By Rwang Gyang Tengwong
JOS — In Jos South Local Government Area of Plateau State, 64-year-old farmer, Gyang Tok, still wakes each morning as though he is heading to his farm.
For more than four decades, his life revolved around the land—planting maize, Irish potatoes and vegetables at dawn, and returning home at dusk with hope for the next harvest.
Today, that routine exists only in memory.
Tok was displaced from his ancestral home in Rantis community, Gashish District of Barkin Ladi Local Government Area, following an attack by armed men in June 2018. Homes were razed, families forced to flee, and farmlands abandoned overnight.
“My father farmed that land. I farmed it too,” he said quietly. “But after the attack, we fled. When we tried to return, we were warned not to come back.”
He recalled that displaced residents attempted to rebuild in 2022, but the community was attacked again, leaving two persons dead and three others seriously injured.
Now living in Jos South, far from his means of livelihood, Tok said the land they fled is currently being cultivated by others.
“They are farming there now. If we try to go back, they say the place is no longer for us,” he lamented.
Across Barkin Ladi and neighbouring Riyom Local Government Areas, similar accounts abound—abandoned homes, inaccessible farmlands and communities cut off by fear.
However, Fulani communities in the area tell a different story—one also marked by loss and displacement.
In Bangai, Riyom LGA, 50-year-old Ahmed Adamu recalled a time when Fulani and Berom communities coexisted peacefully.
“We lived in peace. We respected each other,” he said.
According to him, that relationship broke down during the 2001 Jos crisis, when violence spread across Plateau State, destroying several Fulani settlements and forcing many to flee.
Today, he said his community struggles with neglect and lack of basic amenities.
“We are treated as if we are not human beings. But during elections, they come for our votes,” he added.
From the perspective of many Berom communities, however, the narrative is starkly different.
Residents and community leaders accuse armed Fulani groups of carrying out repeated attacks and gradually occupying ancestral lands.
President of the Berom Youth Movement, Barr. Dalyop Solomon Mwanti, alleged that more than 40 communities in Riyom and over 100 across Berom land have been overrun.
He cited Mahanga—formerly known as Rankum—as an example, claiming it became a Fulani settlement after the original inhabitants were displaced.
“There was no outright sale of land. What we are seeing is occupation after displacement,” he said.
But Fulani leaders reject the allegation.
Sa’id Bala, a Fulani leader in Barkin Ladi, argued that many herders currently farming in the area are themselves victims of displacement.
“After they were driven from their homes, where do you expect them to farm?” he asked. “Our people also lost their lands.”
These conflicting narratives—occupation versus survival—have remained unresolved, deepening mistrust between communities.
For young people on both sides, the crisis has become a defining reality.
Fulani youth leader, Yusuf Sa’id, said fear has restricted movement. “We cannot use the main road. People have been killed there,” he said.
On the other hand, a Berom youth, Godwin Musa, said recurring attacks have disrupted education, farming and daily life.
“Our parents knew peace, but we don’t,” he said.
Civil society groups are making efforts to rebuild trust.
Ambassador Baba Ahmed of the Youth Initiative Against Violence and Human Rights Abuse (YIAVHA) said dialogue and joint community engagements have helped reduce tensions in some areas.
However, he warned that peace remains fragile without sustained government intervention.
From displaced farmers like Gyang Tok to Fulani herders who say they too have lost their homes, the crisis in Barkin Ladi and Riyom reflects a complex web of grievances, contested histories and unresolved land disputes.
For Tok, the pain remains deeply personal.
“My land is still there,” he said. “But I cannot go back.”
Until justice is served, displaced communities resettled and trust rebuilt, the fertile lands of Barkin Ladi and Riyom may continue to yield crops—while the people who once depended on them remain scattered, waiting for a peace that has long proved elusive.
