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Are you even a real Lagosian if you don’t jump buses every ten market days? Use these seven tips to stay on guard when you board a Lagos danfo.
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Always make a quick survey before you hop in
Is there a right mix of men and women? Where are they seated? Hard face or soft? These are the questions.
Avoid the front row
It’s always tight, hot, and you’re completely shut out from everything that’s happening inside the bus. The middle bench is the sweet spot.
Take pictures and videos
We know you can’t share your Lagos danfo ride details, but you want to put in the extra measure by taking short recordings of the driver, conductor and co-passengers. If they catch you, you’re on your own sha.
Don’t press your phone if you chose a window seat
That’s an open invitation to traffic robbers. After taking the security videos, your phone should be safely tucked in your bag.
Please, don’t sleep
We know you’ve had a long day, and the traffic isn’t helping matters. But please dear, don’t sleep. You could miss your stop, or God forbid, become prey to evil co-passengers.
Don’t take sensitive calls
You don’t know your co-passengers, so it’s just not wise to take business/work calls on the bus. Wait till you get home.
Mind your business
There’s nothing bad about socialising, but please, focus on your destination. The gist might be a ploy to get you distracted before stealing your soul or kidney.
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“A Week In The Life” is a weekly Zikoko series that explores the working-class struggles of Nigerians. It captures the very spirit of what it means to hustle in Nigeria and puts you in the shoes of the subject for a week
I wake up before my alarm. I set it for 5 a.m., but I’m up at 4:30 a.m. today. I freshen up. It’s almost 6 a.m. by the time I’m ready to leave the house. I do some preliminary checks on my bus — oil level, water and tyres. When I’m done I set out for my park at Ikeja. I live in Agege, and because of the hold up around that side, it takes me one hour to get to Ikeja.
There’s no parking space for all the buses at the park, so we’re loading in three’s. It’s not my turn to load so I go to a side street to call Opebi passengers for sole. As I’m calling passengers, I’m also using one eye to look out for Taskforce, LASTMA, Police, and the biggest werey of them all — Anti one way. If anti one way catch you, you don die be that. Thankfully, there’s no wahala before my bus gets filled up. I lock my door, and I do one go-come trip from Ikeja to Opebi.
As I drive back to the park, I see that it’s finally my turn to load passengers. Before I can join the queue, one faragon van has chanced me. My bus is korope, so I try to avoid wahala with anyone. I ask the faragon driver why he entered my front like that and he starts to shout “sho ya werey” and other curses.
I take a deep breath.
I don’t say a word. Mostly because I can’t be exchanging words with anyone. If I say something and he punches me, that’s a mess up for me. I just remind myself that this work is temporary, and it will end one day. I tell the other driver to load his passengers while I find somewhere to wait.
I can’t wait for this week to end. I’m already dreaming of all the sleep I’ll sleep on Sunday.
TUESDAY:
Transport business is hard, and this hardness always makes me think about my life. I’m thinking of how I started my career by doing labourer work carrying pon pon. Then I went to my daddy’s business of selling building materials. During my time there, I had one girlfriend and during our play I impregnated her. That was a wake-up call that I couldn’t raise a family on the money from selling building materials. So I carried all my savings of ₦200,000, and I asked my mummy to help me get a used Keke Maruwa. After some time of hustling with the Keke, I bought a brand new one for ₦600,000.
Not long after I started paying bills and taking care of my family, the Lagos State Governor banned Keke. The six months it took me to get a buyer for my Keke was the worst period of my life because I was just watching my savings go down. I became so broke that my mummy — who is 70 years old — started feeding me. I felt terrible in that period because I went from feeding her to being fed by her.
My mummy was so sad that she went to find someone to give me Korope on hire purchase so I could start work. After I got the bus, I went back to my old keke route. I had not worked for long before Taskforce arrested me three times in two weeks. The first time they collected ₦18,500, the second-time they collected ₦15,000, the third time ₦20,000+
I was frustrated.
