Why Nigeria’s ‘Danfo’ Bus Drivers Might Be The Craziest And Most Skilled Drivers On The Planet

I recently woke up to learn that the Oxford English Dictionary has expanded its lexicon in the latest update to include 20 Nigerian words. One of those words is “Danfo,” the most popular–albeit unofficial–mass transit in Lagos. It’s about time. These minibusses have been around for as long as I can remember. I already knew about them before actually seeing one. Scratch that, before seeing trillions of them on my first visit to Lagos.

They originally came in the form of Volkswagen Kombi vans during the 1960s and quickly took over the city’s narrow streets and high-traffic areas. It didn’t take long for the thing to become a staple of Lagos and its de facto public transport system.

Danfo’s resilience in the face of existential threats underscores its indispensability. This resilience mirrors the unkillable nature of the T3 Volkswagen Transporters that are used as Danfo. Yep, you’re right to wonder how an approximately five-decade-old German machine maintains a tenacious grip on Nigeria’s most advanced metropolitan area.

The Transporter Came, Saw, And Conquered

The Lagos State government has never been one to be overwhelmed by anything, except when it comes to the Danfo’s stubborn, ubiquitous presence in the state.

We’re talking about a government that manages a population of around 21 million people, which grows by roughly 3,000 daily. A government that sent waves of protesting youths scurrying back to their homes by shooting them dead in the open. This microbus, painted yellow with black stripes, somehow manages to tame the powers that be.

They are everywhere and ply routes far beyond where the bigger buses make berth. It’s a colorful symbol of the persistence, tenacity, and resilience that defines the hotheaded people who live in Lagos. Before Danfo’s arrival, there were bigger buses that took forever to get a full passenger load. This matters because those buses never left their terminals until every seat was filled or something close to that, wasting commuters’ time.

So, when the smaller VW Kombi showed up with a mere 14-passenger capacity, it immediately got nicknamed “Kiakia Bus” (which means ‘Quick Bus’ in Yoruba) because it filled faster, and moved faster, too. “Kiakia” evolved into “Danfo” around the time Volkswagen introduced the T3 (third generation) during the 1980s.

Yup, Lagos is probably the only place where the Type 2 “Splitscreen” expanded from 9 passengers to a 14-passenger capacity. It’s been over six decades since the Danfo came, saw, and conquered Lagos against many odds.

Why 14 seats? The drivers rearranged and added extra seats to maximize profit, with four passengers for each seat. They even squeeze two passengers in the front passenger seat when LASTMA (Lagos State Traffic Management Agency) officials aren’t looking.

Like “Kiakia,” “Danfo” is Yoruba for “floating” or “flying.” Whoever came up with that nickname understood, like every Lagosian does, that speed, impatience, and aggressiveness are the prerequisites for being a Danfo driver.

It only has around 112 horsepower but you can hear the wailing of the engine from afar because the driver literally flattens the pedal to the metal at all times. You’d think that a reputation for stripping stark naked in public and getting violent when stopped for traffic offenses would make people think twice about trusting such drivers with their lives.

The Man Behind The Wheel

On graduating high school in 2004, Aridunnuoluwa Adeola Emmanuel moved to Lagos where he started off working as a busboy (known in the country as bus conductors). His job entailed collecting fares from passengers, assisting with boarding and disembarking, and fighting said passengers, fighting other agberos (fare collectors), and even crossing swords with his own driver when the occasion called for it.

He did this for two solid years and would have probably never graduated to “driver” had the boss not gotten ill, leaving him no choice but to muster the courage to hit the road behind the wheel of a Danfo. “I was scared at first,” he says, “but I took the courage to start driving.”

For context, Aridunnuoluwa did not need the courage to drive a van. He needed the courage to drive a Danfo – in Lagos, the sort of courage you’d need to compete in Death Race. You’d think this an exaggeration, but the condition of these buses says otherwise. Just look at them. The typical Danfo is a war rig and it seems there’s no better model for this Mad Max-worthy madness than the T3 Transporter.

“Let me explain one thing to you,” Aridunnuoluwa tells me, “Driving Danfo in Lagos is one of the craziest professions. If you see any man driving Danfo in Lagos, he can drive anywhere in the world. If you can drive a Danfo, I can assure you that you can drive any vehicle anywhere in the whole world.”

When asked what motivates Danfo drivers to strip butt-naked when confronted by traffic officials, Aridunnuoluwa says simply, “It’s really a form of protest but also not a form of protest.” If this sounds crazy, then I guess he’s vindicated.

It’s The T3 Or Nothing

It’s not like the Type 2 Volkswagen Transporter had no worthy competitors or that it was the best Lagos could do. It just so happened that the T3 had become as iconic as the black cab in London or New York’s Ford “yellow medallion” Crown Victoria. New kids are free to show up as long as they don’t mind sharing the block with the old hand. The Danfo is T3 and T3 is Danfo.

