A trip to Jago Town

A trip, historic.

Imagine this: a motley crew of journalists, representing a diverse range of interests within the pen profession, embarking on a remarkable journey. Our destination? A place concealed within the heart of Ibadan, a town far removed from the trappings of luxury. The sun-drenched day was October 19, a sunny Thursday that held the promise of an unforgettable adventure.

Our odyssey began in the city center, and for over an hour, we traversed the meandering road, heading deeper into the labyrinthine heart of Ibadan. As our long but far-from-luxurious bus rumbled along, we couldn’t help but notice the absence of development, leaving us perplexed yet strangely excited.

Then, as if emerging from a time warp, our bus suddenly broke free from the dense forest that had flanked us on both sides. The road, though unimpressive, had at last brought us to an opening, signaling our arrival at ‘Jago’ town.

Our grand entrance was heralded by a group of barefoot children, some of them schoolkids. Their voices blended into harmonious songs of welcome as our bus screeched to a halt at the town’s entrance.

Jago Town, situated at the farthest reaches of Ona-ara, one of Ibadan’s historic council areas, appeared to have been forgotten by time. It was a place where mud houses peppered the landscape, surrounded by domestic animals and the earthy aroma of fermenting cassava. The true essence of a village was palpable.

The inhabitants of Jago Town were a diverse mix of true-born Ibadan indigenes, newcomers seeking opportunities, and various tribes gathered in this unusual confluence of life.

As we spoke to the townspeople, they regaled us with stories of how, for many years, they had resorted to open defecation due to the lack of proper facilities. It was a practice that had persisted until help arrived.

In this case, the “help” came in the form of the Bàále of the town, Oba Olusegun Osharinde.
Through his tireless persuasion and communal efforts, modern pit latrines enclosed by corrugated iron sheets were constructed for each household in the community.

Listening to the testimonies of those who had transitioned from open defecation to using these “new” toilets, I couldn’t help but notice the clear advantage – fresh air. In open defecation spaces, the overpowering stench is nearly noxious, permeating the environment and affecting the residents’ health.

One resident, Pastor John, who had migrated from Benue to Jago Town with his family, recounted how he had suffered from rashes due to the unsanitary conditions when open defecation was the norm. But, since adopting the use of these improved facilities, his life had taken a turn for the better.

The dangers of open defecation extended beyond the discomfort of rashes. The Bàále shared harrowing stories of two individuals who had accidentally fallen into a shallow well while navigating their way in the dark to find an open loo.

I delved into my interviews, speaking to fascinating sources, and discovered that setting up a toilet like the ones I had witnessed would cost an average household in Jago Town around 70,000 Naira. The question of affordability loomed large, but I soon realized that the transformation was possible.

A member of the community involved in constructing these toilets expressed his joy at the newfound dedication to hygienic toilet practices. And I couldn’t help but share in his enthusiasm.

Later, I joined a colleague on a mission to purchase freshly tapped palm wine, untainted and pure, unlike the ones often sold under traffic lights in the city. This was the real deal, straight from the source, and it came at an astonishingly low price.

As the day waned, we boarded our bus, leaving Jago Town behind. The journey had been a testament to the transformative power of communal efforts, determination, and the importance of addressing pressing issues like open defecation. It was a vivid reminder that, in the face of challenges, positive change is not only possible but essential.

– Fortune Omosola ( Fortunedexcel@gmail.com )