Health

By Sabiu Abdullahi

Nigeria’s long struggle with disease outbreaks has repeatedly shown how weak communication systems can worsen health emergencies.

In recent years, states have battled diphtheria, malaria, meningitis, Lassa fever, cholera and measles, often without clear public guidance at the peak of outbreaks.

In many cases, rumors travelled faster than official updates. Fear spread before facts reached the public. Misinformation filled the gaps left by delayed or poorly coordinated communication.

With memories of these challenges still fresh, the Kano State Centre for Disease Control (KNCDC) has launched a major step meant to strengthen outbreak communication.

This comes through a three-day workshop in Zaria, supported by the Foreign, Commonwealth & Development Office (FCDO) Lafiya Programme.

The initiative seeks to unite health agencies, media professionals, risk communication experts and government institutions to create a stronger, faster and more reliable information system ahead of future outbreaks.

Officials say the programme will help states avoid the costly lessons of the past. During Nigeria’s diphtheria crisis, many communities were unaware of symptoms before outbreaks escalated.

During meningitis outbreaks, myths overshadowed medical guidance in some states. During the COVID-19 pandemic, conflicting messages damaged public trust.

These experiences, experts say, prove that communication failures can be as deadly as the diseases themselves.

The Director-General of KNCDC, Prof. Muhammad Adamu Abbas, declared the workshop open. He said the goal is no longer just to respond to outbreaks, but to communicate with clarity, speed and authority.

“This workshop is about building a united front — where health officials, journalists, and communication experts speak with one voice, guided by facts and science,” Prof. Abbas stated.

He described the partnership with FCDO-Lafiya as strategic, timely and necessary. He commended the organisation for sustained support in improving Nigeria’s health emergency systems.

He added that communication must stand alongside testing, vaccination and treatment in outbreak control.

Participants were drawn from health institutions, media organisations, government agencies and civil society groups.

They are expected to co-design a communication framework that prioritises rapid information flow, public engagement, rumor control and stakeholder alignment.

Facilitators will lead sessions on crisis media handling, digital risk communication, misinformation control, emergency coordination and broadcast-ready public messaging for disease outbreaks.

The workshop will also include group simulations, panel discussions and field scenarios aimed at turning knowledge into practice.

Public health analysts have strongly welcomed the initiative. They say outbreak preparedness in Nigeria must go beyond medical response. They argue that a well-informed public remains one of the strongest defenses during a health emergency.

Observers say Kano is taking a rare but necessary lead. Many states, they note, still lack structured outbreak information systems. Some states depend solely on federal communication during epidemics, leaving gaps in local response messaging.

Some wait until outbreaks are full-blown before launching public awareness efforts. Health experts warn that this delay has repeatedly cost lives.

By moving toward a structured communication plan, Kano is now positioning itself as one of the best prepared subnational systems in outbreak information management.

The workshop continues throughout the week, with officials stating that the final outcome will be a deployable outbreak communication model meant to guide real-time response within Kano and potentially across other Nigerian states.

By Muhammad Abubakar

Efforts to strengthen vaccine delivery systems across northern Nigeria received a major boost as the All Babies program, implemented by New Incentives – All Babies Are Equal (NI-ABAE), convened a two-day Roundtable Meeting of Cold Chain Stakeholders in Kano.

Held at Tahir Guest Palace from October 24 to 25, the meeting brought together 35 participants from state and zonal cold chain offices, development partners, and the Kano State Primary Health Care Board. The focus was on improving coordination, data management, and logistics in vaccine distribution across 14 northern states.

During the technical session, program officials presented encouraging results from the third quarter of 2025. Katsina and Zamfara states recorded the sharpest declines in zero-dose infants, each achieving a 40-percentage-point reduction, while Kaduna saw a 15-point drop. So far, All Babies has enrolled over 5.6 million infants, supported 7,128 clinics, and facilitated more than 85 million vaccinations through conditional cash transfers to caregivers.

Stakeholders at the meeting resolved to improve real-time vaccine data reporting through Nigeria’s OpenLMIS platform, enhance coordination between state and local levels, and push for increased transportation funding via the Association of Local Governments of Nigeria (ALGON) to ease vaccine movement to remote areas.

