Once upon a Molue... Exit of the good ‘old’ Molue
In Lagos State, Molue bus is a phenomenon. It is ragged, rugged and jagged, yet very popular. Once boarded, the Molue has a life of its own that is as interesting as staggeringly sobering. Some love it for its affordability, others and foreigners especially, prefer it for the thrills and fun that accompany each trip in it. But with the emergence of Babatunde Fashola as the governor of the state, comes the reign of the Bus Rapid Transit (BRT), a negative signal to the old bull called Molue. FUNMI SALOME JOHNSON examines the two sides of this development.
Where are all the Molue gone? You can hardly find one; they have depleted in number and have obviously gone into extinction. Molue, a contraption of a bus, ragged and jagged was a peculiarity of Lagos State. Washed in yellow colour with two stripes that run across the sides, the bus is ubiquitous. From Obalende, Idumota on the Island; Oyingbo, Yaba, Ojuelegba on the Mainland to the outskirts like Oshodi, Mushin and Agege, the presence of Molue was never hidden. It was the major means of public transport, so loved, not for just its very low cost but other reasons which included the fun and weirdness that go with a ride on it.
Take a shift from its peculiar raggedness, come on board and have a ride. With its roomy nature, the contraption can, at a go, take no fewer than 90 people as passengers. With a row of seats, each taking three on one side and another taking two on the other side each, no fewer than 50 people are guaranteed seats. And for the standing position, the number is countless. In fact, the number of passengers standing is determined by how many people the conductors, who are usually, uncivilised in their approach and guttural in voice, are able to squeeze into one another, so to speak.
It is the peculiarity of the situation in the bus that formed the metaphor of the plights of the ordinary Nigerian people in the song, Suffering and Smiling, by the late Afro beat legend, Fela Anikulapo Kuti.
Inside of it is a different world entirely. It is a life full of real fun and indescribable weirdness, with people of different backgrounds and peculiarities as both audience and participants in the unending and thrilling series of drama that take place in it.
The experiences at the take off points are usually different, depending on the circumstances. A corrupt version of orderliness is often witnessed when the bus stops are not flooded with commuters. This is however not so during the rush hours in the morning or evening. At these periods, boarding Molue is like going to war. Every commuter is seen girding his or her loin, ready for the battle. With about three hundred people struggling to board a contraption which ordinarily is meant for about 50 people, the kind of war that takes place can only be imagined. Stampede would best describe the scene. Men and women, young and old, fall over one another to get into the contraption. And after many must have boarded, with injuries sustained atimes, settling down is a different experience entirely. Men and women standing are packed like sardines.
As though it is the standard, every Molue has one or two drug hawkers on standby. And hardly would the buses move before they take their turn to sell their wares, arrest the attention of their audience and thrill them as the bus takes off. The hawkers or salesmen as they call themselves are apparently trained in the skill of holding the audience spell bound and drawing them out of their shells to actively partake in the whole drama. And before anyone could say Jack Robinson, the salesmen are already loading their pockets with raw cash just as they share the drugs amongst the people. They sell from orthodox drugs to traditional ones. Candies and pamphlets or books are not left out.
Of course, that is just one special feature of the trip on a Molue.
The other one is its role as a place for the cross-fertilisation of ideas. In it, because of the different backgrounds of the commuters, information abounds and is shared very freely. Individuals, especially, prominent citizens and rulers are brought up and appraised. Literarily, they are praised where necessary and condemned and tied to the stake for execution when considered necessary. From the truth to the false; from the credible to the incredulous, ideas and information flow freely in Molue. With different characters on board, some peculiar characters shoot themselves up and dominate the scene. Perhaps the best motto for Molue, if there is the need for one is: Anything can happen.
As a matter of fact, anything happens in Molue; so many things happen in it. It is in the Molue bus that cases of man rubbing his manhood against the bum of a woman standing in his front is reported without shame. It is in the contraption that pickpockets would operate freely and before anyone knows what is happening, he would have alighted. It is in a Molue that a woman once put to bed and suddenly passengers took over the job of midwives, nurses, doctors and even relatives of the woman. It is in a Molue that the conductor, a lord unto himself, would remove the slippers of commuters who might have refused to pay their fare. The list is endless.
