Are you aware that last week, a man, out of love for President Tinubu, breached security and all established protocols? A daring act, isn’t it? The man charged towards the president while he was making an address at Murtala Ramat Square in Kaduna; until security operatives from regime protection squad aborted what could have been a warm embrace visited on the arms of Mr. President. Are you aware? I have examined why he did that. And the Kaduna State Command of the Nigerian Police Force, too.
But they didn’t give the full diagnosis. They (the police) say he is mentally unstable, a perfect diagnosis, but that was all. I understand the Commissioner of Police, as the chief security officer of all Kaduna State ‘heads’, did not tell us the nature of his madness; which is understandable, because doctors, nay police, don’t disclose their patient’s medical record. I am not a police, so I am not bound by the Hippocratic Oath that governs the medical profession, so I will tell you.
The man is suffering from a mental disorder called Tinomix. This disorder is not popular by this name because it is not necessarily diagnosed in hospitals, even though it is a commonly suffered disease. In fact, its victims don’t even go to hospital, both because they cannot afford it and don’t need a diagnosis to know about it. Overall, the cross examination for this is primarily done in the markets, filling stations and motor parks. It has a Hausa name. It is called Bugu. It connotes being struck or beaten, blue and black, by something.
It makes people do random things.
An example of Bugu victim who openly typifies Bugu was a man in our neighborhood who once went to the bank to withdraw a part of his monthly salary from the bank. On his way home, he boarded a taxi and as common with Nigerian taxi culture, he joined a conversation about pickpockets.
He told them that no pickpocket, no matter how smart, dares to ever steal from him. He was even punching the head-rest of the seat before him, as if he wanted someone to dare him. ‘It would never happen even in my dream,’ he said.
The people enjoyed his—unsolicited—contributions to the conversation. He was also happy too. One by one, they disembarked. To each, he asked their money not be collected. Now it was time to settle the taxi fare, his and those of the passengers. Lo and behold! His money was gone! Pickpockets!
But smart as he was, he already knew how to catch his thief. He devised a plan to bust them. He went to the bank and withdrew the remaining balance the next day and there he was at the car park where he boarded the taxi the previous day. He made sure he left a part of the money protruding from his chest pocket, to make it more inviting to pickpockets.
A taxi came and he was in. This time, he brought the gist again. And boasted once more that no pickpocket could steal from him. An elderly man in the taxi told him to pray to never meet them, but he said a man of his caliber, wisdom and exposure cannot be a victim of mind games. He was, in fact, out to bring them down, he said. The trip ended, but he didn’t get to catch his thief. Again, his thief caught him. He was actually sold a dummy. The money in his pocket was replaced with a bunch of paper.
Trust my man, he was not going to give up. Mid-office the next day, his boss sent him to buy office stationery. Interestingly, he didn’t see it as a call to duty, which, with the experience of the two previous days, he should have been careful as he goes about it. But he used the opportunity to once again try and catch his thief. It went awry, much worse this time. Not his money, it was him who was stolen this time. His assets, his only fallback plan, were sold to pay for his release.
Now, he has forbidden taxis for himself. And on his way home every day, he makes sure he chased every goat, or sheep or hen he sees roaming in the streets to their owner’s house. Tinomix. He also introduced stiff austerity measures in his house to cushion the effects of the financial breakdown that had hit him. I remember when, in stitching up the austerity measures, he sent a bowl of sugar to the local grinding shop to have it further ground. In his Bugu-hit mind, he thought that that would cause the quantity to increase. This is Tinomix.
Tinomix has at least three tiers. If its victims don’t thread carefully, it would throw them into trouble and the rest of the two tiers until they become a full gajiyayye, a Hausa word that means ‘completely finished’. To escape from its trappings, it makes them to go all out. In any case, Tinomix is so dangerous that, even on the path you have taken to avoid or recover from it, you may enter tier two or three.
Another example. A young man in my neighborhood took his boss’ money to do Bet9ja.
He won the first time. He did the second. The third time, the stakes were higher. His boss asked him to go and buy paint. The two things jam in his head, and he chose the allure of his heart. He staked his boss’ N2m. Phew, it was gone. It was in mid-March in Maiduguri. I didn’t know, but I saw him in Post Office Maiduguri, wearing a sweater. He was feeling cold. This is called Babban Bugu, aka Tinomix Tier 2!
It was still not done for the young man. His boss reported him to the police and he was locked up for several weeks. Tinomix Tier 3 has happened to him. As a ‘gajiyayye’, I now hear his voice in the mosque speakers calling the adhan! Thanks to Tinomix virus. This is exactly what the Kaduna man is suffering from.
Abdulhamid Al-Gazali writes from Maiduguri, Borno State ( [email protected] )