Niger State’s Cold Chain Officer, Abubakar Hussaini, praised the program’s impact, saying, “All Babies has done a great job increasing vaccination awareness and turnout. We hope the program expands nationwide so every child benefits from these life-saving vaccines.”

The roundtable ended with a joint communiqué reaffirming partners’ commitment to ensure that every child, regardless of location, receives timely and essential vaccines.

By Abdullahi Adamu

Poor health facilities in Nigeria stem from severe underfunding, causing inadequate infrastructure, outdated equipment, drug shortages, and breakdowns in essential services like electricity and clean water. This affects rural and primary healthcare centres most, where facilities are dilapidated and staff insufficient. A shortage of medical professionals and brain drain overloads the system, leading to increased medical tourism and poor outcomes. Healthcare access is severely limited due to various systemic factors. 

Misconceptions about primary health care and poor leadership have hindered the health system, which hasn’t aligned its structures to achieve universal health access. Improving financial access alone won’t suffice without comprehensive primary health care reform to fix system flaws, deliver quality, efficient, acceptable care, and ensure sustainability and growth for the health system and country. A primary health care movement of government health professionals, the diaspora, and stakeholders is needed to drive this change and overcome political inertia.

In 2014, the National Health Act established the Basic Health Care Provision Fund (BHCPF) to address funding gaps hampering effective primary healthcare delivery across the country. The BHCPF comprises 1% of the federal government Consolidated Revenue Fund (CRF) and additional contributions from other funding sources. It is designed to support the effective delivery of Primary Healthcare services, provision of a Basic Minimum Package of Health Services (BMPHS), and Emergency Medical Treatment (EMT) to all Nigerians.

Despite the provisions of the BHCPF, the report’s findings expose the precarious state of healthcare in Nigeria, where access to and utilisation of health services remain marred by systemic challenges across states.

Public health facilities in all 36 states and the FCT are deficient, and the experiences of community members seeking care at these facilities are consistently awful.

Primary Health Care (PHC) is the foundation of the healthcare system in Nigeria and serves as the level at which non-emergency, preventive health issues are addressed. But sadly, many PHC centres in the FCT are poorly equipped and lack well-trained personnel.

 Kulo PHC was built with solid infrastructure and equipped with solar panels as part of a 2019 federal initiative aimed at strengthening primary care in hard-to-reach areas. Today, that promise lies in ruins. The solar panels are now dysfunctional—some stolen, others damaged by harsh weather and lack of maintenance. At night, the clinic plunges into darkness, leaving staff to work by torchlight or with dying cell phone batteries.

Three patients on life support at Aminu Kano Teaching Hospital were reported dead following an interruption to the hospital’s electricity supply by Kano Electricity Distribution Company.

The basic causes of Nigeria’s deteriorating health care system are the country’s weak governance structures and operational inefficiencies.

In 2014, the National Health Act established the Basic Health Care Provision Fund (BHCPF) to address funding gaps hampering effective primary healthcare delivery across the country. The BHCPF comprises 1% of the federal government Consolidated Revenue Fund (CRF) and additional contributions from other funding sources. It is designed to support the effective delivery of Primary Healthcare services, provision of a Basic Minimum Package of Health Services (BMPHS), and Emergency Medical Treatment (EMT) to all Nigerians.

Despite the provisions of the BHCPF, the report’s findings expose the precarious state of healthcare in Nigeria, where access to and utilisation of health services remain marred by systemic challenges across states.

Public health facilities in all 36 states and the FCT are deficient, and the experiences of community members seeking care at these facilities are consistently awful.

The Basic Health Care Provision Fund (BHCPF) was poorly implemented in 13 states.

The basic causes of Nigeria’s deteriorating health care system are the country’s weak governance structures and operational inefficiencies

Abdullahi Adamu wrote via nasabooyoyo@gmail.com. 

