The Last Danfo on Third Mainland Bridge

It was 2:47am on a Tuesday and the Third Mainland Bridge was empty. No traffic, no honking, just the yellow lights reflecting on the water below.

Kemi shouldn’t have been out. She’d missed her last bus after a late shift at the hospital in Yaba. Her phone was at 3% and her last ₦500 had gone to the danfo driver who’d dropped her halfway, saying “engine dey trouble.”

She was walking, slippers in hand, when headlights appeared behind her.

A danfo. Bright yellow, rattling, with “God Is Able” stickered across the back. The driver slowed down beside her.

“Where you dey go this time?” he asked. Yoruba accent, tired but kind.

“Bariga,” Kemi said. “But I no get money.”

The driver opened the door. “Enter. This na my last trip. After this I dey go home sleep.”

Inside, the danfo smelled of old leather and pepper soup. Only one other passenger — an old woman with a basket covered in cloth.

Kemi sat down, clutching her bag. The engine hummed as they crossed the bridge. The city lights looked different at this hour. Peaceful.

Halfway across, the old woman lifted the cloth on her basket. Inside were roasted plantain and akara, still warm.

“Eat,” the woman said, pushing it toward Kemi. “You look like person wey never chop since morning.”

Kemi hesitated. “I don’t have—”

“No payment,” the woman cut in. “Today na free day.”

Kemi ate. It was the best plantain she’d had in months. While she ate, she noticed the driver kept glancing at her through the mirror, not in a weird way, just like he was checking she was okay.

When they got to Bariga, the driver stopped. “This is you.”

Kemi got out, still holding the empty paper from the plantain. “Thank you. How much I owe you?”

The driver waved it off. “Nothing. Just promise me say you go help the next person wey you see stranded like this.”

The old woman smiled from the back seat. “Bridge dey test people at night. Some fail, some pass.”

Then the danfo pulled away, lights fading into the distance.

Kemi stood there for a long time. She checked her phone — it was now 2:48am. But something was off. There were no other cars. No security. The danfo had disappeared like it was never there.

The next day she asked around Bariga park. No one remembered a yellow danfo with “God Is Able” that night. No one recognized the old woman.

But Kemi kept the promise. Six months later, when she saw a stranded student at Ojuelegba at midnight, she stopped her own car and gave him a ride home.