
“No, not infants. Grown-ups. A way to mark someone guilty of something. Imagine how easy our jobs would be if every criminal was marked with a sign of their crimes?”
“I’ve heard that they cut off one of a thief’s hands in some Muslim countries.”
She considers it for a moment. “Maybe not something that extreme.”
“You know what I’d like? Politicians tattooed every time they tell a lie.”
We laugh, and I feel a sense of relief. Despite the complexities of the journey and the discussions around the SGR, the simple moments of humor and connection make the trip worthwhile. As the train continues its route, the stories we share remind us that even the most mundane journeys can hold unexpected charm.
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