Rachael Kyte, a former vice president of the World Bank, once named Lagos State as one of the cities with the most developed public transport systems. It was in a 2012 interview, and even then, as it is now, Kyte’s position rings like that of one who has never visited Lagos. Because good means easy and convenient to use, fast, safe, clean and affordable, the city’s residents would hardly agree that Lagos’ trademark yellow and black-striped rickety Volkswagen T3 vans, more popularly referred to as danfo, are good public transportation.
But when she describes the key features of such system as the integration of multiple technologies such as metro rail, light rail, Bus Rapid Transit (BRT) and basic bus services with a common ticket or fare card that serves all the systems and makes it easy for passengers to transfer from one mode to the other, then she isn’t exactly incorrect.
Lagos State has developed a multimodal transport system over the years with its BRT, LRT and ferry services using a common-access card, even if at an incredibly slow pace. Nonetheless, its continuous-teeming population of over 20 million overwhelms all progress and renders the infrastructure grossly insufficient, leaving private operators to not just fill the gap but dominate the state’s public transportation system.
“The rise and dominance of the informal transport sector is a grass-roots response to the state’s deficient infrastructure,” a top official of the state’s ministry of transportation said. They added that it was due to decades of government abdicating its responsibility to private citizens.
And as Kyte rightly said, the problem with having a large number of private operators dominating public transportation is that it makes room for poor quality services, which endanger the public and the environment.
In Lagos State, the dangers are rife and evident. The danfo is a disaster in manifestation, and the government is in a losing war trying to phase it out.
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FIGHTING A LOSING WAR
2017 was when the Lagos State government first announced its intention to ban danfo. Akinwunmi Ambode, the governor at the time, said the buses’ presence interfered with his dream of ensuring that Lagos realised its potential as a true megacity.
Less than a month after his announcement, he retracted the ban. Drivers, conductors, agberos (thugs responsible for collecting taxes from commercial bus drivers in the unregulated transport sector) and their umbrella National Union of Road Transport Workers (NURTW) pushed back, and the state decided that instead of banning them outrightly, they would ‘upgrade danfo’ to air-conditioned buses that meet international standards.
Two years later, in 2019, the state government launched the Bus Reform Initiative (BRI), a plan to introduce 5,000 air-conditioned commercial buses to replace danfo buses. It was a three-year initiative scheduled from 2019 – 2021, and the government recorded only minute success. By the second quarter of 2021, only 100 buses had been deployed for the First and Last Mile (FLM) route out of a target of 300.
Meanwhile, the state government’s goal was to introduce about 2000 of such buses in the first phase of the scheme to replace danfo, tricycles and motorcycles in eight zones across the state. FIJ visited Zone 1, 2, and 3, and found that danfo, mini-buses, and tricycles still dominated the areas.
The French Development Agency (AFD)’s first supervision report of the period in review stated that one of the difficulties encountered while implementing the project was civil works drawdown resulting from trying to meet Environmental and Social Impact Assessment (ESIA) and Resettlement Action Plan (RAP) conditions.
While the report did not explicitly state what constituted social impact, the report aligned with the ministry’s official report stating that talks with stakeholders result in delay of projects because of non-alignment with state vision.
In 2017, when the state tried to ban danfo, drivers gloated about how the state could never take off their buses from the streets because they were the lifewire of the state’s public transit. A protest broke out in several parts of the state, the NURTW assured drivers of a resolution, and while they were in talks with the government and promised to comply with the government’s regulations in line with the state’s transportation goals, it ended up being lip service.
An agbero at one of the parks, who only agreed to speak anonymously, said their union was only interested in the taxes collected from drivers, and did not concern itself with whether the buses registered with them were in roadworthy conditions. “Otherwise why will we be allowed to use force and violence to collect taxes? It is because the taxes are the prize,” he said, adding that the government was not serious about changing the system because they benefited from it. “They cannot claim to want to change the operations of the union and the system while they continue to hire us to do their biddings.”
Hence, while there are obvious answers like money changing hands between danfo drivers and officials of the regulatory bodies charged with ensuring their roadworthiness, there also exists integral reasons like the empowerment of non-state actors and the weakening of state powers.
It is why although there are regulations in place to take unroadworthy vehicles off the road, danfo will continue to enjoy some form of immunity.
ROADWORTHINESS CERTIFICATE
In 2017, when the Lagos State Vehicle Inspection Service (LASVIS) adopted its computerised vehicle inspection model which mandated all drivers to bring their vehicles to their centres for a physical inspection to be issued a roadworthiness certificate, a certificate which determined whether or not a vehicle was fit to ply the roads and without which a vehicle should not be on the road, rumours started circulating that danfo buses were not being inspected for roadworthiness.
In defence, however, the VIS posted photos of a danfo undergoing inspection.
Yet, among the 20 danfo drivers FIJ interviewed for this report, and across three different parks, only three drivers had a roadworthiness certificate, and of the three, only one of them was yet to expire.
Ajayi Haruna (not real name), an elderly driver in one of the city’s busiest motorpark said you could count all the drivers who owned a driver’s license at the park on one palm. While he may have exaggerated, almost every driver FIJ spoke with did not have their complete papers, and the roadworthiness certificate was especially absent even though it only costs N7,500.
Haruna himself did not have one. The reason was not far-fetched. Most of the buses were not roadworthy, and an attempt to take it for inspection in their current state would result in the seizure of their buses, said Adekunle Tunde, another driver.
“The problem is the fine that comes with failing to renew your documents on time. Many drivers in this park do not even have a driver’s license or other relevant documents, and all these things carry a fine. When you think of it, it is better to just manage it like that and settle ourselves on the road,” he said.
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He was not in this category. His bus was relatively new and his roadworthiness certificate had just recently expired. He knew that he would be fined for conducting his business with an expired certificate, but it wasn’t so much that it was insurmountable. That was not the case for most drivers. The real fear, according to Tunde, was having his car impounded until he fixed it. That costs a lot of money, he said.
Jude Abass, another driver, said taking a vehicle for inspection was too risky. While he complained about the rise in cost of the certificate, from about N3,500 in previous years to the current price, it was the least of his contention with the process.
“There is no danfo driver that has not violated one traffic rule or the other,” he said. “And all these their (VIS) cameras that they installed on the roads must have captured you at least one time.”
“The penalty fees for some of these infractions are as high as N20,000. Some others are N10,000. If somebody has defaulted about 10 times, that is about N200,000.”
He also said the automated inspection system adopted by the VIS made sure that nothing was left unchecked. “If one bolt is unscrewed or loose, the machine will beep and identify it. VIS officer will ask you to go fix it. After fixing, you will still pay another inspection fee to check if everything is in place before you will be finally issued a certificate.”
To the drivers, the regulatory officers are problematic for wanting to ensure their safety. Money is the priority and anything else is a hassle, including keeping their buses in good conditions.
Sadly, even residents have caught the safety-complacency fever. Instead of terror, they speak of their experiences in danfo with amusement. Years of being subject to such hazardous system has desensitised them to the always present dangers of commuting in a danfo. They have become accustomed to, as Nietzsche would say, living dangerously.
Oluwayemi Haruna, a Lagos resident, reported how she once boarded a dancing danfo. Every time the driver took a turn or braked, it swayed the passengers side to side and they violently crashed against the bus.
“The seats were not bolted properly, and the bus did not have a shock absorber. We were all over the place that day,” she said, before finishing with “to be honest, you kind of get used to them” like she had not just described the prequel to a fatal accident.
Olufunmilayo Obadofin used a similar expression after describing how the door of a bus she once boarded fell off while in motion. She recalled that after multiple failed attempts to strap the door to the bus with a piece of clothing, the conductor flung the door onto the roof of the bus and they moved along like nothing out of place had happened, but after many more life-threatening rides, you get used to them and stop considering them as abnormal, she said.
In a lot of ways, this formed the basis for this report — How Nigeria’s mega city came to rely on unregulated, frail and life-threatening commercial vehicles as the backbone of its mass transit; how the system, with its evident dangers, continues to thrive under the watch of regulatory bodies like the VIS and the Federal Road Safety Corps (FRSC); and who ensures its continuity.
DANFO: LAGOS’ MASS TRANSIT LIFELINE
So the first time I rode on Alabi Segun’s bus, it was to see firsthand how drivers with rickety buses navigated the FRSC and VIS checkpoints without disturbance. We went on a total of six trips that day and only drove past FRSC officials twice as we approached the Ketu area of the state. We would do this two more times and even make funny stops when we noticed some of the officials stationed in front. But we never got in their crosshairs.
Before we set out on the first day, Segun had already told me that they did not bother with danfo buses. So even though Segun’s bus was, well, quite special as danfo buses are wont to be, it did not garner much attention from the regulatory bodies on the road.
Although in truth, Segun’s bus was in great condition compared to many danfo in the city.
Great condition being that although its yellow and black colours were still vibrant, and the door and windows were fitted properly, and without gaping holes, or an unbroken windshield, and an exhaust pipe that didn’t purge thick black fumes, opening the door to the passenger seat in front still required a special je ne sais quoi. Often, Segun opened and closed it for passengers himself. On the inside, it was bare; the pulleys and levers that made it functional were on display. The passenger seat next to Segun’s was a blue plastic chair (made in Nigeria), and the seatbelt was tied to the seat in a knot such that passengers would toss it over their heads rather than simply buckle – save time, not life.
Still, his bus belongs to the finer spectrum of danfo in the megacity of Lagos.
There are worse kinds — like the one that I boarded on the final leg of this story. Its body was dented, and the door hung to the rest of the bus by sheer will of the conductor; you’ll see the asphalt roll by from the space between the door and the bus as it moves. The door had no windows, and passengers steamed from the heat of an engine pulsing beneath the boot while clutching to the seats as they were falling apart in unity.
But Segun had already informed me that VIO and FRSC officials did not pay much attention to danfo drivers on the road.
“It was before that they disturbed us a lot,” he said. “Now, they only stopped danfo buses when they carried excessive goods. They focused more on private vehicles.”
The reason for this was that they got more money from private vehicles, an ex-FRSC officer would later confirm to FIJ. Even when drivers of bad danfo buses were apprehended, they could keep their vehicles if they played their cards right.
At the ministry of transportation, staff would further confirm this. “The government is in a bind,” they told me. “We cannot impound these buses because the unions hold sway in the form of political patronage, and these people are ready to lose their lives to protect their buses. They are not thinking in alignment with the state’s vision for the transportation sector.”
“For the past one year, we have been in talks with stakeholders to build a Bus Rapid Transit (BRT) lane for the CMS-Obalende-Ajah area of the state and we have barely made any progress. It took about six months to move a step forward, and another six to move again. At this pace, the state still has a long way to go, and the truth is that the government’s hands are tied,” a source at the ministry said.
This story was produced with support from the Wole Soyinka Centre for Investigative Journalism (WSCIJ) under the Collaborative Media Engagement for Development Inclusivity and Accountability project (CMEDIA) funded by the MacArthur Foundation