Also, God save anyone who has the misfortune of boarding a bad Molue which packs up midway. Once a Molue breaks down, the conductor, who is the custodian of the fares, would naturally evaporate, to avoid paying back part of the fare to the commuters. In that circumstance, the driver, if he has also not disappeared might be in for trouble as the commuters would create a scene all in the bid to get back part of their money. They are often times not successful in the bid.
Returning home with a torn shirt or trousers, no thanks to the jagged parts of the Molue, is not strange to the people of Lagos. In fact, what would be amazing would be to continue to board the bus without any such complaints.
Call it a bitter-sweet experience, and you would not be wrong. The experiences of riding in a Molue are as exciting as they are disgusting. But all put together, they form one memorable experience that would make both the initiated and uninitiated alike want to come back for more.
The experiences of the Molue is now a thing of the past but there is still the BRT which is gradually becoming a Molue in blue and red colours now save for the prepaid tickets.
Effort has been made by the state government led by Raji Fashola to rescue the state from the stranglehold of some transporters playing some tin gods via its luxury buses under the Bus Rapid Transit scheme; the state government has changed the face of transportation in Lagos, making the extinct of Molue, a reality. However, these buses are gradually becoming Molues in other colours.
In March 2008 when the BRT was launched in Lagos, residents believed they had finally bid farewell to the yellow rickety mass transit buses Molue. The euphoria which greeted the introduction of the blue and red buses as they are known is fast fading and in place apprehension and a recollection of one Fela’s songs mentioned earlier Suffering and Smiling comes to mind.
The “49 standing” passengers Fela sympathized with are today, humoured as “standing committees” in BRT buses.
Ola Pius, one of the passengers who spoke held that the major challenge is that of poor maintenance culture which has given rise to the manner and operations of the bus. ‘Most of the buses have lost their posh looks, the seats are worn out without repairs; even where the seats are in shape, they are always dirty and you can’t alight the way you entered. It’s either that your clothe get stained or you sustain an injury. The buses are now usually overloaded reminding one of the old yellow Molues. These buses are now Molues in different colours except that hawking or trading is not allowed and you buy tickets to get in, it is really pathetic but at least it is still a better option to the yellow buses,’ he said.
In Lagos State, Molue bus is a phenomenon. It is ragged, rugged and jagged, yet very popular. Once boarded, the Molue has a life of its own that is as interesting as staggeringly sobering. Some love it for its affordability, others and foreigners especially, prefer it for the thrills and fun that accompany each trip in it. But with the emergence of Babatunde Fashola as the governor of the state, comes the reign of the Bus Rapid Transit (BRT), a negative signal to the old bull called Molue. FUNMI SALOME JOHNSON examines the two sides of this development.
Where are all the Molue gone? You can hardly find one; they have depleted in number and have obviously gone into extinction. Molue, a contraption of a bus, ragged and jagged was a peculiarity of Lagos State. Washed in yellow colour with two stripes that run across the sides, the bus is ubiquitous. From Obalende, Idumota on the Island; Oyingbo, Yaba, Ojuelegba on the Mainland to the outskirts like Oshodi, Mushin and Agege, the presence of Molue was never hidden. It was the major means of public transport, so loved, not for just its very low cost but other reasons which included the fun and weirdness that go with a ride on it.
Take a shift from its peculiar raggedness, come on board and have a ride. With its roomy nature, the contraption can, at a go, take no fewer than 90 people as passengers. With a row of seats, each taking three on one side and another taking two on the other side each, no fewer than 50 people are guaranteed seats. And for the standing position, the number is countless. In fact, the number of passengers standing is determined by how many people the conductors, who are usually, uncivilised in their approach and guttural in voice, are able to squeeze into one another, so to speak.
It is the peculiarity of the situation in the bus that formed the metaphor of the plights of the ordinary Nigerian people in the song, Suffering and Smiling, by the late Afro beat legend, Fela Anikulapo Kuti.
Inside of it is a different world entirely. It is a life full of real fun and indescribable weirdness, with people of different backgrounds and peculiarities as both audience and participants in the unending and thrilling series of drama that take place in it.