I had to take loans to pay taskforce, so I couldn’t pay the bus owner for two weeks. The owner wanted to collect his bus but my mum went to beg him and promised that it wouldn’t happen again. At that point, I was ready to return the bus but I told myself to never give up, and that was the first thing I wrote in front of the bus. My mum then told me to be careful on the road because she could no longer afford to repay loan or beg if I got arrested by the task force. She reminded me to consider that she was the one now feeding me.
I felt bad for forgetting about her sacrifice. In that mood, I wrote “If your parents count on you, don’t play the same game as those who count on their parents. Remember you left home to feed home.” When Kekes came back on the road and ruined all my money plans with the Korope, I felt hurt. That’s when I wrote “Turn that hurt into hustle. Turn that pain into paper.”
The first time I caught myself thinking about my hustle, I wrote on my bus “Hopefully one-day real change will come because I believe everything in life is temporary.”
Reading those words on this kind of low mood day has given me some ginger. I know I will make it. I must make it.
WEDNESDAY:
I love my wife. In my head, she’s still that girl from when I was selling building materials. My wife doesn’t stress me and she’s very understanding. She understands that I’m paying ₦30,000 per week to the owner of the bus so there’s usually nothing left for flexing. She doesn’t say buy me this or buy me that because we are managing.
Our major expenses are food for the house and my son’s school fees. I still can’t believe that my son is four years old already. As soon as he grows older I know that driving a bus will no longer be able to cater for my expenses. I know because I’m currently still struggling to pay rent and raise the balance of my child’s school fees.
On the road today I’m just looking for a helper. Someone that can introduce me to anything legal that’ll be providing better money for me. A job that I know that if I hustle I can at least pay rent, send my child to school, and still give my mum money. I’m tired of working from 6 a.m to 7 p.m six days a week. I’m tired of leaving the house early, coming back home late and not spending enough time with my family. I’m tired of adult life.
But if I don’t show up, who will help me?
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THURSDAY:
Thank God it’s Thursday. Because then it’s Friday, Saturday, and then Sunday — my day of rest. On Sundays, I sleep like I’m on drugs. Once I eat breakfast like this, I’m gone for the whole day.
I don’t know how long I’ll have this amount of energy. With each passing age, I’m just praying for strength. “God please give me the power to keep driving at this pace for two years after I finish paying the owner” If I’m focused the way I am now, I should save enough money to leave this business. I’ll then take the money and use it to buy land for farming. After that, I can build one structure on the land for me and my wife. I want the location to be far away; no Police, no LASTMA, no Agbero wahala. I don’t want any disturbance.
Check back every Tuesday by 9 am for more “A Week In The Life ” goodness, and if you would like to be featured or you know anyone who fits the profile, fill this form.
“A Week In The Life” is a weekly Zikoko series that explores the working-class struggles of Nigerians. It captures the very spirit of what it means to hustle in Nigeria and puts you in the shoes of the subject for a week.
The subject for today’s “A Week In The Life” is *Tola. He collects money at the bus park, and he’s what Nigerians refer to as Agbero. He talks about wanting to quit his job, his faith in God and why he shows up every day.
MONDAY:
I’m on the road as early as 5:30 or 6:00 a.m. on most days. I have to beat traffic and get to work early because the earlier I do, the faster I can begin to make money for the day. Most people don’t know that agbero work is just like being a marketer — we have daily deliverable targets per day. I don’t earn a salary, so I depend on whatever extra money I make per day. Depending on your location and performance, your daily target can be somewhere between ₦30,000 – ₦45,000, and a failure to meet this target means you pay out of pocket. On the bright side, if you surpass your target, you get to keep the extra amount. Therefore, every single minute counts in this job.
