By Adamu Muhammad Dodo, Taraba State
What began as a routine journey from Uyo, the capital of Akwa Ibom State, back to Yola, Adamawa State, via Jalingo, Taraba State, came to an abrupt halt at the broken edge of the Namnayi River.z Nestled between Iware village and Mutum Biyu town, the once-reliable bridge has again crumbled into the currents below—its collapse a symbol of neglect that has transformed travel into a test of patience, grit, and improvisation.
Movement was suspended for over an hour as bystanders watched the dramatic rescue operation
Shortly after noon, a Sharon Galaxy commercial vehicle, attempting to board one of the motorized boats now used to ferry cars across the river, misaligned and plunged into the water. Movement was suspended for over an hour as bystanders watched the dramatic rescue operation. The vehicle was eventually retrieved from the river’s depths—an eerie, cautionary tale for others.
Less than an hour later, another Sharon vehicle suffered a similar fate, causing further delays. While we were returning from the NIPR conference—an event that emphasized the importance of projecting a positive national image and elected an Adamawa Chapter member to the Institute’s governing council—we found our celebratory spirits tempered by the harsh realities on the road home.
Over 80 vehicles lined the riverbank on each side, their drivers inching forward through frustration and dust. By 3:00 p.m., traffic had slowed to a near standstill—snail-paced, sun-scorched, and desperate
With the bridge now reduced to a memory, about eight engine-powered boats shoulder the burden of mobility. Each crossing becomes a delicate, risky negotiation. Over 80 vehicles lined the riverbank on each side, their drivers inching forward through frustration and dust. By 3:00 p.m., traffic had slowed to a near standstill—snail-paced, sun-scorched, and desperate.
The boat operators, visibly worn out by the relentless demand, continued their trade, charging between N5,000 and N6,000 or more per vehicle, depending on size. Despite fatigue, their pursuit of profit pressed on.
Amid the disorder, a fragile ecosystem of commerce has emerged—a gritty theater of survival. Hawkers navigate between stalled vehicles with trays balanced expertly on their heads, selling sachet water, soft drinks, bread, and prayer beads. Criminal, defrauding tendencies could also not be ruled out.
Nearby, yam vendors fry golden slivers beneath sun-bleached umbrellas beside blackened iron pans. One pearl-sized piece of yam sells for N500—a price inflated by scarcity and desperation. The yam is often cold, drenched in oil that may be older than the road itself. Dust spirals into the air in fine red whirls, painting the scene with a cholera-threatening haze, yet travelers crowd the stalls in search of nourishment or distraction.
No health officials monitor the area. No warning signs offer caution. There is no structure here—just the unregulated rhythm of people doing whatever they can to survive, to profit, to move forward.
A broken bridge, a floating road, a makeshift ferry, and a bustling marketplace built on hardship
This is Namnayi today: a broken bridge, a floating road, a makeshift ferry, and a bustling marketplace built on hardship. A place where the river takes what it wants—and the rest of us pay, in time, in coin, and most certainly in patience.
Whether the journey ends in Jalingo for an unplanned overnight stay depends on the unpredictable dynamics of the river crossing: the caution of motorists, the resilience of tired boatmen, and the slow rhythm of rescue.
When I raised my camera to capture the haunting essence of this experience, the boatmen snarled, “No pictures, don’t snap!” Were they instructed not to allow documentation? Was it to protect a lucrative yet dangerous operation? No explanation followed.
But I insisted: “I need to tell this story—with truth and with pictures—to call appropriate attention and push for a lasting solution.”
This isn’t just a tale of a collapsed bridge—it’s a reflection of systemic neglect, of everyday Nigerians grappling with hardship while striving to move forward. It is a loud call for urgent intervention by relevant authorities, for proper infrastructure, and for accountability.
Until then, Namnayi stands not just as a broken bridge, but as a testament to a country still struggling to connect its people—with roads, with leadership, and with the dignity of safe passage.
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