Too posh to be public

The day I arrived in Switz­er­land was the day that the Swiss public trans­por­ta­tion system ‚happened‘ to me. On this summer after­noon, I had just got off a flight at the Kloten Airport in Zurich. I checked the city trans­port board in the airport and found out that I would need the tram number 10 to get to my desti­na­tion. Just outside of the airport, I found the trams which are color-coded by the way.

There was no one in the stee­ring seat. I pressed the door button and found out the tram was unlocked. I did not step in. An open public trans­por­ta­tion system with no driver in it? No thank you! Where I come from, that is a sure ALARM BELL! Kidnap­pers could be waiting inside to attack unsu­spec­ting victims. To be kidnapped in a new country on my first day was not in my imme­diate or future plans.

I checked the time on the board outside and saw that there was two minutes before the tram was supposed to leave, and just at that time, someone arrived, opened the tram door and proce­eded to open the stee­ring carriage with some kind of key shaped like an IKEA spanner.

I looked up at him and could not look away. He was dressed in a crisp sky-blue shirt neatly tucked into a navy-blue pants that were so well ironed, there was not a single thread or crease line visible. He was wearing a precisely knotted navy-blue tie with a sky-blue stripe which started in the middle of the tie and ended exactly at the tip of it. On top of the shirt was a navy-blue suit, A SUIT! He had on a pair of Ray Ban sunglasses. RAY frea­king BANS. Hair? Sleekly combed. Shoes? Imma­cu­l­ately polished. Deme­anor? Calm and coll­ected. Poise? Check. Posh­ness? Double check.

My gaze fell back to the airport. Do you mean that pilots are also the drivers of public trans­port in this country? Because this fully kitted, ‚I am a top bank execu­tive‘ looking man is not about to sit in the stee­ring carriage and drive mere mortals around. Ha, but he was, because as I would find out in the future, the Swiss are not mere mortals!

Other passen­gers were coming in so I got on the tram and took my seat. The driver closed the door, settled in his stee­ring seat and adju­sted his micro­phone as he closed the door. I expected some music to blast through the spea­kers as the drivers in Mushin in Lagos usually do. Instead, into the micro­phone he said: “Grüezi Mitenand”. Oh, the driver has seen his distant cousin amongst us the passen­gers and was gree­ting him. But then I heard some passen­gers reply “Grüezi!” Wait a minute, that gree­ting was for us? All of us?

As we ‘trammed’ our way into the city, he would either wave, smile, or even grin at his fellow drivers who would return the gesture. And no, they were not stop­ping in the middle of traffic to ask each other if there were police or road safety offi­cials where the other was coming from. Public trans­port had a more advan­ta­geous right of way than private vehicles so there was no need to speed, over­take, or honk so much and so loud that people in the heavens could hear.

There was no honking at all. Wait, how then were they gree­ting each other, or poin­ting out a traffic error another driver had committed, or muscle another driver off the street? How were they confir­ming invi­ta­tions to parties that their fellow drivers had invited them to? Because in Nigeria, all of the above are some of the things you can use your honking for as a driver.

We got to one tram stop and the driver halted comple­tely. Then he proce­eded to say with all the smiles and content­ment of a person who enjoyed his job and all the daily nitty-grit­ties it brings: “Thank you all for driving with us today, this is the end of my shift, I hope you all have a wonderful day ahead, and I hope to see you soon.” Heeeeeeeeeee! For us and to us?

He stepped out and shook the hands of a lady who was equally as imma­cu­l­ately dressed as he is. They talked about the weather, the beef salad they ate (at least that is what I thought I heard), and other things for appro­xi­m­ately 7.2 seconds. There was nothing in the conver­sa­tion on whether the brakes of the tram were working well or not. There was no mention of how the wipers of the tram may be squishy instead of wiping. There was nothing at all on which passenger has paid his fare, and which one still needs their change.

It was 7.2 seconds of a handover that displayed the relics of a well-oiled machine. She trusts that ever­ything was well because she knows that ever­ything was well. She stepped in and again said to us: “Grüezi Mitenand” And a few passen­gers murm­ured back “Grüezi”.

Hey God! What are we non-Swiss people to you exactly, your adopted children? How is a public trans­por­ta­tion system so posh that it was actually too posh to be public? I may never be able to answer this question as I am living this Swiss Life the Naija Way!