Contrary to popular opinion, I be street boy. That is if the metric for street boy status is being an ardent user of Lagos’ cluttered public transport system—the same one that constantly robs the city of its peace.
Since I was nine, I’ve moved between two different states using public transport. Sometimes alone, often with my siblings. Whatever it took to get home, Okada, Keke Napep, or the least comfortable of all: the yellow danfo buses; we took it.
But here’s the thing about public transport: You don’t know how distasteful it is until you try something else and come back.
When I got the convenience of booking cabs or driving sometime in 2020, it felt like a smooth upgrade. But then three weeks ago, I decided to return to public transport.
I had to relearn the routes. And I had to remind myself that public transport is more about transport than comfort. So, I had no right to feel bad about sitting at the back of a danfo, wedged between two grown people lapping someone else.
I also had no right to question the fish seller who brought her catfish along, slowly diminishing the scent of my perfume with that of fresh fish. Just in case, you can’t picture this well enough; I’ll explain in a word—It was chaos. But I’ve persevered, and I’m now going 3 weeks strong!
Until this Friday. I boarded a fancy korope—the fanciest I’ve seen in a while. It was a lucky Friday, I thought. I got the front seat; it’s the only place that shields you from the drama in the back.
I plugged in my headset. The driver turned on the ignition—and unlike most of these buses, hers started on the first try. At the next bus stop, she picked up more passengers. Noticing she was struggling to manage the money and drive, she asked me to help her collect fares.
I grudgingly accepted, took one cup of my headphones out, helped her calculate fares and return change, and got ready to alight in about 60 seconds.
As we got to Newcastle Bus stop, I checked my pockets for my belongings, in my normal fashion, and noticed I was without my phone. I came down and told the driver I was looking for my phone. She abruptly said “Mi ò rí phone o”—and I motioned for the bus to pause for a while I tried calling it.
It rang on the caller’s side, but it was silenced maliciously. I had to let the bus go, as it was morning and other people on the bus needed to get to work.
As it sped off on the express, I noticed my headset signal started to fade until I heard nothing. That’s when it fully sank in: I had just been robbed.
You can probably imagine how the rest of my morning went—but I recovered quickly. Thank God for the Holy Spirit.
Over seven years later, Lagos public transport still gives me stories—some entertaining, some absurd, some painful.
On the bright side, Sometimes, I listen to strangers argue over the tiniest things. For some reason, that chaos brings me amusement that keeps me smiling all morning.
And then, there’s the financial upside, public transport saves me 4x what I’d spend if I were driving. It’s not the best trade-off, sure—but it’s definitely worth considering.
I’ll see you next week. Have a great week ahead.