This pressure is why some people do anything to collect money from buses; they’ll threaten to break their windscreen, remove the fuel tank cover or wipers. The union [NURTW] believes that there’s no way you’ll go out and not meet your target, so they don’t listen to excuses. Everyone has a daily target, and that’s why you’ll see agberos collecting booking fee from one bus stop to the next. We give numbers and sell tickets to show who has paid and who hasn’t. The funniest part is that the tickets are provided and printed by the state government, so a portion of our daily target also goes to them. We hand over whatever money we make to the park chairman [each park has a chairman] who then hands it over to the union’s executives. At this point, the money is shared amongst them and the state government who provides the tickets.
It is what it is.
It rained today so there were not a lot of buses on the road. I made my daily target with barely enough money for food and transportation for tomorrow. I’m praying for God’s favour because I’m tired of this job.
TUESDAY:
Things weren’t always like this for me. I wasn’t always an agbero working for a union. I learnt printing press work, but there was no money to buy a machine neither was there anyone to help me. So I set up a baba Ijebu kiosk to raise money to buy machines. Things were going well until I fell in love with one lady like this. After we started dating, nothing was coming in again. Getting money to eat even became difficult for me.
Then she fell pregnant.
Things became three times more difficult for me after that. I kept on struggling until my son was born. One year plus after his birth, she left me. Her reason was that she re-assessed her fortunes and saw that there was no future with me. After all, when she met me, I had a lotto kiosk and I was making money. Now that things were no longer the same, she went to consult her stars and they told her to remarry.
Today, I’m thinking about the fact that it’s been almost six years now, and I still don’t have money. I left the printing press to Baba Ijebu to agbero work and still, nothing tangible till now. I’m still using agidi to get money to eat. If I get a better job today, I’m gone. It’s not like I signed a life contract with these people. Even if I did, this is not the kind of job that someone should do forever.
WEDNESDAY:
Under the sun and in the rain, we’re always hustling, we’re always collecting money. It’s only God that will pity us. There’s no protection, no place to rest, nothing. If you want to urinate, you’ll find somewhere by the side to do it. When you want to toilet, you’ll look for a public toilet and pay ₦50 to use it. If you’re sick, you’ll beg someone to stand in for you so you can make your deliverables and if you’re lucky, they will make some money to give you so you can hold body.
Coronavirus time was so bad because no movement meant no work. During that time, I’d just go and do twale on the street for someone that will dash me money. Other times, we’ll group ourselves like four or five and go to a construction site and do labour assistant. Sometimes, when we see people digging borehole, we go and meet them for at all at all money. I wasn’t happy doing that, but I had to eat. To worsen matters, people will just talk to you anyhow and you’ll be tired of life. You’ll be asking yourself: what kind of person is this? Why am I here? Why is this person talking to me like this?
I had an incident like that today. I was calling passengers for a bus driver and a passenger insulted me. After calling price for this woman, she refused to pay when I asked her for money. Instead, she started blasting and rubbishing me. I wanted to reply but people around said I shouldn’t talk. So I kept on looking.
It has been almost three hours since this happened but I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m looking forward to going home at 8 p.m. With the way my day is going, I’ll make enough money to meet my daily target and still have some change. My plan is to go home and drink a chilled bottle of malt because I can’t kill myself.
THURSDAY:
Today, I’m thinking about my son. He’s just six years old and unaware. He lives with grandma, but sometimes, he comes to stay with me. We’re doing one week on and off at work, so he comes during my week off. When he’s not around, I help someone manage their lotto kiosk, and they give me money to hold body.
My son doesn’t know what I do for now because union work is not something I’m proud of. I don’t even wear the uniform. I wear the cap once in a while. When he’s around, we watch cartoon and sports as father and son because these are the memories I want him to have of me. It’s tough raising a male child and being a good role model that the child can follow. It’s lonely because I have no woman and I’m not remarried — the only thing that gives me joy is my boy.
