THISDAY
A nation that cannot care for its sick is a nation in decline, argues ABIODUN OLUWADARE
“It fills me with pride that President Buhari chose London to come for his medical treatment,” the Mayor of London remarked on his arrival in Lagos on the day the former President Buhari was buried. To the British politician, it was a feather in the cap of London’s health system, a subtle nod to the enduring global reputation of Britain’s National Health Service (NHS). But for Nigerians, that statement should sting like salt on an open wound. It was a reminder that even our leaders, elected by our people, paid by our taxes, do not trust the healthcare system they preside over.
How did we arrive at a place where the President of Africa’s most populous nation must flee abroad for routine medical checks? Where do public hospitals across Nigeria lack the most basic medications? Where expectant mothers deliver babies in candle-lit wards, and oxygen masks are passed between patients like borrowed property?
Nigeria, a nation blessed with brilliant minds, vast natural resources, and a promising post-independence legacy, has inexplicably allowed its healthcare sector to rot. At independence in 1960, the University College Hospital (UCH) in Ibadan was a symbol of Africa’s medical excellence. It served as a regional referral centre and the finest medical institution on the continent. Foreigners came to Nigeria for treatment. Nigerian doctors were some of the best trained in the Commonwealth. That was when Nigeria had dignity. European patients and professionals worked alongside Nigerians in a model system of healthcare delivery. Our doctors were respected globally, our institutions were robust, and our trajectory was upward.
Today, that legacy lies in ruins as the UCH has become the ghost of itself. The same UCH now struggles with power outages, staff shortages, and dilapidated equipment. Generators power emergency surgeries, patients buy their syringes, and nurses improvise with candlelight. Many state-owned hospitals have become little more than glorified mortuaries. As the late General Sani Abacha once lamented, our hospitals have become “mere consulting clinics.”
From Lagos to Kano, Calabar to Sokoto, tales abound of ordinary Nigerians dying from preventable deaths, children perishing from malaria, mothers bleeding to death during childbirth, and accident victims left unattended due to the absence of trained trauma personnel. In rural areas, the situation is worse. There are communities where the nearest functional health facility is several kilometres away, and even then, it may not have paracetamol, let alone an ambulance.