By Halima Abdulsalam Muhd

For decades, many Nigerian communities benefited from a rigorous weekly sanitation exercise led by duba gari or community health monitors who inspected homes and surroundings for hygiene compliance. These dedicated individuals went from house to house, checking toilets, kitchens, bedrooms, and waste disposal areas. Offenders were fined ₦50, a penalty that not only discouraged negligence but also ensured that communities maintained high sanitation standards.

Today, however, that once-vibrant practice has largely disappeared, leaving neighbourhoods grappling with mounting sanitation challenges, from blocked drainage to increased cases of cholera and malaria. Residents and experts alike are calling for the revival of this community-driven initiative.

Voices from the Community

Malama Hadiza Musa, a trader in Naibawa, recalled how effective the system used to be. “When the duba gari came every week, we had no choice but to clean up. Everywhere was tidy, even the backyards. Now, people dump refuse carelessly, and it is affecting all of us,” she lamented.

Mr Aliyu Garba, a retired civil servant, shared similar sentiments, “Back then, sanitation was part of our lives. Today, gutters are clogged, and mosquitoes breed everywhere. We need to bring back that system before things get worse.”

For Zainab Abdullahi, a mother of four, the absence of weekly inspections has created health concerns for families. Children now play around in dirty environments. If sanitation checks were still happening, parents would take cleaning more seriously.”

Community leader Malam Ibrahim Tukur believes the fines encouraged responsibility, “₦50 may look small today, but it carried weight at that time. It wasn’t about the money—it was about discipline. People feared being fined, so they kept their homes clean.”

Meanwhile, younger residents like Suleiman Adamu, a university student, argue that modern approaches should complement the old system, “We can bring it back, but alongside awareness campaigns and community waste management systems. Punishment alone may not be enough.”

Expert Perspectives

Environmental experts warn that abandoning structured sanitation monitoring has far-reaching effects.

Dr Fatima Yakubu, an environmental health specialist, emphasised the connection between sanitation and public health: “Poor sanitation directly contributes to outbreaks of cholera, typhoid, and malaria. Weekly inspections used to act as preventive measures. Reviving them could save lives and reduce health costs.”

Similarly, Prof. Emmanuel Okafor, an environmental scientist at Ahmadu Bello University, stressed the economic implications, “Communities spend more on healthcare when sanitation breaks down. By reinstating duba gari inspections, we are not just promoting cleanliness—we are reducing disease burden and increasing productivity.”

The Way Forward

Local governments, community associations, and traditional rulers are being urged to reintroduce house-to-house sanitation, perhaps updating the fines to reflect current realities while also integrating modern waste management solutions.

As Mrs Aisha Danladi, a public health advocate, put it, “We need a collective effort. The duba gari system worked before; it can work again. Our health and environment depend on it.”

Halima Abdulsalam wrote from Bayero University, Kano, via haleemahm42@gmail.com.

By Uzair Adam

The Kano State Government has expanded its hypertension prevention and treatment services to 208 Primary Health Care (PHC) facilities across the 44 local government areas of the state, according to the Ministry of Health.

The initiative, which builds on an earlier pilot phase, was launched under the administration of Governor Abba Kabir Yusuf to strengthen early detection and management of hypertension — a leading cause of heart disease, stroke, and premature deaths in Nigeria.

In a statement issued on Saturday, the Public Relations Officer of the Ministry, Nabilusi Abubakar K/Na’isa, said the expansion followed the successful implementation of the programme in 52 PHCs under the National Hypertension Control Initiative (NHCI).

He explained that the initiative, with technical support from Resolve to Save Lives and Project HOPE, has now been scaled up to 208 facilities to ensure more residents have access to regular blood pressure checks, treatment, and follow-up care within their communities.

Quoting the Commissioner for Health, Dr. Abubakar Labaran Yusuf, the statement noted that the government’s decision reflects its commitment to strengthening the primary healthcare system and addressing non-communicable diseases across the state.

Dr. Yusuf commended the dedication of health workers participating in the programme and urged them to sustain their efforts to ensure lasting success in hypertension prevention and control.

“The scale-up of hypertension services across 208 PHCs demonstrates Kano’s leadership in improving access to essential care. This should serve as a model for other states in advancing equitable and sustainable health services,” the commissioner said.

