In the bustling heart of Nigeria’s cities and the quiet corners of its rural landscapes, one mode of transport has stood out as both a savior and a source of concern—Keke NAPEP, also known as maruwa or the tricycle. Loved for its affordability and agility, yet criticized for its recklessness and lack of regulation, this three-wheeled vehicle has become a symbol of the modern African transport paradox.
A Vehicle for the People
Introduced under Nigeria’s National Poverty
Eradication Programme (NAPEP) in the early 2000s, Keke NAPEP was meant to
empower jobless youth and provide a cheaper alternative to taxis and buses. It
did just that—and more. Today, you’ll find these yellow or green tricycles
weaving through traffic in Lagos, buzzing through markets in Kano, and carrying
school children in Owerri. With low fuel consumption and the ability to access
narrow streets, Keke has democratized mobility across Nigeria and parts of West
and East Africa.
For thousands of drivers, Keke is more than
just a vehicle; it’s a livelihood. With minimal capital, young men (and
increasingly women) can lease or own a tricycle, earning enough to support
families or fund education. In cities where unemployment is rampant, Keke has
filled a critical gap in daily survival and upward mobility.
Yet, the praise comes with a heavy price.
The rapid and mostly unregulated expansion of the Keke industry has bred a
culture of lawlessness on the roads. Many Keke riders have little to no formal
training. They drive against traffic, ignore signals, overload passengers, and
often engage in fierce competition with one another for fare. It is nit strange
seeing a rider engaging petrol tanker on a busy road, just creating chaos on
roads already suffering from poor infrastructure and maintenance
In urban centres like Lagos and Port
Harcourt, Keke accidents have become alarmingly frequent. Many riders see
themselves as untouchable, operating above traffic laws. They dart across
highways, swerve around cars, and stop abruptly in the middle of the road to
pick up or drop off passengers. The result? Frustration, injuries, and in some
tragic cases, death of the occupants.
Why Regulation Has Failed So Far
While local governments have attempted to
regulate the sector through permits, training, and designated routes,
enforcement remains weak. Corruption, poor urban planning, and a lack of
political will have allowed the Keke sector to operate in a grey area—part of
the system but rarely under control. Bans and restrictions, like the one seen
in Lagos in 2020, often lead to protests and social backlash, especially when
no affordable alternatives are provided for commuters or drivers.
Scrapping Keke altogether would be a grave
mistake. It plays too vital a role in everyday life. What Nigeria needs is a
smarter, people-centered approach to managing the Keke system:
Mandatory training and certification for
all riders
- Technology integration like ride-hailing apps to track operations
- Route restrictions in high-risk zones like expressways
- Investment in safer, electric versions to cut down on emissions
- Cooperative unions that promote accountability among riders
Keke NAPEP is a reflection of Nigeria
itself—resilient, resourceful, but riddled with contradictions. It moves
millions of people each day, fills economic voids, and keeps cities alive. Yet,
it also reflects a failure of regulation and planning. The task now is to
retain its benefits while tackling the dangers head-on.
Because in a country where the journey
often matters more than the destination, the Keke isn’t just a ride—it’s a
reality.
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