The experiences at the take off points are usually different, depending on the circumstances. A corrupt version of orderliness is often witnessed when the bus stops are not flooded with commuters. This is however not so during the rush hours in the morning or evening. At these periods, boarding Molue is like going to war. Every commuter is seen girding his or her loin, ready for the battle. With about three hundred people struggling to board a contraption which ordinarily is meant for about 50 people, the kind of war that takes place can only be imagined. Stampede would best describe the scene. Men and women, young and old, fall over one another to get into the contraption. And after many must have boarded, with injuries sustained atimes, settling down is a different experience entirely. Men and women standing are packed like sardines.
As though it is the standard, every Molue has one or two drug hawkers on standby. And hardly would the buses move before they take their turn to sell their wares, arrest the attention of their audience and thrill them as the bus takes off. The hawkers or salesmen as they call themselves are apparently trained in the skill of holding the audience spell bound and drawing them out of their shells to actively partake in the whole drama. And before anyone could say Jack Robinson, the salesmen are already loading their pockets with raw cash just as they share the drugs amongst the people. They sell from orthodox drugs to traditional ones. Candies and pamphlets or books are not left out.
Of course, that is just one special feature of the trip on a Molue.
The other one is its role as a place for the cross-fertilisation of ideas. In it, because of the different backgrounds of the commuters, information abounds and is shared very freely. Individuals, especially, prominent citizens and rulers are brought up and appraised. Literarily, they are praised where necessary and condemned and tied to the stake for execution when considered necessary. From the truth to the false; from the credible to the incredulous, ideas and information flow freely in Molue. With different characters on board, some peculiar characters shoot themselves up and dominate the scene. Perhaps the best motto for Molue, if there is the need for one is: Anything can happen.
As a matter of fact, anything happens in Molue; so many things happen in it. It is in the Molue bus that cases of man rubbing his manhood against the bum of a woman standing in his front is reported without shame. It is in the contraption that pickpockets would operate freely and before anyone knows what is happening, he would have alighted. It is in a Molue that a woman once put to bed and suddenly passengers took over the job of midwives, nurses, doctors and even relatives of the woman. It is in a Molue that the conductor, a lord unto himself, would remove the slippers of commuters who might have refused to pay their fare. The list is endless.
Also, God save anyone who has the misfortune of boarding a bad Molue which packs up midway. Once a Molue breaks down, the conductor, who is the custodian of the fares, would naturally evaporate, to avoid paying back part of the fare to the commuters. In that circumstance, the driver, if he has also not disappeared might be in for trouble as the commuters would create a scene all in the bid to get back part of their money. They are often times not successful in the bid.
Returning home with a torn shirt or trousers, no thanks to the jagged parts of the Molue, is not strange to the people of Lagos. In fact, what would be amazing would be to continue to board the bus without any such complaints.
Call it a bitter-sweet experience, and you would not be wrong. The experiences of riding in a Molue are as exciting as they are disgusting. But all put together, they form one memorable experience that would make both the initiated and uninitiated alike want to come back for more.
The experiences of the Molue is now a thing of the past but there is still the BRT which is gradually becoming a Molue in blue and red colours now save for the prepaid tickets.
Effort has been made by the state government led by Raji Fashola to rescue the state from the stranglehold of some transporters playing some tin gods via its luxury buses under the Bus Rapid Transit scheme; the state government has changed the face of transportation in Lagos, making the extinct of Molue, a reality. However, these buses are gradually becoming Molues in other colours.
In March 2008 when the BRT was launched in Lagos, residents believed they had finally bid farewell to the yellow rickety mass transit buses Molue. The euphoria which greeted the introduction of the blue and red buses as they are known is fast fading and in place apprehension and a recollection of one Fela’s songs mentioned earlier Suffering and Smiling comes to mind.
The “49 standing” passengers Fela sympathized with are today, humoured as “standing committees” in BRT buses.
Ola Pius, one of the passengers who spoke held that the major challenge is that of poor maintenance culture which has given rise to the manner and operations of the bus. ‘Most of the buses have lost their posh looks, the seats are worn out without repairs; even where the seats are in shape, they are always dirty and you can’t alight the way you entered. It’s either that your clothe get stained or you sustain an injury. The buses are now usually overloaded reminding one of the old yellow Molues. These buses are now Molues in different colours except that hawking or trading is not allowed and you buy tickets to get in, it is really pathetic but at least it is still a better option to the yellow buses,’ he said.
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