My first encounter with him was back in July 2009. As a reporter covering Taraba state ,I got attracted to this madman whose peculiar daily trek from one extreme end of the state capital to the other, had aroused my curiosity. During my recent visit to Jalingo, I took out time to search for Duniya.
A tall dishevelled looking fellow in his early thirties, his sight cut the picture of a Rastafarian; a member of that Afro-Caribbean religious group that venerates the former Emperor of Ethiopia-Haile Selassie. This strange fellow is simply referred to as ‘Duniya’ by his neighbours, within the Mile-Six area of Jalingo where he lives, since his real identity is unknown.
Not much is known about the background of this fellow, but those who had followed his uncanny activities, were of the belief that his madness may possibly have been induced by excessive consumption of hard drugs, including marijuana.
Not much is known about the background of this fellow, but those who had followed his uncanny activities, were of the belief that his madness may possibly have been induced by excessive consumption of hard drugs, including marijuana.
My attraction to this madman was informed by his unusual kind of burden which subjected him to undertaking daily routines of trekking long distances from one extreme end of Jalingo to the other. With a small black sack fastened and hung around his neck, Duniya would leisurely walk along the pedestrian lane of the road, from the city gate at Mile Six through the Jolly Nyame Sports Complex, to the popular Roadblock Roundabout, from where he would take the busy Jalingo township road that stretches through the busy Barde Way, before connecting the Jalingo main market Road from the Hammanruwa Way Roundabout. This leads to the main market where he makes the U-turn for the return trip to Mile Six.
Having observed the daily routine by the strange madman for sometime, I became curious and decided to take a day out with him to find out about his daily trekking expeditions. The outcome was the star feature entitled: ‘A day out with Jalingo’s trekking madman,’ which appeared in the Daily Trust edition of Friday July 10, 2009.
Following requests from readers, including my colleagues in Jalingo, for a ‘part two’ of the Duniya story, I undertook a return trip with the strange madman from the Jalingo main market, resulting in another star feature titled: ‘Stepping into Duniya’s world’ which was published about two weeks later.
My recent visit to Jalingo where I anchored a cover story in Weekly Trust on the unfolding political developments in Taraba State, prompted me to do what could appropriately be tagged a ‘part-three’ of the Duniya story.
After filing my reports on Taraba politics, including my exclusive interview with acting governor Garba Umar, who spoke on how he had been coping without his ailing boss (Danbaba Suntai ), I decided to go in search of Duniya around the streets of Jalingo. The first question that came to me was whether or not the trekking madman was still alive. If he was, as I earnestly wished him to be, what had become of his trekking ‘expeditions’, about four years after my last encounter with him in July 2009 ?
I began the search for Duniya on the fateful day at about sunset, a period when he usually made his daily return trip back to his abode at Mile Six. From the popular Ministry of Works Roundabout adjoining the Hammanruwa Way, I boarded a tricycle (KekeNapep) heading towards the Roadblock Roundabout, along the ever busy Barde Road.
After crossing the Mayo-Gwoi Bridge I sighted a dreadlocked man trekking along the pedestrian lane, and asked the tricycle driver to stop. With so many mad people dotting the streets of Jalingo, I took a closer scrutiny to ensure this was my target. It was Duniya! As I followed from behind, I observed that his Rastafarian-like identity had not changed, as his hair was still matted with thickly grizzled dreadlocks.
Duniya’s appearance also remained the same. He still sported his trademark ragamuffin dress: a faded pink trouser over a torn brown shirt -all of which had lost their original colours and had become dull with the passage of time. Wearing his usual battered bathroom slippers, and his black sack fastened with a rope and hung over his neck, the madman leisurely walked along the pedestrian lane, maintaining a conscious distance from the horde of horn blaring vehicles , and yellow painted tricycles that plied the busy road.
As he walked along, while I trailed behind, Duniya still exhibited his unusual characteristic traits. He didn’t utter a word to anyone, not even street urchins who tried to antagonize him as they crossed his path. Now and again he would suddenly stand arms akimbo, and cast a gaze into space as if he were in a trance.
At the plant of each foot Duniya seemed to be engaged in a rather dogged and cynical indifference, even as a thick hoar of brown dust accumulated on his feet; adding shabbiness to his appearance. For some time I thought the madman had given up his smoking habit. I was wrong! As he walked past a grocer’s stand by the roadside the madman paused, and thrusting his right hand inside his black sack ,he brought out a wrap of marijuana. He then stooped below the burning coal fire on which the grocer’s giant sized steaming aluminum pot stood. After stretching his right hand below the pot to light his ‘weapon of self destruction’, Duniya rose on his feet with amazing rapidity as if afraid of the grocer’s reaction.
Apparently oblivious of the ‘spying’ reporter trailing him, the madman simply looked left and right, as if to be sure no one was watching. He drew upon the wrap of Indian hemp ravenously, and when he raised his head above to release the smoke from his mouth, the flash from my camera caught him in the act! He gave me a frightening gaze that made me almost take to my heels ,and quickly shoved the wrap of marijuana inside his black.