The Ministry expressed optimism that the initiative will help prevent costly complications, reduce hospital admissions, and promote healthier, more productive lives for Kano residents.

By Oladoja M.O

There’s a video, “Why did Mrs X die?” that is very popular in the public health sphere. At first, the video seemed like the tale of one woman, faceless, nameless, known only by a letter. But the more I analyse and reflect on it, the more it has dawned on me that Mrs X was never just one person. She was and still is the embodiment of Nigeria’s healthcare story. Her death was not a singular tragedy, but a parable. A mirror held up to a nation’s bleeding system.

Mrs X died, not simply because of childbirth complications, but because everything that could have worked didn’t. Everything that should have stood for her failed her. Her death was not a moment; it was a long, silent, accepted process. In her story, there was the collapse of planning, access, and empathy. She died from a slow national rot that had found flesh in her body.

The story of Mrs X began not with the bleeding, but with the absence of preventive orientation that characterises the experience of many Nigerian pregnant women. She went through pregnancy the way most Nigerians face illness, hoping it would not demand too much. She never considered going for checkups, not because she was reckless, but because the culture of prevention was never truly instilled in her.

In a society where survival itself is a daily hustle, prevention often feels like a luxury. There was a health facility, yes, but it was far, tired, and overstretched. The system had blood, but not enough. Staff, but overworked. Beds, but unclean. And behind it all were the silences of policymakers, the rust of forgotten community health centres, and the dust on abandoned government project files. So, when she finally needed help, it was already too late to start looking. 

That story, the scramble at the end, is too familiar. We see it in Ekiti, Katsina, Owerri, and Makurdi. Patients running from one hospital to the next, files in hand, hope on lips, only to be turned back by bureaucracy, distance, or a quiet “we have no space.”

But beyond the infrastructure and logistics, Mrs X bore the weight of something heavier: culture. She was told, directly and indirectly, that her place was to endure. To cook. To clean. To birth. Her pain was duty. Her tiredness was weakness. To seek help was indulgent. So, she bore her cross in silence. Culture had taught her that a good woman asks for little, demands nothing, and dies quietly.

Gender inequality was not just in her home; it was in the policy rooms that never included her voice. It was in budgets that prioritised politics over health. It was in the subtle shrug of indifference that attends women’s complaints in clinics, especially poor women in rural areas. Her being female had already placed her lower on the ladder.

But perhaps what haunts me most is how everything seemed normal until someone opened the files. That day, long after she had gone, someone went back to the data room and began to look. Patterns emerged. Cases connected. Questions rose. “How many more like her?” they asked. “Could we have seen this coming?” It was research that awakened conscience. Data that pulled the curtain back. And isn’t that Nigeria’s truest shame that we often act only after counting the dead?

Mrs. X, for all her anonymity, is Nigeria. She is our health system in human form: underserved, overburdened, overlooked. Her blood loss is our policy hemorrhage. Her silence is our governance gap. Her death is our diagnosis.

It’s easy to talk about reforms. There have been many. Policies, papers, pilot schemes. But for every speech made in air-conditioned halls, there’s a Mrs X still sitting miles from care, still unsure if help will come. Nigeria does not lack ideas. It lacks continuity. It lacks compassion in implementation. It lacks the urgency that comes when you see the system as your own mother, your own sister, your own unborn child. We must stop planning in the abstract. We must stop building for applause and start building for impact. 

Health must become a right, not a privilege wrapped in bureaucracy. We must fund primary health care not as a checkbox but as a foundation. We must decentralize emergency care so that help is never more than a few kilometers away. We must invest not only in infrastructure but in mindsets, teaching every citizen that prevention is not a scam, and that seeking help is not weakness.

And crucially, we must disaggregate our data and listen to it. Research must not be something we dust off only when we need donor funds. It must be lived, continuous, grounded in our local realities. Because without data, we’re only guessing in the dark, while more Mrs. Xs are buried under statistics that came too late.

