If you’ve ever entered a Danfo bus in Lagos, you’ll know it’s more than just a ride—it’s a whole drama stage. From conductors shouting destinations, to hawkers forcing drinks and gala on your face, to beggars tugging at your emotions, the bus park is always buzzing with chaos.

That morning at Ikeja bus stop, the bus to Obalende was taking forever to fill. I leaned by the window, trying to escape the strange smell inside the bus, when a sweaty guy with a rough appearance and a fresh wound on his arm jumped in and sat right beside me. The stench almost finished me.

As I battled to keep my nose out the window, a beggar with a urine bag tied to his waist suddenly appeared, pleading for help. Lagos is not for the faint-hearted.

Then, just like a scene in a Nollywood movie, she appeared. A beautiful lady in a tight gown that showed her figure eight. Heads turned. She stepped into the bus with grace, frowned at the dirtiness, but sat down anyway. She brought out her sleek Samsung phone, her perfectly designed nails tapping stylishly, while chewing candy like she owned the world.

That was when I noticed a sharp guy who had been standing by the bus door all this time. He had refused to sit inside, pretending to wait for the conductor’s seat. But the moment the fine babe walked in, he swooped in like a hawk and sat right beside her.

Smart move.

At first, she ignored him, hiding behind her earpiece. But the guy didn’t give up. He kept talking, cracking jokes, and asking small questions. She would pull out one earpiece to respond, roll her eyes, then put it back again. But Lagos guys don’t take "no" easily. He pressed on.

Soon, her frown turned into a smile. Then laughter. By the time we reached Obalende, both of them had alighted together, standing by the roadside, exchanging numbers like long-lost lovers.

Sharp guy 1 – Danfo bus 0.

In Lagos, some men don’t just board buses for transport—they enter with a mission.

writer: Samuel Ogunremi