Omo Danfo and his Wife Bus Transport Service
Based on a true life story in the loving memory of Oke Okpa

Things were hard as the Nigerian economy was strangulated more by the kleptomaniacs of the military regime than by economic downturn from the 1980s to the early 1990s .

Oke looked at his sweetheart Nkechi and sighed. She was beautiful and it was her beauty that attracted him to her ten years ago when they met as fellow students at the University of Nigeria, Nsukka. They graduated and did not tarry for long before walking down the aisle to be joined together in holy matrimony. Their wedding day was one of the best days of his life so far. And when their two children were born, he was happier than ever. But now both of them were jobless since they were victims of the mass retrenchment in the country. They were feeling depressed like millions of other poor Nigerians who could not afford even two square meals a day. They were living on their savings, but presently nothing much was left in their bank accounts. She was relaxing on the sofa and using the remote control to select channels on their Sony TV set whilst he was sitting on the rugged floor reading Wole Soyinka’s The Interpreters. Their children Adanma (the girl) and first child and Ndubisi (the boy) were at a nursery school nearby. They would soon go and bring them once it was closing time for the day. Thank God they had a mini bus for their transportation. He sold his other vehicle, a Mercedes Benz saloon car with V-shaped booth to enable them pay the house rent when their landlord threatened to evict them from their lower middle-class three bedroom flat in Surulere. He was earning good salary as a senior reporter at The Guardian in Oshodi and she was also well paid as a marketing manager in a textile firm in Apapa, Lagos. The jobs were good enough to secure their future. But the mass retrenchment took away their good jobs and left them broke and depressed.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Okey said aloud.
Nkech turned to him.

“Why should we starve when we have what can provide our daily bread,” he said.
“Like what?” Nkechi asked.
“Our Volkswagen bus,” Okey replied.
“You want us to sell it?”
“Nope.”
She looked at him, waiting for his explanation.
“We can use it for Danfo,” he said.
“You want those rough Danfo transporters to damage it and later abandon it?” She asked.
“Nope. We are going to drive it ourselves.”
She made a funny face at him and laughed at his suggestion.
“Okey, you are joking.”
“Nope.”
She was still laughing at the suggestion. She was not amused.
“How can two graduates of a premier university turn to driving public transport bus on the streets and roads of the chaotic concrete jungle of Lagos city?” Nkechi asked.
“Well, what else should we do to get out of our financial mess? We cannot continue begging and borrowing for provisions?” Okey said.
“It would be embarrassing to our family, relations, friends, neighbours and others who have known us for years,” Nkechi said rising to her feet.
“Am I living to impress them? Have they given us jobs? What matters most now is to use what we have to earn a living,” Okey said and adjusted his reading glasses.

Nkechi looked at him for a while and grunted.
Okey embraced her and kissed her.
“Darling, there is nothing to be ashamed of. It is our bus and we can use it as we like. In fact, Nigerians with degrees drive taxicabs and buses in the US,” Okey said.
“But not here in Nigeria,” Nkechi said.
“What are you ashamed of?” Okey asked.
“I am afraid of the public embarrassment and harassment Danfo drivers and conductors suffer daily. The motor park and bus stop thugs and touts harass them over levies and the police harass them to extort money from them. The risks are frightening,” Nkechi said.
She said driving public transport buses was meant for school dropouts and the less privileged people who would not be doing so if they had better education for better employment.

“I have seen people who have raised their families and built their homes from driving Danfo buses in Lagos. What of Papa Nduka who trained two of his sons in the university with the money he made from his Danfo and one of them is now a medical doctor,” Okey said. “Nkech, we can try.”
She sighed and nodded in agreement.
Okey glanced at the wall clock in the living room.
“Let’s go and bring the kids,” he said.

They slept over it. They agreed to drive the bus after the normal morning school run and they would need to employ a housemaid to take care of Adanma and Ndubisi after school when they would drive until 6 pm from Monday to Saturday. Okey had to get a commercial bus transport permit from the local government and joined the nearest branch of the National Union of Road Transport Workers (NURTW) after winning the sympathies of the key leaders.

Their first outing was fascinating as commuters at the various bus stops reacted to the husband and wife driving Danfo in Lagos. Okey was the driver and Nkechi was the bus conductor who collected the transport fare from the passengers and announced the name of every bus stop aloud. Some could not help making fun of them, but many passengers were impressed by their humility.
“Na condition make crayfish bend,” Okey said in pidgin English, that the loss of their formal office jobs compelled them to use their mini bus for public transport.
“Why not give it to the NURTW to run it for you?” asked one of the passengers.
“Our bus will be better managed in our control,” Okey replied.

They ran into many people who knew them and one of his old boys jokingly called him Omo Danfo and his wife bus transport service. Okey always grinned and shrugged in amusement.

They were harassed and embarrassed on many occasions, but they continued and prayed for divine intervention until Nkechi got a big contract that turned things around for them.

nice story
but when did she get time to bid for contract when she was busy playing bus conductor?