Edo And The Looming Armageddon

I was trapped for about five days along the now-notorious Benin Bypass. It was a trip I had embarked on to celebrate the 2025 Easter with my family in Ibadan. I was stranded in that wilderness from 18 to 22 April. I left Warri around 8:00 a.m. or so with a senior colleague, who works as a journalist for The Punch. I drove. It was a Thursday. I had calculated that, all things being equal, I would reach Ibadan by 4:00 p.m. at the latest, no matter how slowly I moved or what the usual, unnecessary roadblocks would throw my way.

The writer with the mechanics at Oil-C junction along Benin bypass

But fate had its own plans. Between Ologbo and the Benin Bypass, my vehicle ran over a bump that dented the engine plate from underneath. It caused serious damage to the crankshaft! I had been trying to move from one lane to another to dodge a waterlogged quagmire along the road. The engine ground to a halt. It was a strange experience for a novice like me.

We managed to drag the vehicle to the Oil-C Junction. By then, it was already past noon. By God’s mercy, I was referred to two mechanics opposite the Oil-C Junction. They were angels sent by God. You know what it means to be stranded on that road. All sorts of hungry pseudo-mechanics could swoop on you, compound your woes, drain you of your hard-earned money, and still leave your car damaged beyond repair. One of the mechanics is from Ilorin, and his assistant is an Igala man who has been ‘Yorubanised’, having plied his trade in Lagos and parts of the southwest for years.

That Thursday afternoon, after the engine had cooled down, work began. The engine was brought out. The guys were just very sincere and honest in identifying what had gone wrong, the cost, and how to fix it. But besides the huge sum I had to cough up, it was obvious I would be spending my Easter on the road. That was devastating. But I surely could not leave my vehicle with strangers just because I wanted to celebrate Easter in Ibadan. So, I stayed put, monitoring their every move.

From the very first evening, I began to pay discreet attention to my immediate environment. I needed to know how safe I was; what kind of people lived around there, what they did for a living, how easily I could escape if there was any trouble, and so on. I noticed there was no police presence whatsoever in that area.

One of the northern guys taking a nap

The first set of people I noticed were our brothers from the northern part of Nigeria. They came in different shades and attires; some pushing carts, some fetching water, and others doing various menial tasks. Another set were those we could refer to as indigenes. Where the workshop is located, behind it are new buildings—some completed, others uncompleted. But there are also uncultivated lands where people defecate. One of the mechanics said he sets traps to catch game in the bush. That gave me an idea of how thick the forest is.

But then, there was another set of people I suddenly noticed: men hanging dirty bags on their left shoulders or holding them with their right hands, walking briskly to only-God-knows-where. They looked very dirty and dusty! Their appearance was the colour of the earth. In no time, I saw their kin hopping down from a trailer heading towards the Warri axis. The trailer had parked to let them climb down. They were no fewer than 150. Dirty, brownish and dusty was their look. They hopped down and headed towards a road directly opposite my hosts’ workshop. I asked who they were. The Igala mechanic laughed, shook his head and said, “These guys are the nightmare of the Benin Bypass!”

The dirty iron scavengers

According to him, they are iron scavengers who aggressively and ferociously strip iron and steel at the expense of their lives and anyone who confronts them. He gave an example. He said not long ago, an articulated truck driver knocked down one of them not far from Oil-C Junction. Guess what the leeches did? They pursued the trailer on foot, caught up with it, hopped into the driver’s compartment, dragged the driver down, and neutralised him summarily. Only the motor-boy, he added, escaped. And you know what? He said nobody was apprehended for the murder. He described the scavengers as very dangerous and lethal.

The scavengers

For the five days I spent in that area, I closely monitored their activities. One word came to mind to describe them. Remember Fela’s “Zombie”? That’s it—though not wholly in line with his meaning. Another description I can use is Michael Jackson’s “Thriller”! Remember those ghostly dancers from the grave who joined the pop legend in that dramatic dance? They appear not to have a life of their own. The owners of the sea of heads I saw daily hopping down from trailers and motorcycles would not recognise them if they met. They all appear soulless, completely sold out to their trade! These are people in their prime—strong and energetic—but sold out to a trade that belongs among the dead.

The scavengers at Oil-C junction

I asked my host where they usually headed after hopping down from the trailers and bikes. He said they usually go to an iron recycling plant where the scavengers take their booty to sell. And it’s true: when enough scrap iron is bought and piled up, you see clouds of dusty smoke emitting from the chimney, polluting the entire ecosystem. This plant, I learned, belongs to a Chinese owner. The area appears to be a no-man’s-land. Scores of companies owned by Chinese nationals abound there.

While the repair of my car was still ongoing, I saw some shanties behind my host’s workshop. These makeshift shelters were constructed by the northern brothers I mentioned earlier, using tarpaulin and flex banners from religious organisations meant to advertise their programmes. These uninvited guests from the north sleep and live inside these makeshift shelters in the bush. One, who appeared well-settled, had a mosquito net which he wrapped himself in when he retired from hustling. They sometimes cook using firewood and bathe in the open. One positive thing about the arrivals from the north, especially those perched behind the mechanic workshop—as I was told—is that they act as security for the workshop and the cars parked there for repairs. So, each night, we kept the detached vehicle parts in the container store, locked it, and retired to our various places to sleep.

The scavengers alighting from a trailer at Oil-C junction

Back to the zombie-like creatures scavenging iron all over the communities along the Benin Bypass: their presence and activities are nothing short of a looming time bomb. From my discreet and meticulous observation, nothing regulates their activities. They have no personal identity, as they all look the same, disguised in their brownish and dusty attire. There is no record of these men, and therefore they pose a great threat to the people of the state. These are readily available hands for dangerous sects like the rampaging ISWAP and Boko Haram, and other armed lunatics troubling Nigeria from within and without.

This is not about ethnicity or background; unemployment, poverty and lack of social structure can push any group into risky behaviours that threaten public safety. If left unchecked, what is unfolding along the Benin Bypass could evolve into a major security crisis.

Edo people, this is a looming danger. Action must be taken now; before it becomes the Armageddon we failed to prevent.