Prince Jimoh Oládùńní Oyèwùmí arrived in Jos on the 17th of May, 1944. In Ògbómọ̀ṣọ́, being a prince was never treated as a license to be idle. He had to earn his place like everyone else.
Getting to Jos was not simple. He travelled first to Òṣogbo, the nearest railway station, and paid seventeen shillings and sixpence for his fare. From there, he changed trains at Kaduna Junction, then again at Kafanchan, before the final train carried him into Jos. In all, he boarded three trains to complete the journey.
By the time he reached Bukuru, on the outskirts of the town, the cold had already set in, sharp enough that he admitted it almost made him want to turn back to Ògbómọ̀ṣọ́. Jos in 1944 was a small town. The central market, now the busiest part of the city, was then sparsely populated and was mostly home to European miners who had settled there because of the cooler climate.
Prince Oyèwùmí went to live with his aunt, a trader, and was put to work almost immediately. The first thing he had to learn was Hausa, the language of trade in the town. He picked it up quickly, starting with greetings and the basic phrases needed to deal with customers. It was not long before his aunt trusted him to hawk wares beyond Jos itself.
He travelled as far as Dilimi, Dongo na Hawa, Bude Gindi, TimTim, and Mai Ido Toro, about twenty miles from Jos, walking there and back on foot. These trips usually lasted three days, from Saturday to Monday, timed around the weekends when mine labourers in places like Gengere had time off to buy from traders.
This was the daily reality that shaped him: long walking journeys, learning to read the market, and building the discipline that would define the rest of his life.
As Prince Oyèwùmí grew into the business, he also wanted an education, something not every trader’s apprentice pursued.
He enrolled in evening classes while continuing to work during the day. But living communally at Ile Ọdẹ́fárá came with strict house rules, and more than once he returned from evening school to find the doors already locked.
Rather than give up on school, he made a decision that broke with expectation. He moved out and rented a small thatched room so he could continue attending St. Paul’s School without being shut out at night.
At the time, moving out of the communal family house was considered almost taboo among Ògbómọ̀ṣọ́ people in Jos. He did it anyway because staying meant giving up on his education.
That combination of commercial instinct, discipline, and the willingness to break convention for something he believed in carried Prince Jimoh Oládùńní Oyèwùmí from an apprentice hawker to one of the most respected Ògbómọ̀ṣọ́ names in Jos.
Do you know Prince Oyèwùmí Street in Jos? If you don’t, I bet you know Terminus!
In my next post, I’ll share the fascinating story of how the name “Hotel Terminus” was coined in Lazare, Paris, France, on July 7, 1958.
Two years ago, my good friend Àyánkọ́lá Àyánwuyì and I began working on a documentary titled “A Road From Ògbómọ̀ṣọ́ to Jos.” It tells the beautiful story of how Ògbómọ̀ṣọ́ people found a second home in Jos. We will hold private screenings of the documentary in Ògbómọ̀ṣọ́ and Jos in the first week of September.
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