I’ve spoken to my friends that if they have a better job they should let me know. I have my SSCE degree, so I can do factory work or office assistant. Anything that will benefit me, I’ll do it. If God is kind to me, I know the type of education I want to give my son. Part of my prayer every night is that God should spare his life because I don’t know what I’ll do if I suddenly no longer can’t hear his infectious laughter. The one he makes especially when we’re watching sports and I’m gesticulating to him.
My prayer is simple: “God, another year is about to end and I’m getting older. When it’s my time, answer my prayers. It hasn’t been easy because I haven’t gotten a better job. I need something better because I just want to start living.”
Check back every Tuesday by 9 am for more “A Week In The Life ” goodness, and if you would like to be featured or you know anyone who fits the profile, fill this form.
The streets of Lagos are not for the fainthearted. If you are used to buses waiting for you to board or someone handing over your phone after picking it up from the floor then newsflash, You are on the wrong bus, get off! You missed your stop.
There are no good Samaritans here; everyone is a hustler and that’s why even the buses have been turned to a market place and no, solace for deep thoughts don’t exist. Different individuals get into a bus with different purposes. Here’s a list of a few personalities you are bound to meet in the:
Sellers
Notice the person with shifty eyes and a load? No, he’s not a thief, he’s gonna stand up a few minutes after kick off. He usually likes sitting by the door, you might even mistake him for a conductor, because of how helpful he is to the real one. But, no, that’s a strategy, his voice is about to boom through the bus for the next one hour. God help you if there’s traffic! Dr Dre’s got nothing on his bass. What he’s selling? A cure for all ills, he says. I suspect that his first buyer is his syndicate.
Wannabe Agbero
There’s always that one person that will change it for the conductor. Their madness is usually on a kapachumarimarichupako level. One moment they’re looking posh the next thing, “You dey craze? You think say na because I wear suit? I go change am for you oh!”
Conversationalist
It usually starts like this: “Auntie, this Lagos na wa o. All this road wan kill person. Last night I wan…” Do not respond, I repeat, do not respond! Oh gosh, you did? You’re about to have your head talked off, and I warned you o. Well, just get ready to hear how this person was there when Osama Bin Laden was shot down and oh, would you like to sign up to their VTU platform?
Naira defender
Yes, we all know that naira notes are greatly disrespected by Nigerians; mutilated notes here and there. But there are some among us who didn’t get the memo. Not going to mention their names. They get into a war of words with the conductor who refuses to change the bad money he gave them. He begrudgingly does though, usually with a clapback: “You never know anything for dis Lagos! Dem tell u say I dey print money for house? Na person gimme dis money.”
The Quiet Ones
oftentimes, if you didn’t get into the bus with them at the same time you might feel this people are dumb. But, no, self preservation is sacred to them; they know what to expect. They are old customers so they know the best thing is to plug in their earpiece to escape the madness.
Sleepers
This people just know how to drop off, you mostly find them in Ajah and Island buses in the morning. They don’t have time for music or talk, they just wanna sleeeeep.
Maybe it’s glasses or special gloves. But the thing that will let me know if ponmo is soft before it enters my plate, I need it. Fast!
Iya Moria has punished me too many times.
Anything that can make me jump traffic like this in Nigeria, please make it happen.
Let me just turn to transformer when third-mainland starts nonsense.
Maybe it’s spirit we’ll employ last-last. But Nigerians need something that’ll shout “don’t pick this call, it’s money they want to ask for” when people want to turn you to GTB ATM.
But really, won’t this be mad?
Imagine if our cars had automatic koboko for when Danfo drivers start misbehaving. No stress, you’ll be in the car and it’ll be doing its thing
Or something that can just rake keke-marwas, when they think they can be dragging road unnecessarily.
I’m tired at this point. If it’s special face-cap we can be wearing for our generators so they won’t be so noisy, somebody make it please!
As money for Mikano isn’t set.
You know what every Nigerian needs? Their own siren! Once those politicians start making noise like this, we turn it to choir meeting.
If soldier catches you, don’t bring them to Zikoko office oh!