As he walked along, while I trailed behind, Duniya still exhibited his unusual characteristic traits. He didn’t utter a word to anyone, not even street urchins who tried to antagonize him as they crossed his path. Now and again he would suddenly stand arms akimbo, and cast a gaze into space as if he were in a trance.
At the plant of each foot Duniya seemed to be engaged in a rather dogged and cynical indifference, even as a thick hoar of brown dust accumulated on his feet; adding shabbiness to his appearance. For some time I thought the madman had given up his smoking habit. I was wrong! As he walked past a grocer’s stand by the roadside the madman paused, and thrusting his right hand inside his black sack ,he brought out a wrap of marijuana. He then stooped below the burning coal fire on which the grocer’s giant sized steaming aluminum pot stood. After stretching his right hand below the pot to light his ‘weapon of self destruction’, Duniya rose on his feet with amazing rapidity as if afraid of the grocer’s reaction.
Apparently oblivious of the ‘spying’ reporter trailing him, the madman simply looked left and right, as if to be sure no one was watching. He drew upon the wrap of Indian hemp ravenously, and when he raised his head above to release the smoke from his mouth, the flash from my camera caught him in the act! He gave me a frightening gaze that made me almost take to my heels ,and quickly shoved the wrap of marijuana inside his black.
As Duniya stood with an incredulous expression on his sweat soaked face, he appeared to be pondering over questions through his mind. Is this not the same ‘crazy’ reporter who came spying on me about five years ago? Where had he been all this while? What does he really want from me that he cannot allow me breath fresh air in my world?
For a moment, he shook his dreadlocked hair, raised his right forefinger in the air and did a staggering dance , as if responding to the lyrics in Bob Marley’s popular song: Exodus; movement of Jah people!
It was around 6pm when Duniya got to the Roadblock Roundabout. As he stood transfixed by the roundabout which adjoins the Wukari Road on the left and Yola road on the right, everything seemed to amaze him. He watched curiously at the clay moulded images that stood in the circular frame of the roundabout. He seemed amazed at the rush with which honking cars, tricycles and even pedestrians manoeuvred their way through the roundabout. Was the madman wondering at this mayhem?
When he eventually left the Roadblock on the way to Mile Six , Duniya headed towards the place where a heap of refuse once used to form a ‘mountain’, and from where he used to scavenge for remnants of food. From behind I observed that a substantial portion of the garbage had been evacuated, thus leaving the madman with little or nothing to scavenge for ‘dinner’ as he used to. He crouched and picked up leftovers of bread and other available food remnants, which he put inside his black sack. After scavenging through the refuse dump, he got up and walked back to the main road, to proceed with the last phase of his journey to Mile Six.
It was getting dark and like my previous encounters with him in 2009, I was prompted to approach Duniya for a few questions. Even though I knew his response would be a silent ‘no comment’, I started contemplating the likely questions.
My phone suddenly rang and the customized ring tone with the reggae song by Marion Asha titled Ganja Farmer appeared to have caught Duniya’s attention, as he looked curiously towards me. It was my friend Kefas Sule (Chief press secretary to the Taraba State acting Governor) who was calling to remind me of an appointment with him. It was already getting dark ,and when I looked at my wrist watch, I realized that I was already thirty minutes late for the appointment. I hurriedly crossed over to the other side of the road, flagged down a Keke Napep and, once again, I left Duniya in his world!
For a moment, he shook his dreadlocked hair, raised his right forefinger in the air and did a staggering dance , as if responding to the lyrics in Bob Marley’s popular song: Exodus; movement of Jah people!
It was around 6pm when Duniya got to the Roadblock Roundabout. As he stood transfixed by the roundabout which adjoins the Wukari Road on the left and Yola road on the right, everything seemed to amaze him. He watched curiously at the clay moulded images that stood in the circular frame of the roundabout. He seemed amazed at the rush with which honking cars, tricycles and even pedestrians manoeuvred their way through the roundabout. Was the madman wondering at this mayhem?
When he eventually left the Roadblock on the way to Mile Six , Duniya headed towards the place where a heap of refuse once used to form a ‘mountain’, and from where he used to scavenge for remnants of food. From behind I observed that a substantial portion of the garbage had been evacuated, thus leaving the madman with little or nothing to scavenge for ‘dinner’ as he used to. He crouched and picked up leftovers of bread and other available food remnants, which he put inside his black sack. After scavenging through the refuse dump, he got up and walked back to the main road, to proceed with the last phase of his journey to Mile Six.
It was getting dark and like my previous encounters with him in 2009, I was prompted to approach Duniya for a few questions. Even though I knew his response would be a silent ‘no comment’, I started contemplating the likely questions.
My phone suddenly rang and the customized ring tone with the reggae song by Marion Asha titled Ganja Farmer appeared to have caught Duniya’s attention, as he looked curiously towards me. It was my friend Kefas Sule (Chief press secretary to the Taraba State acting Governor) who was calling to remind me of an appointment with him. It was already getting dark ,and when I looked at my wrist watch, I realized that I was already thirty minutes late for the appointment. I hurriedly crossed over to the other side of the road, flagged down a Keke Napep and, once again, I left Duniya in his world!
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