There used to be just two madmen in my village when I was a kid. Everyone knew them, and parents used their names to scare children into taking their baths and being good.

I still remember their names : Mallam Moro and Yawele.

Recently as I thought about their names, it occurred to me that these names were probably stories we were never given details of. For instance, Mallam Moro suggests an Islamic priest because in my part of the world, we call Islamic priests “Mallam”.

This realization kept me wondering if this man was once sane and what changed the narrative.

As I remember the madmen, it just occurred to me that there was once a blind man in the village too who went literally everywhere without a guide, sometimes without the aid of even a stick. I recall that my dad used to wonder how that blind man moved from village to village all by himself, even sometimes recognizing passersby and calling out their names.

So many stories in that little village of mine my young mind never had the time to download.

Now back to our topic of madmen in my village…

Each lunatic was known for something in particular. For instance, Mallam Moro hugged every tree he met, embracing and detaching himself from the tree rhythmically, as if he’s been rehearsing it all his life.

Yawele’s hair looked like the little stones in sandy soil neatly spread out and gummed to his skull. He did not hug trees, he just roamed about, sometimes chasing passers by, and children who taunted him. Mallam Moro on the other hand had thick dreadlocks and bushy beard.

This morning as I wait for a bus to church, I noticed about five lunatics, one female, the rest men, who passed beside me in a space of about fifteen minutes. This is the capital city, and if I meet this number in such a small time, imagine the total number in the entire city.

And there are a lot more I meet on a daily basis, who are not lunatics yet, but are not very far from there.

You meet people these days, locked in a conversation with themselves and only God knows what’s eating them up.

Some people say some of these madmen and women have been cursed with madness for some evil deed they committed. Others blame drugs. I have heard of stories where heartbreaks from romantic relationships have made some people mentally unstable. The shock was too much to bear.

Whatever be the reason, we must remember that many of them were once like you and I, with hopes and dreams, never looking forward to ending in such a state.

Whatever be the reason, let us remember, that this could have been our brother, sister, father, mother, son or daughter, or even a close friend.

Sometimes I wonder how their family members feel when they bump into their relative now turned crazy, roaming on the streets, in the rain, in the scotchy sun, eating filth, victim of insults and molestation.

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