Open Writing

Our city has a new high-speed train system, the first of its kind in the country. It was developed as part of the strategy for making Johannesburg a world-class African city, and the opening of the first section was timed to coincide with the 2010 Soccer World Cup. No sooner had the service been launched than people flocked from far and wide to try it out.

Of course, we were as eager as everyone else, though there were a host of weekend engagements that took precedence over the train. Finally, my daughter grew impatient and announced that we would be taking a Sunday jaunt to the underground station, doing a return trip on the train, and ending up at one of the new Starbucks cafes, situated in a plush international hotel. This was her birthday treat, she informed us, so we weren't to raise any objections.

The day dawned bright and sunny and we set off in high spirits. Having travelled on the London Underground and the Washington Metro, my husband and I were impressed with the brightly-lit platforms, the helpful attendants and the smart interior of the compartments. The four of us sat facing each other, delighting in the feel of the seats, the size of the windows and the clarity of the public address system - all novelties as far as local train transport are concerned. The train set off, gathered pace and hummed along the tracks. It rose elegantly up out of the ground and into the sunlight beyond the outskirts of the city centre.

On arriving at our turnaround point, we disembarked and headed towards the exit. My husband helped me insert my ticket into the automatic gate, propelling me through as it opened. Then, believing that I could manage the next gate on my own, he showed me where the slot was and left me to it. That was when the trouble started.

I didn't know which way up to put my card in. People around me muttered, making me agitated. My husband reached out and assisted me, but by that time I was rattled. I didn't register when the transparent plexiglass gate swung open, which meant I missed my chance to walk through. Buy the time I realized what I was meant to do and walked forward, the gate had begun to close. It struck me on the chest, giving me a horrible fright. I jumped backwards, only to feel my husband shoving me forwards as the gate opened again, and stumbled through.

Laughing merrily, my family asked me if I was all right. Naturally I told them I was fine, because I was mindful of the other passengers who had witnessed my confusion. But a few paces on, once they had all moved away, my emotions got the better of me. First anger at the engineers who had failed to cater for the needs of the blind, and then shame at my own loss of composure over such a trifling occurrence.

The return trip to town lacked the excitement of the outgoing journey. Nevertheless, I was buoyed up by the knowledge that it was my daughter's birthday and therefore a time to let her have the limelight. This she did, with all the style and charm of a pretty sixteen-year-old. Skipping along the pavement in her colorful spaghetti-string top and shorts,she lit up her surroundings like a ray of sunshine. By the time we entered the upmarket hotel with its fancy chauffeur-driven cars and uniformed concierges, I was smiling broadly.

Somehow, the absurdity of drinking iced coffee out of plastic disposable cups amidst the stunning architecture and lush greenery of the hotel lobby put my battle with the electronic ticket checker into perspective. As my daughter pointed out in her inimitable way, "It doesn't matter because it's fun!"New rail systems and coffee shops are fun. Life is fun … provided you stay interested and involved.

Since that first trip on the new train, I have listened to many people talking about their own experiences on the rapid rail system, and it is indeed fun to be part of the story. I took the journey, I felt the emotion, I expanded my horizons. Along with all the other travelers who rode the train in the early days of its inauguration, I can say with pride, "I was there!"