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Osun student electrocuted with plugged phone

A 100-level student of University of Ilesa, Osun State, Gbolahan Ojolo, has reportedly died of electrocution triggered by lightning strike in his hall of residence in Ilesa, the Nation reports. Ojolo, a student in the Department of Business Administration, was said to be charging his phone and playing a game on it at the same time when thunder struck. Confirming the incident in a statement on Saturday, the Registrar of the University, Funso Ojo, said the incident happened on Friday. Ojo’s statement partly read, “The Management of the University of Ilesa, Osun State, deeply regrets to announce the tragic and untimely death of one of its students, Gbolahan Ojolo, a 100 Level student of the Department of Business Administration. “The unfortunate incident occurred in the evening of Friday, April 18, 2025. Gbolahan was electrocuted while playing a game on his mobile phone, which was being charged in his room at a private hostel located near the Prototype Engineering Development Institute ju...

Reporter’s Diary: My Encounter with a “Colos” victim



Yesterday, I had an encounter with a “Colos” victim. His reaction after I saw him and what I observed has been documented in this piece. Colorado popularly called “Colos”, a psychotropic drug is rapidly gaining popularity among young people. It poses grave health risks and can lead to death.

The time was 12:15 p.m.  The phone rang. I got a call to provide assistance to someone outside the office area. A few minutes after receiving the call, the person appeared with a motorcycle, and we moved towards Osogbo, the Osun state capital.

The brake failed, but we escaped unhurt.

As we were about to leave the vicinity of my workplace, suddenly, the lower part of the brake of the motorcycle hit an interlock. We felt a sudden strike, but we continued the movement, oblivious that the break had failed. As we descended down a steep road, there was a car packed abruptly in the center of the road. To avoid colliding with the car, our motorcycle rider swerved to the left. He struggled to gain balance and we were caught up amidst dozens of commercial motorcycle riders at an intersection of a road. As he tried to apply the break, it failed. He struggled to keep the motorcycle from hitting people, cars, and other road users, swinging from left to right. At this point, recognizing the danger ahead, I screamed, "Jesus!" Then, the movement became slower, and we were stucked in the web of about eight commercial motorcycle riders, unhurt.

We stepped down from our bike unhurt, and some commercial motorcycles came to us, telling us to be thankful to God that we escaped unhurt. First, a middle-aged man. Probably in his forties. "E ma dupe lowo Olorun oo... Brake lo fail. E wo o ti gba Ile nibi kan" He was telling his colleagues that the brake failed, pointing to the position of the leg brake. After him, came several others and rejoiced with us that we weren't hurt.

In the process, one of them said, "There is a mechanic there." He pointed to a shop across the road, not too far from Akoda junction in Ede. The mechanic, a fair young man with an Afro hair cut, attended to us.

"I will collect #800 to fix the brake. Just exercise patience and let me finish this repair that I am doing." He spoke fairly, mixing pidgin and English together in a disjointed manner.

Some people take four shots of "colos" daily.

Suddenly, I observed about five men sitting on three different benches beside the mechanic's shop under a spacious makeshift tent. A woman was sitting in front of them, with different brands of gin. Those on the street call it different names: "pelebe," "smallie, and ogogoro," among other names. The bottom line is that it's a gin package in a sachet. I tried to move my mind away, thinking it was just a gathering of "ogogoro" drinkers. I shifted my face to focus on the mechanic and what he was doing. As I turned, I noticed a young boy walking unsteadily towards where we were standing. He should be in his 17th chapter of the calendar of years. He was a few steps away from us, carrying two long sticks tied together. Apparently, he was unstable in movement. He was swinging left and right like a palm tree, moving in the direction of a strong wind. The mechanic looked towards him, and burst into loud laughter. 

"He cannot walk properly again. He has been affected by "Colos" and now he is struggling to work," said the mechanic scornfully. It was at that point that I recalled seeing that boy sitting with the men under the makeshift tent, when we arrived at that spot. He just took "Colos." I was surprised, considering his age and look.

Another man who came to the mechanic workshop for a repair joined the mechanic in the conversation, "O ti gba pe," suggesting that the young boy was now under the heavy influence of what he took, "Colos".

"You see some of these people (referring to the people gathered under the makeshift tent).'' Some of them take up to four shots in a day, the man said quietly.

One Colos shot for #1000

I looked at his face to inquire, "How much is a shot?"

"A shot is #1000. Some of them will take three to four shots in a day," the man replied. It simply means that some of these people spend between #3000 and #4000 on "Colos" daily.

Colorado "Colos," a psychotropic drug, is rapidly gaining popularity among young people. It poses grave health risks and can lead to death. Young boys and girls including some old folks who are of the street usually call it with a street lingo known as Colos. Some folks also call it other names, such as “Black Mamba,"  "Potpourri,"  "Arizona,"  “Lamba” (when mixed with “Loud”), and “Scooby Snax.”.

Colos is a drug that comes from a synthetic mixture. It contains heavy metals laced with chemicals, and with weed as a mixture. Colos is unsafe for human consumption, but a lot of people continue to take it at the detriment of their sanity and health.

The National Drug Law Enforcement Agency (NDLEA) has been on a national campaign to stop drug abuse, especially as its usage is becoming increasingly common among Nigerian youth. I have also watched videos of Colos victims posted on the social media but have never seen one until yesterday. 24 hours after my encounter with the Colos victim, I am yet to understand why people will use their hard-earned money to buy what will send them to an early grave.

The Colos pandemic is real! I just witnessed one.

Oyetunde Oni is a broadcast journalist, an author and a multimedia content creator.

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