So, no, the story of Mrs X is really not about maternal mortality. It is about us. All of us. It is the story of a system that watches a woman bleed and scrambles for gauze. That waits until the final breath before asking the first question. That blames culture, then feeds it. That builds hospitals without building access. That speaks to the importance of health equity while communities barter herbs in silence. I saw Mrs X die. But more than that, I saw Nigeria in her eyes; tired, forgotten, hoping someone would care enough to fix what’s broken. 

Maybe, just maybe, if we learn to listen to her story, we won’t need another parable. Maybe her death won’t be in vain.

Oladoja M.O writes from Abuja and can be reached at: mayokunmark@gmail.com.

By Bashir Abubakar Umar 

Malaria remains one of the world’s most persistent public health challenges, particularly in tropical and subtropical regions. To gather more information about the disease, I contacted Dr Musa Muhammad Bello, who works with Aminu Kano Teaching Hospital (AKTH) in the Department of Community Medicine. It is a life-threatening disease caused by parasites of the Plasmodium genus, transmitted to humans through the bites of infected female Anopheles mosquitoes.

Despite advances in medicine and public health campaigns, malaria continues to claim hundreds of thousands of lives each year, with children under five and pregnant women among the most vulnerable groups.

Infection with Plasmodium falciparum, P. vivax, P. ovale, or P. malariae primarily causes the disease. The infection begins when an infected mosquito bites a person, releasing parasites into the bloodstream. These parasites travel to the liver, where they mature and multiply before re-entering the bloodstream to infect red blood cells.

Malaria is not spread directly from person to person; instead, it requires the mosquito as a vector. However, it can also be transmitted through blood transfusions, organ transplants, or from an infected mother to her child during pregnancy.

Symptoms of malaria typically appear 7 to 10 days after infection. Early signs include fever, chills, headaches, muscle aches, sweating, body weakness, vomiting, diarrhoea, and a change in taste. In severe cases, the disease can lead to anaemia, respiratory distress, organ failure, and even death if left untreated. Diagnosis is usually confirmed through laboratory methods, such as microscopic examination of blood smears or rapid diagnostic tests, which detect malaria antigens in the blood.

Malam Abdurrahman, a resident of Dorayi Babba, said that the mosquitoes used to bite him not only at night, but he also advises the general public to use nets for prevention.

Prevention is the most effective way to reduce malaria cases and deaths. Sleeping under insecticide-treated mosquito nets can significantly reduce the risk of being bitten at night, while indoor residual spraying kills mosquitoes that rest inside homes.

Eliminating stagnant water, clearing drainage systems, using window and door nets, applying body lotion, and fumigation are all measures that help reduce mosquito breeding grounds. In some high-risk regions, preventive antimalarial medication is recommended for vulnerable groups, including pregnant women, children under 5, and foreigners.

Hajiya Rabi’a, a resident of Tudun Yola, said that the mosquitoes prevent her from sleeping at night due to their bites, even when she is in a net.

Treatment for malaria depends on the type of Plasmodium parasite and the severity of the infection. Artemisinin-based combination therapies are currently the most effective treatments for P. falciparum malaria, which is the most dangerous form. Early and proper treatment is essential to prevent severe illness and to help break the cycle of transmission.

The global impact of malaria remains significant. According to the World Health Organisation, Africa accounts for more than 90% of malaria cases and deaths worldwide. Beyond its toll on health, the disease hampers economic development by reducing productivity, increasing healthcare costs, and deepening poverty in affected communities.

Although malaria is both preventable and treatable, it persists due to environmental factors, limited healthcare access, and poverty in many areas. A continuous global effort is essential, combining prevention methods, effective treatment, public education, and ongoing vaccine research. With dedication and coordinated actions, the world can progress towards eradicating malaria and creating healthier, safer communities.

Bashir Abubakar Umar wrote via baabum2002@gmail.com.

By Anas Abbas 

Abuja may soon face a sanitation crisis as contractors responsible for cleaning the city have threatened to suspend operations from September 25 over the non-payment of nine months’ wages.