Since mosquitoes have turned Baygon to body spray, if we could just get like automatic slappers to catch them, it won’t be bad.
If you’re feeling this say “yeah-yeah”
I don’t know how Whatsapp wants to do it, but something that can be replying my mommy automatically: “wow that’s true”,when she starts with her BCs. Quick, please.
It has reached SOS at this point!
Who can fund this? Portable lie-detector for when our mechanics want to start moving mad?
Once they start saying: “aunty na engine problem”, it will just shout: “stop lying, it’s only spark -plug”
Do you know how mad it will be if our cars could wear invisibility cloaks when LASTMA starts their nonsense?
“your license and particu… blood of Jesus”
Speaking of things Nigerians really need. Make sure you subscribe to our #GameofVotes newsletter today. We’ll be counting down all the most important things that happen in politics leading up to the elections.
Lagos has been rated the third most stressful city in the entire world.
So if you live in Lagos and can still take out time to read this, you deserve a lot of accolades.
Lagos has pushed a lot of us to the edge at one point or another. We might have adapted or in the process of adaptation.
Whichever it is, here are some ways to know you have really had enough of this city.
If you’ve ever been stuck in traffic that was literally on hold for hours, you would understand that patience is very important to maintain your sanity sometimes.
See, there’s levels to traffic in Lagos.
While you’re stuck in traffic, you turn on the radio just to hear some “wanna gonna”, while you strain your ears to catch up.
Accents are the only things distributed free of charge in this city.
But eating fantastic food at a low cost is an extreme sport in Lagos.
In summary, overpriced food is a trademark
If you happen to live on the island, rain is probably not your best friend. When it rains, it pours, and floods.
Even you will be flooded. This is when Lagos island turns into an actual island
Let’s focus on rent for a minute, from finding the house, to affording the bills, all I have to say is..
..In this Lagos if you want to enjoy, you just have to blow o
And then if you don’t own a car, transportation is an extreme sport in Lagos. I want to talk about the cost but I also want to talk about the stress of even getting buses itself.
Let’s just thank God we are alive
If you have not had an encounter or know someone that has had an encounter or heard stories about Sarz officials, do you even leave in Lagos?
If you see them, Just run.
We always wonder why there are so many people in Lagos or why so many plan to move here? Like why is Lagos so overpopulated?
But the real question is, why are you in Lagos? Just take a moment and ask yourself why you choose to continue suffering?
All Nigerians have a hate-love relationship with Danfo buses. On one hand, they get you to where you need to be and you are most likely to meet the most hilarious characters. On the other hand, you can be going somewhere early in the morning in your finest shirt now and Danfo will just help you tear it, or one conductor will conveniently forget to give you your 900 naira change.
Hate them or love them, Danfos are a cultural phenomenon in Lagos. If you close your eyes and try to conjure a picture of Lagos it’ll be impossible to imagine Lagos without the vibrant black and yellow of Danfo buses.
Perhaps the most interesting thing about Danfos is how much of a unique and artistic expression it is of its owner’s tastes.
You are most likely to find catchphrases, stickers or illustrations which express the owner’s preferences and beliefs. You are bound to see phrases like ‘God is in control’ or ‘Wabillahi Taofeek’ if the owner is religious. If the owner has a sense of humor then you are bound to see a punchline or two.
You can even tell what their taste in music is, by which artists they chose to advertise with stickers on their windows. We can bet you’d never see a sticker of Osupa and Pasuma on the same bus.
The only thing we might love more than the catchphrases and illustrations themselves would be the unique and creative designs in which they are usually created. Designer studio, Dá Design Studio, inspired by this decided to create a font design, aptly named Danfo STD and we couldn’t love it more.
Left to us we’d print everything in this. Imagine a t-shirt with the catchphrase ‘I can’t come and die’ written in this font?
What we are most excited about, however, is the fact that they are people out there who not only recognize the cultural importance of Danfos to Lagos *side eye to Ambo* but also decided to create something awesome out of it.
