NURTW | Zikoko!

Citizen is a column that explains how the government’s policies fucks citizens and how we can unfuck ourselves.

So you’ve probably seen members of the Nigerian Union of Road Transport Workers (NURTW) in action. Usually sporting their white and green uniforms, they are the independent union behind the drivers of commercial buses, tricycles and motorcycles — danfos, kekes, and okadas as they are fondly known. But what you might not know is how much the NURTW makes daily, monthly, and yearly.

According to the International Center for Investigative Report, the Lagos State chapter of the NURTW made roughly ₦121.392 billion in 2020 alone. Yeah, e shock you.

In statements from 50 danfo drivers in 21 out of the 37 Local Council Development Areas (LCDAs) in Lagos State, NURTW’s ticket collectors, not so fondly referred to as Agberos, collect at least ₦3,000 from about 75,000 of these drivers in Lagos state alone, every day. This means that the union makes up to ₦225 million per day, ₦6.75 billion per month and roughly ₦81 billion from danfos per year.

You’d think they’d go easier on the kekes but nope. According to the Lagos State Maritime and Transport Agency (LAMATA), there are 50,000 kekes in Lagos State. The keke riders say that the union charges them at least ₦1,800 per day.

Some quick maths shows us that the union makes up to ₦90 million per day, ₦2.7 billion per month and roughly ₦32.4 billion from kekes per year.

Then there’s Okadas. There are about 37,000 okada riders in Lagos. They each pay an average of ₦600 every day to the NURTW, enriching the union with about ₦22.2 million per day, ₦666 million per month and ₦7.992 billion per year.

So you see how we finally arrive at ₦121.392 billion in a year of Lagos State levies alone. There are some other undocumented levies from taxis, tankers and trailers, but the main gist is these people are collecting serious money

But Is The NURTW Even Relevant?

A union is supposed to protect the interests of its members, but it seems that may not be the case with the NURTW. When asked by Al Jazeera if a union executive protected him from police harassment, Yusuf, a keke driver in Lagos replied, “Which union? The executive was only there to talk to the policemen to negotiate the bribe. His presence only helped to reduce it.”

In another interview with Al Jazeera, Afeez, a danfo driver in Lagos recalled that he once fought with a ticketing rep from the union who stabbed his conductor in the eye with a key because the conductor had refused to pay the “afternoon due”.

Professor Gbadebo Odewumi, a professor of transport at the Lagos State University concludes that “the union leaders just reap from the chaos of the system and enrich themselves”.

What Can Be Done About The NURTW?

The union was established in 1978 and is supposed to fight for the welfare of Nigerian drivers and road transport workers who constantly suffer abuse from security personnel like the police, traffic management and vehicle inspection officers.

Ideally, they should work with the Nigerian Labour Congress (NLC) to fight economic issues that seriously affect drivers like sudden fuel price hikes or bad roads. The dues the union collects should also be used to support its members.

Sadly, the NURTW has been riddled with corruption, bribery, nepotism and violence ever since.

State governments can suspend the activities of the NURTW if they violate the rights of citizens. But there are reports that politicians use NURTW ticket reps as thugs to fight opponents and manipulate elections, and this is the reason why the NURTW remains ‘untouchable’ in many states. Some states like Oyo have already banned the union because of the frequent violence and factional clashes by its members.

Clearly, there’s work to be done about some of the NURTW’s activities. Unions like these must do the work they were originally created for. But until the issues are fixed, we assume the ‘fees’ will continue being collected and bus fares will continue to rise. Sorry guys.

Image source: Unsplash

We hope you’ve learned a thing or two about how to unfuck yourself when the Nigerian government moves mad. Check back every weekday for more Zikoko Citizen explainers.

Doyin Olagunju

August 26, 2021

Citizen

agbero, Lagos, money, Nigeria, NURTW, terror, thugs, ticket people
“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 of today’s “A Week In The Life” is Jimoh Adamu, a 27-year-old bus driver. Jimoh tells us about the inspiration behind the famous quotes on his bus, how the Lagos state Keke ban set him back, and his quest for a better life.

MONDAY:

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.

Image credit: Tall Brown Boi

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.”

Image credit: Tall Brown Boi

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.

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Hassan Yahaya

March 2, 2021

Hustle

agbero, bus driver, danfo, hustle, Nigeria, NURTW
“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.

[donation]

Hassan Yahaya

November 17, 2020

Hustle

agbero, buses, danfo, hustle, money, Nigeria, NURTW

But Is The NURTW Even Relevant?

What Can Be Done About The NURTW?

MONDAY:

TUESDAY:

WEDNESDAY:

THURSDAY:

MONDAY:

TUESDAY:

WEDNESDAY:

THURSDAY: