The Yellow Bus Experience

I want to take you on a ride. My earnings are low at the moment, so I won’t be able to provide you a comfortable ride in an Uber. Why are my earnings low at the middle of the month, you wonder. It is because I have spent it all on transporting myself to and from work.

Transport is not so expensive, or is not supposed to be. However, in an overly populated state, with bad roads, a hike in fuel price and poor operation of Lagos State Traffic Management and other road safety officials (which has led to long lasting hold-ups), “bus drivers” have been forced to hike transport fares. The two hundred and fifty naira fare to Yaba where I work doubled lately and my employers have no plans to increase my salary. The essence of my long story is that we will have to “jump bus”. Not just any bus, but ‘danfo’ (the bigger ones, they are cheaper).

The look on your face, you are wondering what that is. You are smiling as the cool air blows against your face; the weather is pleasurable today. But your smile doesn’t last long enough, as it soon turns into a frown or rather, confusion. You are confused as to why a big ugly bus approaches us; a big yellow bus with three black stripes running through the middle of it. You are more confused as to why you are now on the ground. Why the people who are struggling to enter have pushed you to the ground. You wonder if there are no queues or if there is some form of order. Well, no. That only works with the BRT (Bus Rapid Transit), I say. But not out loud.

You get up and dust your clothes—surprise! The only seats left are the ones near the door. Don’t worry. I would sit by the door while I allow you sit comfortably between me and the old woman who has two children mounted firmly on her laps, each of them comfortably occupying one lap. You are wondering why this bus is so crooked. Why the seats which should be comfortable have been replaced with wooden structures. Welcome to Nigeria, the yellow bus; Where comfort(the normal seats in the bus) is replaced with discomfort and never ending excuses(the wooden structure) from the government.

A dark-skinned man in an ‘adire’ top patched on different sides with different colours of thread, and a jean like one who had been under a bad car for hours, approached us. He removes the stick which he has in his mouth and says, in a rather loud tone, “Bros abeg, if you no wan enter, comot here.” You seem surprised by his rude tone and he catches you as you scan him from head to toe and he whispers, “Why this one wey dress like ashawo dey look me? Enter bus joor.” Everybody in the bus hears how rude he is being to you, but for some reason, they stay silent.

Phase One, that’s the conductor. He is like every other Nigerian who has his own problems; mistreating others in a bid to ease off utter frustration. The people who stayed silent? That’s still us, Nigerians. We watch silently until all of it escalates. We pass by as the drunk harasses the girl. We ignore as the policeman harasses the young boy for driving a good-looking car. Some people even make videos, but never defend the girl or the boy. I heard him call you an “ashawo”, which means prostitute, but I stayed silent. I am sorry.

We enter the bus and you see the driver connect two different wires together instead of using a key. You do not feel safe, I can tell from your facial expression. You wonder why he doesn’t have a key. You see sparks when both wires come together and you close your eyes tightly. Fear not, the bus wouldn’t explode. Right here, hazardous methods are taken without precautionary measures and without the thoughts about human life. As long as the bus moves, no one cares how it moves. As long as the country moves, whether forward or backward, the government doesn’t care how that happens.

I know you wonder why this rude conductor is hanging by the door, and no, he is not doing it to protect me from falling out of the bus. It is just a, I don’t know, ‘norm’. Not every ‘norm’ is normal behaviour here. The bus grinds to a halt and the conductor comes down and closes the door. You wonder if he got uncomfortable. No, he didn’t. He is going to hide in the ‘boot’. You see him do that and at this point, you know being surprised isn’t worth it at all. You smile and I nod. You are getting a hang of it, that’s lovely.

The conductor is hiding in the boot at the moment. Why? Because it makes it easy for the driver to by-pass the men in green (they are called the National Union of Road Transport Workers), who will collect money from him. This is Phase Two, the driver. He is like any other Nigerian citizen who dodges paying tax. Why? Because ‘we no dey see the money at all’. The men in green are the people we pay taxes to, They use our monies for their personal use, while we suffer with…

The bus goes into a very deep hole and out. You hold yourself tightly, trying to maintain your stamina and not fall…yes, that’s it…While we suffer with bad roads, low electricity and every bad service in between. Why pay for something you will never benefit from?

But we seem to be unlucky. A man in green jumps right in front of us. He holds the driver by his collar and forces one hundred naira out of his hand. You are wondering why he was so aggressive over just one hundred naira. Welcome to another Phase; my country is the most complicated maze. The man in green is the government, they are bullies. They extort from the poor and helpless and they do it by force.

As we go, the conductor comes back to hang by the door. It is the first stop. “Oga, my fifty naira change,” a woman says as she alights from the bus. The conductor throws it in her face; unprovoked and says, “Na because of fifty naira you wan attack me?”. Now, we are all witnesses to this and we have no idea why he is feeling threatened by the woman asking for what is rightfully hers. He is a definition of people who misuse power because they are afraid the power bestowed on them is not enough. People who have authority but still feel deprived. People like the Nigerian Police, who feel threatened by placards and cardboard papers. They say, “Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely,” but in fact, power and absolute power both corrupt absolutely. The Nigerian Police shot at citizens during peaceful protests and even killed a lot of people, because the guns in their hands are a symbol of their own power. They bullied us, traded bullets for lives. A gory show of “Who strong pass?”

The bus moves to continue its journey, but now, it makes funny noises. I assume you are scared. I am, too. The bus tire has deflated. Must be because of the bad roads. But the bus driver doesn’t stop, because the final bus stop is three bus stops away. He passes about two vulcanizers and the people in the bus are getting uncomfortable.

“Driver, abeg pump your tire now. This is dangerous,” a passenger said.

“If you no wan stay for the bus, abeg comot dey go,” the driver said.

Welcome to Phase Four. At this point, the driver is the Nigerian government. He holds the steering wheel, so he makes the rules here. And as the government called us, he wouldn’t listen to miscreants. He would prefer to ruin the bus (which by now you would have realized, is a metaphor for our country, Nigeria) than to stop and get the deflated tire pumped. After all, we have all paid our transport fares. The government would rather do nothing than do something and watch the country grow.

The woman cried out again and this time, others spoke up with her. “Driver, na! Wetin be all these ones na? Na just to pump tire oh! How much to pump tire? just fifty naira!”

There were murmurings in the bus and the driver came to a halt. Not at the final bus stop, but rather two bus stops away. “Oya, una wey wan come down, come down. If una no fit endure till we reach Yaba, make all of una come down abeg,” he said.
You are surprised; welcome to Nigeria. This is the typical Nigerian government, they do nothing. They want you to endure through it all and stay silent; even when your life is at risk. And when you do speak up, they bully you into staying silent. For instance, they ordered the Nigerian army to shoot at protesters for carrying out a peaceful protest and till date, no one has taken responsibility for the shootings. Instead, they lie their way out, threaten citizens by freezing their accounts and arrest protesters without granting them bail.

A policeman ahead notices the halted bus and approaches us. “Why aren’t you moving?” he asks.

“We no know oh,” the passengers replied.

We thought he would help us convince the driver to pump his tire since he was a government authority. But the policeman starts whispering and you wonder what he is talking about. The driver seems very reluctant at first and then the policeman raises his gun up a little and the driver brings out two hundred naira and gives it to the man. The policeman waves at us as he leaves. Of course, it’s the Nigerian police. Your pocket’s friend, as opposed to yours.

“Make una manage, ehn,? You go soon reach your bus stop,” he says out loud, then smiles and turns away.

For the first time throughout the ride, you say, “No matter who is powerful, there is someone to whom he is a footstool. There is someone more powerful. The once powerful driver who held the steering wheel is less powerful than the policeman who holds a gun.”

And you are right. Power pass power. For instance, the Nigerian government is so powerful. Yet, the government officials are puppets of “Jagaban.”

The bus continues its journey with a flat tire. And yes, we all endure it.