By Saidu Bangura

Across Sierra Leone, two vehicles dominate daily mobility: the okada and the keke. These trades are not a marginal hustle — they are central pillars of the national economy and youth employment.

Everyday, it looks like chaos, but underneath it is a tight economic chain. Every few metres away, Okada and Keke operators wait for commuters heading to work, school, markets and other destinations. For thousands of Sierra Leoneans, the motorcycle and tricycle are more than means of transportation. They are livelihoods.

But behind the appearance of a busy and potentially profitable business lies a more complicated reality. High fuel and maintenance costs, competition, daily payments to vehicle owners, road accidents, harassment, congestion and an increasingly crowded market are putting pressure on operators.

The Business Model

Very few riders own their vehicles outright. Three ownership arrangements dominate the sector:

Daily hire-purchas— a rider pays a fixed daily fee to a bike or keke owner and keeps the remainder. One Freetown riders described paying about NLe150  – 200 daily for bike use, leaving thin margins after fuel and rental costs.

Asset-financing loans — companies like Watu now offer riders motorcycle loans requiring a minimum upfront payment (around NLE 3,000), a guarantor, and flexible daily, weekly, or monthly repayment plans over up to 24 months. Local microfinance institutions.

Association-brokered ownership — unions help coordinate financing, routes, and disputes between drivers and vehicle owners.

Fares are negotiated rather than metered. Okada trips typically run NLe 10–20 and more depending on distance, while kekes — which can carry up to three fare-paying passengers at once — often charge slightly more per trip but earn more per run. This capacity advantage is a key reason keke ownership is frequently described locally as one of the more lucrative transport investments, especially for vehicle owners renting to multiple drivers.

The question, therefore, is no longer simply whether Okada and Keke businesses make money. The more important question is: who is really making the profit, and at what cost?

Ibrahim Kamara, a rider, doesn’t own the bike he rides. He rents it from his boss who owns four okadas. Every morning he pays him  NLe 180 before he’s earned a single leone for himself. “Petrol first, then my boss’s money, then me,” he says, counting on his fingers. On a good day he clears NLe 500–600 gross from passengers. Take out fuel (roughly Le 150–200), the owner’s Le 180, and the “morning toll” he pays at the junction to keep riding without harassment, and Ibrahim is left with NLe 120–220 for a 10–12 hour day. On a rainy day, or when the bike breaks down, he can end up with nothing — or in debt to the owner. “The bike is not mine, the road is not mine, even the corner I park is not mine,” he laughs, but there’s little humor in it.

Madam Mariatu Sesay, owner started with one okada bought on credit in 2021. She now owns three bikes and a keke, all rented out to riders. She doesn’t touch a handlebar herself — her income comes purely from collections.

At NLe 150–200 per bike per day and Le 300–350 for the keke, her arithmetic looks attractive on paper: roughly NLe 4,500–6,000 a month per bike, and NLe 9,000–10,500 a month from the keke. Against a bike price of NLe 22,000–27,000, that suggests payback in under six months. Against a keke at NLe 75,000, payback looks like seven to eight months.

But Mariatu is quick to correct the illusion. “The bike doesn’t collect every day. Some days the rider disappears with it. Some days it’s in the mechanic shop. Some days it’s the police who will take it to the station, and I must pay before I get it back.” Real depreciation, repairs, accidents, and rider turnover eat deeply into that theoretical margin. She estimates her actual net return is closer to half of what the daily collection rate implies — and a bike or keke rarely lasts more than two to three years of hard commercial use before it needs replacing entirely. “People think we make big money. It’s actually stressful” she says.

At almost every junction there’s a man – a union executive or self-appointed chairman – who controls which riders can park, load passengers, or pass through without incident. He collects a daily or weekly fee, officially for “association dues,” unofficially understood as the cost of being left alone. Alusine, a union executive doesn’t see it as extortion. “We dae manage order. Without we, na confusion for road,” he says. Riders see it differently, but few refuse to pay — the cost of not paying is usually higher.

Add to this the informal payments riders make to traffic officers at checkpoints — sometimes for genuine documentation issues, often simply to avoid delay or bike seizure — and a third layer of cost sits on top of the rider-owner relationship, one that adds no value to the business but is baked into the daily math everyone budgets around.

So Who Actually Profits?

Laid side by side, the picture is uneven: Riders work the longest hours for the smallest and least predictable share, absorbing fuel, breakdown risk, and informal tolls directly out of daily earnings.

Owners hold the asset and the theoretical upside, but real profitability is thinner than the daily collection rate suggests once repairs, bike loss, and rider default are factored in — closer to a slow, grinding return than a lucrative one.

Officers and union executives are the most consistently profitable actors in the chain. Their income isn’t tied to fuel prices, weather, breakdowns, or road conditions — it’s a fixed toll collected regardless of how the bike or keke performed that day.

A business born out of necessity

For millions of Sierra Leoneans, the Okada and Keke are more than means of transport. They are businesses, sources of employment and, for many families, the difference between having an income and having none at all.

The rise of commercial motorcycles and tricycles in Sierra Leone cannot be separated from the country’s unemployment challenge and weaknesses in the formal public transport system.

According to a World Bank urban mobility assessment, private and largely informal operators have come to dominate passenger transport in Freetown. The transport sector itself is also a major source of employment, although much of that employment remains informal and vulnerable. The World Bank reported that motorcycles and tricycles grew rapidly partly because they required relatively low start-up investment, could navigate congested or poorly surfaced roads and offered opportunities to people facing unemployment.

The promise of daily income

For passengers, the attraction is obvious: speed, accessibility and convenience. For riders and drivers, the attraction is equally clear: cash comes in every day. Unlike many formal jobs, where workers wait until the end of the month for a salary, the Okada and Keke business can produce money immediately.

A rider who finds enough passengers can earn throughout the day. Morning commuters, schoolchildren, market women, office workers and people rushing to appointments all create demand. On busy days, particularly during market activity or periods of high movement, operators may make considerably more than they would on quiet days.

The keke tends to be the more resilient business of the two: fewer accidents, more passengers per trip, and a higher daily collection rate relative to its purchase cost — which is why owners with capital are increasingly shifting from okadas to kekes despite the steeper entry price.

People describe the Okada and Keke business as relatively lucrative compared with the limited livelihood opportunities available to many young people. However, gross income is not the same as profit. For an operator who owns the vehicle outright, the business can potentially provide a better return because there is no daily payment to an owner. But ownership itself is expensive, and breakdowns can quickly consume weeks or months of savings. For those operating under an owner, the pressure is greater.

For Ibrahim, none of this changes his morning. He’ll be back on the street before sunrise, paying the NLe 180 before he’s made a single leone of his own — hoping today isn’t a rain day.

Copyright –Published in Expo Times News on Wednesday, 2nd September 2026 (ExpoTimes News – Expo Media Group (expomediasl.com)