The daredevils who keep Lagos moving

National Geographic

5 days ago

Many in Lagos, Nigeria, use motorcycle taxis known as okadas to get around the sprawling city. In a self-portrait, photographer and National Geographic Explorer Victor Adewale (center) also captures his mother and his father, who is a former okada driver. Photographs by Victor Adewale
The fabric of Lagos, Nigeria, is delicately strung together: The megacity spills from the mainland onto several islands in a lagoon that brushes against the Atlantic Ocean. It covers an area of about 1,300 square miles, and many Lagosians navigate the sprawling landscape on the back of a motorcycle taxi, or okada. Their daredevil drivers, called riders, zigzag through congested streets, dodging potholes and pedestrians as both rider and passenger—or, in some cases, multiple passengers—try to stay upright and unharmed. Public transportation here can be inefficient, and roads can be difficult to maneuver on foot. Okadas 'solve a crucial problem that the government has been unable to solve for years,' says photographer and National Geographic Explorer Victor Adewale, who was born and raised in Lagos.
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Some see okadas as a menace. Local officials claim riders are responsible for a large portion of Lagos's traffic accidents, and robberies are often committed by people on motorcycles. To improve road safety, bureaucrats have banned commercial motorcycles from bridges, highways, and many other parts of the city.
In 2019, the government launched the Bus Reform Initiative, which has deployed hundreds of new buses along dozens of routes across the region. That hasn't decreased the population's appetite for okadas, which are still widely used to ferry commuters to neighborhoods the buses can't reach. 'Everybody you see on the streets is riding in defiance of the ban because they don't have another option,' Adewale says. Traditionally, the motorcycles have been the cheapest choice for passengers—some rides cost the equivalent of less than a U.S. dollar—and have provided a reliable living for those who drive them in a city where wages can be hard to come by. 'I am still riding because my job as a mechanic is not bringing in the income I need on time,' says Oluwafemi Ipadeola, a friend of Adewale's father who has driven okadas for over 20 years to pay for his children's education. Fares are beginning to rise as riders factor in the risk of getting caught.
Enforcement of the ban is uneven, but residents still operating okadas are vulnerable and face harassment from police, who frequently arrest riders and demand extortion payments in exchange for confiscated motorcycles. 'People pay as much as 90,000 naira [$57] to get their motorcycle back,' Adewale says. 'Sometimes they don't get it back. Sometimes they have to watch it get crushed.' The government has impounded and destroyed thousands of okadas, a devastating blow. The motorcycles are expensive—up to 33 times the median annual salary in Lagos—and riders frequently buy them in installments.
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Riders haven't taken the ban lying down. Numerous protests have led to clashes with police, and at least one okada union has filed a lawsuit against the government, seeking both a repeal of the ban and lost wages.
Adewale's opinion of okadas has changed over the years. When he was a boy, his father, who rode okadas for 25 years, used the same bike to take the family to church and the market, and to drop off Adewale and his brother at school. His whole family rode on the back of the motorcycle, which was a marker of lower social class. At the time, he felt ashamed and would get off the okada a short distance from school so his classmates wouldn't see him. But that shame has now evolved into pride as Adewale has watched the riders navigate these new challenges: 'They refuse to be erased from the city.' The government recently banned okadas, citing safety concerns. Undeterred, the drivers, who are known locally as riders, still line up each day in search of work. Along the median of one of Lagos's major expressways, okada riders beckon to potential passengers. They must compete with drivers of small three-wheeled vehicles called kekes and mini buses called danfos that also shepherd people through the city's snarled traffic. Kehinde Ogunjimi and his family sit atop an okada. Riders work long shifts—sometimes up to 12 hours—to make ends meet. Kilanko Lukumonu manages an okada park, a dedicated location where riders pick up passengers. A rider might make around 120,000 naira ($78) a month. Linus Igwe, seen here with his three children, used to sell shoemaking materials to cobblers. That work dried up, and he's since made a living riding okadas. Anodere Abigail Adaku began riding to support her four daughters and save up for a small car. Many okada riders use the job to supplement their income. Oluwafemi Ipadeola, shown here with his family in their apartment in Lagos, also works as a mechanic. Before the ban, okada riders were issued daily permits that allowed them to operate. Rider Abdulrasaq awaits passengers. Okada riders congregate along a roadway, looking for work. Several tech companies have launched ride-hailing apps in an attempt to disrupt the motorcycle taxi industry, but few have gained traction. In Mushin, a suburb of Lagos, the okada ban is strictly enforced, and both operators and passengers have been jailed. Riders often travel on side roads to avoid detection by police. This story appears in the September 2025 issue of National Geographic magazine.
The nonprofit National Geographic Society, committed to illuminating and protecting the wonder of our world, funded the work of National Geographic Explorer and photographer Victor Adewale. Learn more about the Society's support of Explorers.
Photographer Victor Adewale documented the motorcyclists in his home city of Lagos, Nigeria. An Explorer since 2024, Adewale often trains his camera on those working in the informal economy. This is his first piece for the magazine.