The Association of FCT Solid Waste and Cleaning Contractors (AFSOWAC), which oversees sanitation services across 44 lots in the capital, raised the alarm in a letter to the Coordinator of the Abuja Metropolitan Management Council.

“Despite our loyalty and sustained service delivery, we have not received payments since January 2025,” the group said. “We have reached a point where passion and commitment alone cannot sustain this essential service. Without payment, we cannot continue.”

According to the association, its members clear more than 1,000 tonnes of refuse daily using over 100 refuse trucks and 60 tippers, while engaging more than 3,000 workers. Many of these workers, it said, depend solely on the job for their livelihoods.

AFSOWAC disclosed that contractors had kept operations afloat by borrowing heavily from banks and informal lenders, but warned that such means had been exhausted. It added that the Abuja Environmental Protection Board (AEPB), which supervises their contracts, had continued issuing daily directives without addressing the financial challenges.

The contractors further lamented the deteriorating state of the Gosa dumpsite, describing it as “deplorable” and urging urgent intervention to improve access roads and equipment.

They also called on the FCT Administration to expedite the procurement process initiated in October 2024 and review payment rates to reflect current economic realities, such as the removal of subsidies and the devaluation of the naira.

The association warned that a strike would trigger a rapid build-up of waste in Abuja, a city renowned for its relative cleanliness, and could expose residents to serious public health risks.

“We can no longer guarantee uninterrupted services in the Federal Capital City without urgent payment,” AFSOWAC cautioned.

By Salama Ishaku

The unauthorized selling of traditional medicine is gradually becoming a menace that begs for our collective attention. Across many towns and cities, traders openly display unlicensed herbal products, often with loud proclamations about their supposed healing powers. While traditional medicine has long been a part of our culture, the unregulated and indiscriminate sale of these substances poses serious risks to public health and safety.

At motor parks, street corners, and crowded markets, it is common to see hawkers peddling mixtures in bottles and sachets, claiming they can cure anything from malaria and typhoid to infertility and diabetes. Some even promise instant solutions to chronic conditions that modern medicine struggles with. These exaggerated claims lure unsuspecting citizens, particularly the poor and vulnerable, who are desperate for relief.

The danger, however, lies in the fact that most of these so-called remedies are not scientifically tested or approved by relevant health authorities. Without proper regulation, there is no guarantee of their safety, dosage, or effectiveness. Some of the concoctions are prepared in unhygienic conditions, exposing users to infections and long-term complications.

Equally worrisome is the way sellers often discourage people from seeking professional medical care. By instilling false confidence in their products, they convince patients to abandon prescribed treatment in favour of unproven alternatives. This not only worsens health outcomes but also contributes to avoidable deaths that could have been prevented through timely medical intervention.

Another aspect of this menace is the use of harmful substances. There have been reports of herbal mixtures laced with high doses of alcohol, caffeine, or other chemicals to create instant effects. Such practices endanger consumers who unknowingly ingest toxic elements in the name of treatment. The lack of labelling and dosage instructions further increases the risk of overdose.

The proliferation of unauthorized traditional medicine sellers also undermines the credibility of genuine traditional healers who practise responsibly and adhere to cultural ethics. By mixing quackery with legitimate herbal practices, the public perception of traditional medicine as a whole is eroded. This makes it difficult for serious practitioners to gain recognition and collaborate with modern healthcare providers.

Mr. President and relevant health agencies must recognise that this problem requires urgent attention. Stronger regulatory measures need to be introduced to monitor and control the sale of traditional medicine. Sellers should be licensed, and products subjected to scientific testing to ensure they are safe for human consumption.

Public sensitisation is also essential. Citizens must be educated about the dangers of patronising unverified medicine sellers. Awareness campaigns through radio, television, social media, and community outreach will go a long way in discouraging reliance on unsafe remedies. People should be encouraged to seek medical advice from qualified professionals rather than fall prey to street hawkers.

Equally important is the need to strengthen the healthcare system. Many Nigerians resort to traditional sellers not out of choice but because hospitals are often inaccessible, expensive, or overcrowded. By improving affordability and access to quality healthcare, the dependence on unauthorized herbal remedies will naturally reduce.

