And so we stay. Twice the train halts at border posts, and twice we trudge over the railway lines to queue under a lean-to. But each time, my companion women wordlessly retrieve us to a place near the front. The ticket inspectors do their shopping - bread and tomatoes off upturned cardboard boxes. No-one is in a hurry.
Women send daughters for ice-creams and gossip.
Moving again, the women offer meat from tupperwares. I offer biltong and dried fruit. Nibbling delicately, they giggle and raise their thumbs in polite approbation. But they refuse all further offerings. Candida and her daughter Sandra make the trip twice a week to stock their shop.