Danfo Philosophy: Misery in Yellow & Black
Disclaimer: I may have rephrased some of the words for this story, but it fundamentally stems from the idle chats. The perspectives are fully theirs.
4th of May, 2022.
“Okunrin o raye wa, aye obinrin la n gbe — Men don’t have a life, they are simply living to please women,” the danfo driver said amidst the shrieking of the engine.
Men feel miserable. And they often speak up more than we credit them. Maybe we are simply not attentive enough. Or in truth, we don’t care.
When it is time to observe the day dedicated to men, we’d lift our banner high in solidarity urging them to say literally what they say every time. I think there is more to men than we know, myself included.
Many times, we hear them express what they feel in their numerous jokes at the bar, idle conversations and sometimes in anger when you get on their nerves.
This time, it was in a Danfo bus heading to Ikeja.
A young light-skinned average height lady, who appeared to be in her mid-twenties had, in her attempt to board the bus hit her head, whimpering out in pain while showing her silver-brace teeth.
In that instance, the danfo bus inharmoniously echoed “pele — sorry” in high tempo and low diminuendo. Those were the voices of eleven male passengers, two women and the danfo driver.
Then silence ensued, except for the squealing engine which seemed to be crying for freedom, machine food, or death. Sadly, no one cared. We are Lagosians, and it’s a danfo bus.
After a while on motion, or better still, in traffic. The danfo driver out of nowhere uttered “Okunrin o raye wa, aye obinrin la n gbe.
Referencing the previous incident, he continued, “To ba je okunrin lo fi ori gba, a le ma ran yan. But obirin la so n nipa. Aa raye wa seriously — If it was a man that hit his head, we may simply not care or show much concern. But it is a woman here and we are all nice.”
And then, the wheels of the conversation were unclogged. It was as though the previous statement was a spell to help them break free from their head and speak the truth about what they had inside.
The man seated by my right on the second row who seemed pretty learned replied, “Aye obinrin ni, eè paaro — It is a woman’s world, you didn’t lie.
He proceeded to give an analogy I thought was not necessary, because it dug deeper than the danfo driver comment.
It’s like the Yoruba expression Ki la gbe, ki laju — What did we carry, what did we throw? (In this context, it means a heavy or deeper contribution outside the logic of discussion).
But, it did provide a lens to see through the eyes of these men.
He said, “Women are eggs and men are rocks. The rock isn’t for breaking the egg but for shielding it. And in everything, you are supposed to be unbreakable.
“The eggs can hit the rock, but the rock can’t retaliate. And when the eggs hit the rock and break, the rock is to be blamed. So, men who have been told the same, or similar stories develop tough skins for themselves and every other person.”
While he kept on talking of his philosophical upbringing another man behind blurted out in part “Okunrin ni è — You are a man!”
“Man is synonymous with being tough, invulnerable & brave; the popular consolation maxim is ‘Man up!”He added.
The man seated next to the driver who seemed to have been trying to add a few cents to the conversation but got interrupted many times finally had the floors.
He said, “Obinrin na lo di le mu — Mothers raise the family. Mothers are priceless to their children and deserve to be celebrated every time.
“Unlike men who never had time to build that bond with their children. We are weighed by the instinct of providing for the family’s daily needs. Men like us should do better in raising a family.”
A woman at the left corner of the bus jokingly added, “Gbogbo ojo aje ni ojo ibi awon obinrin — Every Sunday is women’s day.”
The driver burst into hysterical laughter that left me wondering if he was thinking something else, or if it still had to do with the discussion. Everyone joined, myself inclusive. It wasn’t anything anyone said, the driver just had a peal of contagious laughter.
When the laughing gas seemed to have evaporated with the thick smoke from the vehicle, he said, “A gbodo soro ju, won ma ni a ki n soro. Won de ma ma so pe, okunrin o ki n sun ekun. Ki ni gangan won fe fi omi ekun wa se — They accuse us of not speaking up and shedding tears. What exactly do they need our tears and vulnerability for?”
The whole bus burst into another round of laughter.
And while this therapy-like conversation continued amongst the grown men in their mid-late lives throughout the journey, only two women listened with attention and contributed their perspectives. The last lady had her ears fully plugged so I doubt she heard anything. This story however isn’t about them.
The danfo philosophers agreed that a man is often loved for what he offers, and even when it appears as though he has nothing, the little he’s got and his potential is his worth.
They truly believe that women are men’s responsibilities by nature and no matter how much rights and freedom they are given to do everything men can do, they are still eggs that should be shielded by the rocks.
In their view, perhaps the only good thing about being a man is being able to have many women. But that’s not exclusive to the masculine gender, because women can also have many men.
The difference is that one party gets richer from having multiple partners, or admirers. The other party gets poorer for doing the same.
This story recounts a danfo conversation, which may trigger certain perspectives. Kindly engage me in the comment section or tweet at me @d_fahy4.
