Lady Keke Marwa

By Ruona Agbroko
May 30, 2009 06:16PMT

If the world is indeed a place where "what a man can do, a woman can do better", then Lagos is probably the city where "what a man can do...the economic situation is forcing women to do better."
Justina Moshood [pictured], a native of Abbi, Delta State, is one of such women. I arrived at Mushin market to meet her slim frame spread on the tarred road, underneath her commercial tricycle, or Keke Marwa as more widely known.

Undeterred by the blazing midday sun or the peculiar smells of the crowd and fruit being sold nearby, Moshood tinkers with her engine, as grime and grit rapidly turn her nails black.
I move aside each time she emerges to push her Keke Marwa and maintain its place on the queue for passengers. ‘Why don't you just get in?' she points out, as though to a child. ‘My throttle cable is bad' she adds, erroneously assuming I know what a throttle cable is.
As she runs from wheel to bonnet, Mrs. Moshood speaks.

"I was the first woman here. Today we are just three. I started doing the Keke Marwa business two years ago because I was tired of credit. I stopped being a sewing mistress because too many customers owed me money. You know how women can be. In this one, immediately you enter, you pay my fee or you get down," the 42 year-old smiles.

Fear of agberos
Understandably, her husband of 19 years voiced his reservations at first.
"He was afraid of agberos (touts). I told him once you register your route, pay your daily working fare, everything is fine," she said.
With funds from her local thrift society, Mrs. Moshood spent ₦300,000 on getting her tricycle and a further ₦50,000 on vehicle and route registration, as well as a driving instructor. She pays a daily working fare of ₦600 to "our council" but says earning ₦5,000 to ₦3,000 for about eight hours work (6:30 am to 3pm) more than makes up for this.
The only downside is "unnecessary police harassment," she said.
"Definitely my husband is happy about my work. I get home in time to rest, cook and take care of my three children. I have even been interviewed by the BBC, though I don't see that as a big thing...but he did", she chuckles mischievously.
One of the boys
Mrs. Moshood often stops her sentences to exchange greetings (and hilariously lewd jokes) with the men at the park, who she insists "are all my friends."

"They asked me to come and join this route (Mushin to Ilasamaja) from my old route at Iyana-Isolo to Jakande. It is the men who are my passengers that are my biggest headache. Some ask me ‘are you not a woman? What do you need all that money for?'

These are things they would not try with men! Even, a boy as young as my son slapped me twice one early morning because I did not have ₦950 change for his ₦50 fee. That boy will not prosper in life", she curses repeatedly, for the remainder of the interview.

I point out to her that men do have their uses too; a certain Tunde and Ope, her colleagues at the park, are the ones who end up fixing the throttle cable. Moshood revs the engine, gathering enough dust to leave me longing for soap and water. She hurries off with another load of passengers, only sparing time for a distant goodbye wave.