The state government and private entities introduced numerous alternatives they hoped would retire or at least help phase out the ugly, embarrassing “old hand.” Instead, the T3 remains the king of Lagos roads.

Sure, there are the Mercedes-Benz Marcopolo buses used for the state’s BRT (Bus Rapid Transit) system, complete with airconditioned cabins (in some models), dedicated lanes, and digital payment solutions. Still, the 55,000-strong BRT fleet hasn’t been able to tame the Danfo tide. Not even the ID. Buzz, which is an evolutionary model of the classic Volkswagen Kombi, can wear the Danfo’s hat.

The T3, produced from 1979 to 1992, is nearly fifty years old and offers virtually zero modern safety features. Not even a driver or passenger airbag to speak of. The interior is reduced to nothing but metal and you’d be hard-pressed to find one in new enough condition to still have any protective rubber or plastic claddings in the cabin. You see junk; I see a diehard transporter.

It’s possible to live in Lagos for a year and never meet a Danfo with the headrests or roof paddings still intact. In some cases, you could observe the driveshaft through the hole from which the gear shifter protrudes.
The ache you feel in your rear barely five minutes after boarding the vehicle is because the factory-installed chairs (in some models) have been stripped and replaced with bench-style slabs of wood lined with metal. Heck, I’ve seen a Danfo with standalone plastic chairs for seats.

All this to say that the Danfo does not dominate Lagos because it is cutting-edge or particularly competitive on its own merit but because it’s a cultural symbol deeply ingrained in Lagos consciousness. Music videos and commercial ads celebrate the Danfo over nicer, more modern alternatives for this reason.

The Heart Of An Icon

The T3 Transporter comes with a variety of engines, including the 1.6-liter / 1.9-liter / 2.0-liter air-cooled H4, 2.1-liter water-cooled inline-5, and even a 1.6-liter turbocharged diesel inline-4. These engines are easy to maintain and the lack of electronics means fewer expensive components to break and need expensive repairs.

I was lucky that Aridunnuoluwa talked to me because the others wouldn’t. Not unless there was cash involved.

Thankfully, Ari is a goldmine of information. “Danfo motor (vehicle) problems are mostly carburetor issues,” he tells me. “If you’re driving any vehicle, you’re supposed to be the first mechanic.”

Don’t I know it.

VW did offer the T3 with options like air-conditioning, radio, and cassette player. The thing is most of these buses on Lagos roads don’t have such luxuries as a radio and certainly none has air-conditioning. Nonetheless, Dnfo rules Lagos because it is the cheapest and most accessible of all the integrated public transport systems. Their discomfitingly crowded cabins offer a unique glimpse into the Nigerian way of life.

Adapt Or Face Obsolescence?

The natural order stipulates evolution or obsolescence, but there’s no such ultimatum for the Danfo because it is an icon representing something far greater than itself. Like a visual shorthand for broader concepts and movements. It’s been a while since the Danfo has weathered multiple existential storms from multiple fronts.

It is at the center of the Lagos State Government’s Bus Reform Initiative. Its aim of phasing out the outdated Volkswagen T3 Transporters in favor of more modern and regulated mass transit options like the Lagos Light Rail, BRT, and e-ticketing systems has largely failed.

Apparently, it’s not the Danfo that needs to evolve to meet modern demands, it’s the demand that needs to evolve. The novelty of rail mass transit and e-ticketing is lost on Lagosians who are highly distrustful of change and incredibly resistant to the same. More so, the people care more about omnipresence and affordability than airconditioned cabins.

Throughout history, gentrification has always been the enemy of tradition. What might seem like the incidental next volley in the government’s arsenal is the Lagos State Transport Sector Reform Law, 2018 prohibiting the use of slogans, stickers, and photos on commercial vehicles.

On the surface, this law targets advertisements on vehicles without a permit, but there’s no telling how the enforcers choose to interpret a photo or slogan on a vehicle. Aridunnuoluwa tells me there’s no such law. Which means no one is bothering Danfo drivers about it.

It may not seem like it, but a law like this, inspired by gentrification, can have a better chance of killing the Danfo over time than trying to forcefully replace them with modern models.

Why? Banning the stickers and colorful slogans with which drivers decorate their buses eats away at the very heart of what makes the Danfo culture unique. It has the power to gradually erode what the Danfo represents besides conveying people and goods from point A to point B cheaply and in familiar maximum discomfort.

The thing is, irrespective of the government’s intentional and unwitting moves to strangle the Danfo just so the city can look less embarrassing to visitors, the transition hasn’t been as smooth as the government hoped.

That’s thanks to high demand and the deep-rooted presence of the yellow bus in the city’s transport ecosystem.

It’s not that gentrification is a dirty word. What’s at stake here is a complex issue balancing modernization with the practical needs of everyone who calls Lagos home.

All photos by the author