A desperate mom seeks the help of a witch doctor.
Her baby refuses to eat, poops constantly, and projectile vomits every fancy purée.
“Even says ‘Mama’ backwards!”
The witch doctor rattles her bones, eyes narrowed.
“What’s this demon child’s name?”
Mom sighs.
“It’s … TransNamib.”
The witch doctor pauses, then calmly packs away her tools. “Sorry, ma’am. My magic can’t handle pure evil.”
The truth is that we don’t really love our babies. We simply have no choice but to raise them so that they can one day walk away, and we can love them at a distance. Some problem babies, like TransNamib, appear to have learnt how to walk one moment and then start crawling when the in-laws come to visit – as if to intentionally embarrass you.
That’s an evil baby right there.
Aye, man! Those bundles of pure, precious joy … unless, of course, you’ve been unfortunate enough to be saddled with the TransNamib of the toddler world.
You know the type: the one who screams like a mating cat for no reason, throws food with the accuracy of a drunken sailor and possesses the sleep schedule of a night owl.
Now, imagine that same level of delightful chaos, but instead of a crib, it’s a multi-tonne train hurtling (or rather, not hurtling) down a rusty track. That, my friends, is the glorious experience that is TransNamib.
Just like that toddler who refuses to be weaned off puréed carrots, TransNamib clings desperately to its demonic ways.
Derailments? Those are just playful tumbles on the playground of life, right? Trains inexplicably reversing through towns like a possessed USave shopping cart on a sugar high? Don’t worry, it’s just TransNamib practising its moonwalk!
Remember that time a TransNamib train decided to take a scenic detour through a field, leaving behind a trail of bewildered passengers and startled cows? Classic toddler move, am I right?
I wonder what it costs us every time a train lies on its side right next to the rails.
At this point, I wonder if there are still insurance companies willing to insure cargo booked on TransNamib trains. Those insurance companies are like the baby daddies who never want to pay child support.
Or does the taxpayer have to pay for every tonne destroyed?
“My f*k, Willem, die ding is weer kant-om!” I can hear that insurance guy screaming to his investigator after reading the breaking news headlines.
Now, if by some stroke of luck your TransNamib train actually decides to even move, well, is it ever on time? Why does the train stop for such a long time at Kranzberg when nothing really happens there in any way?
And then there are the delays. You need tons of patience, just like when trying to put a jersey on your child and the stupid child throws a fit refusing, even when it is really cold.
You know how we use “our pride” as an excuse to not just cut our losses? I always wonder why “our pride” does not drive us to run our precious institutions with the same love we only seem to have when it is time to just give the child to social services.
Anyway, let’s enjoy the ride as TransNamib trains do the moonwalk on a 4×4 trail away from the rails. For that is our pride and joy.
Maybe some day TransNamib will graduate from toddlerhood. Until then, pack your patience, snacks and maybe a helmet. You never know what kind of adventure awaits!
“I have questions for days as I flip pages, unleash cages, rename it to Trans-Aimless,” the rapper in me starts rhyming.
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