When Gombe Burned: The untold fate of blue jay, bima lodge, warehouses, and shattered dreams by Abdulazeez Mala

BY ABDULAZIZ MALA, SEPTEMBER 13, 2025 | 03:53 PM

A City in Shock

August last year is a month Gombe will not forget in a hurry. The End Bad Governance protest, which began as a voice against hardship, soon lost its soul to violence. Hoodlums hijacked the movement and unleashed terror across the city.

The devastation was not selective. It swept through businesses, warehouses, landmarks, and even institutions of justice, leaving scars that are yet to heal. At the heart of the ruin stood Blue Jay Cruise Transport and Logistics, once a proud symbol of affordable luxury travel. But Blue Jay was not alone. The inferno of destruction consumed Bima Lodge, silenced meat sellers who roasted balangu and tsire nearby, crippled multiple shops along the same street, looted electronic stores owned mostly by hardworking Igbo traders, emptied warehouses of farmers’ grains — and desecrated properties tied to some of Gombe’s most respected elder statesmen.

Blue Jay: A Dream in Ashes

Blue Jay had built a reputation as the go-to choice for road luxury — air-conditioned vehicles, private pick-ups, and family-friendly rides at a fraction of air transport cost. For its over 50 employees, it was more than a company; it was hope, stability, and dignity.

But the protest turned it into a nightmare. The fleet was vandalized, the garage torched, and the offices ransacked. A dream years in the making was undone in a single night of rage. Today, the workers remain suspended in uncertainty — drivers, artisans, security men, and cleaners with no jobs to return to.

Historic Bima Lodge and Neighboring Landmarks

Just a stone’s throw away, the historic Bima Lodge — a landmark that had hosted dignitaries and gatherings for decades — also fell victim. Its walls, once proud, were battered and charred. For many, its destruction was not just about property, but the erasure of history.

But the rage of that night did not stop at Bima Lodge. Properties belonging to an elderly statesman in the very heart of the city were ransacked and reduced to ruins. The former Headquarters of Investment Company and another formidable building that hosted a tribunal — both adjacent to Bima Lodge — were overrun by the mob. Files, furniture, and infrastructure were destroyed in reckless abandon. It was as if the fury was aimed not just at businesses, but at the very pillars of governance and civic pride.

Street of Shattered Shops

On the same stretch of road, meat sellers who roasted balangu and tsire to feed countless evening customers were ruined. Their grills destroyed, their stalls overturned, their daily bread wiped away.

Electronic shops — largely owned by Igbo businessmen who had invested their lives’ savings — were looted bare. Laptops, TVs, sound systems, and phones were carried off in broad daylight. The once-bustling street now stands like a shadow of itself, its shutters broken, its traders nursing invisible wounds.

Warehouses Ransacked, Farmers Betrayed

Beyond the city center, the horror deepened. Warehouses in different neighborhoods were broken into, their contents carted away by mobs drunk on lawlessness.

In Tumpure, over 200 bags of assorted grains — millet, maize, sorghum, beans — were looted. They were not government reserves, nor charity stores. They belonged to farmers, men and women who had toiled under the sun, sweating blood and tears in the fields. In one night, their sweat was reduced to nothing, their hopes scattered like chaff in the wind.

And it was not only Tumpure. Across the town, thousands of bags of flour, sugar, and salt, kept with the intent to sell, were hauled away by the hoodlums. Traders who had invested everything in storage were left with nothing but empty shells of warehouses. For some, years of savings vanished in hours; for others, debts remained, but the goods to repay them were gone.

The looting was not just theft. It was a violation of trust, a dagger into the heart of survival.

Promises in the Rubble

Governor Muhammadu Inuwa Yahaya visited the scenes, walking through the debris of Bima Lodge, Blue Jay, the elder statesman’s buildings, the ravaged shops, and the gutted warehouses. His words that day rekindled a flicker of hope. He promised to intervene, assuring victims that their losses would not be ignored.

To demonstrate seriousness, the governor immediately raised an assessment team, comprising officials from NEMA, SEMA, and security agencies, to quantify the damages and report back. For a brief moment, the victims believed relief was on the way, that compensation or rehabilitation would follow swiftly.

But months have passed, and the silence has been deafening. The assessment reports never translated into action. The promises now hang in the air like smoke from the very fires that destroyed the city.

The People Left Behind

The victims of that day are not just companies and buildings. They are families. They are dreams. They are futures abruptly derailed.

Blue Jay’s 50+ workers now struggle for survival.

Meat sellers no longer light up the evening streets.

Shop owners face crushing debts without stock.

Igbo traders, whose wares were looted, live in fear of starting over.

Farmers whose grains were stolen now stare at barren barns and empty pockets.

Warehouse owners count losses in thousands, their investments vanished.

An elder statesman watches his legacies reduced to ashes, including a tribunal building that once symbolized justice.

For many, poverty has returned with a vengeance — children withdrawn from schools, rents unpaid, and households starved of hope.

Will There Be Resurrection?

And so, the suspense endures: will these businesses, institutions, and livelihoods ever rise again? Or will Gombe simply move on, leaving the ruins to rot in silence?

The story of that August is not just about property lost — it is about lives interrupted. It is about the fragility of enterprise, history, and justice in a society where governance promises much but delivers little.

For now, the warehouses stand empty, the shops are shuttered, the lodge lies in ruins, Blue Jay’s vehicles remain ghostly shadows, and the tribunal building is a burnt-out shell.

The people wait. Their tears have dried, but the scars remain. One question, terrifying in its silence, still echoes through the streets of Gombe: what next?