There is also a need for collaboration between traditional and modern medicine. With proper regulation, research, and training, traditional knowledge can complement modern healthcare instead of competing with it. This would preserve our cultural heritage while safeguarding the health of citizens.

Communities themselves must take responsibility by reporting illegal sellers to the authorities. Religious and traditional leaders should also lend their voices in discouraging the spread of unregulated products. Tackling this menace is a collective duty, not one for government alone.

In conclusion, while traditional medicine has its place in our society, the unauthorized and reckless selling of herbal products is a ticking time bomb. The longer we ignore it, the greater the health risks we invite upon ourselves. For the safety of our nation, decisive action must be taken now to regulate traditional medicine, protect citizens, and uphold public health standards.

Salama Ishaku writes from the Department of Mass Communication, University of Maiduguri, Nigeria.

By Oladoja M.O

“A dive into the political paralysis killing public health”

In the long and winding corridors of Nigeria’s national challenges, the health sector stands as one of the most visibly bruised, chronically neglected, and systemically under-prioritised. Yet, beyond the crumbling hospitals and overworked health workers lies a more insidious diagnosis: politics. Not politics in its ideal form, the noble art of governance, but the brand that manifests in distraction, dereliction, and dead ends. It is this politicisation, or rather, the wrong kind of political influence, that has become the biggest ailment afflicting Nigeria’s health system today. And until it is addressed, no number of policies, international partnerships, or ministerial press briefings will revive the sector to its full potential.

Let’s begin with a case study, a hopeful one that has slowly started to mirror the very problem it tried to solve.

When Dr. Muhammad Ali Pate was appointed Nigeria’s Coordinating Minister of Health and Social Welfare in August 2023, many saw a breath of fresh air. He came armed with credentials, experience, and, perhaps most importantly, energy. Within months, the sector began to stir with renewed ambition.

Under his leadership, Nigeria launched its first Health Sector Renewal Investment Initiative, signed a landmark Sector-Wide Approach (SWAp) compact with states and partners, and injected ₦50 billion into the Basic Healthcare Provision Fund (BHCPF), which was double the amount released in the previous year. Over 2,400 health workers were recruited and deployed across underserved areas. Primary healthcare facilities that had long been mere consulting rooms began to see improvements in personnel and reach. Vaccination efforts soared. 

A nationwide HPV rollout vaccinated nearly 5 million girls, and the long-awaited Oxford R21 malaria vaccine arrived on Nigerian soil. The government pursued a policy to unlock the healthcare value chain, drafting executive orders to encourage local pharmaceutical manufacturing and reduce import dependency. Even the National Health Insurance Authority (NHIA) was repositioned, expanding coverage through the Vulnerable Group Fund, while a national patient safety strategy was launched to bring quality and accountability into focus. All signs pointed to a government that was, finally, taking health seriously. But then, as quickly as the fire had been lit, it began to dim.

But from early 2025, a silence began to creep over the very desk that once signed reforms with urgency. Policy announcements grew fewer. Major rollouts dried up. The energy that had defined Pate’s first year slowly receded into a void of political undertones. And then came the whispers, and then confirmations of a new ambition: governorship in Bauchi State. Pate, by his own words in March 2025, declared himself “ready to serve” in his home state come 2027. From that moment on, what had been a robust health sector agenda began to take a back seat to the shifting winds of political alignment.

The problem isn’t ambition. It’s a distraction. A Coordinating Minister of Health in a country where maternal mortality is one of the highest in the world, where millions still pay out-of-pocket for even the most basic care, and where health infrastructure is crumbling under the weight of neglect, simply cannot afford to be half-present. This is the heart of the issue: politics has become both the gatekeeper and the grave-digger of Nigeria’s health potential.

For decades, well-meaning reforms have died at the altar of “lack of political will.” Budgets are approved, but rarely fully released. Policies are launched, but implementation fizzles out under new administrations. Health is often treated as a social service, rather than a critical pillar of economic development. Politicians are quicker to commission a white elephant hospital in a state capital than to strengthen the rural primary health centres where lives are quietly and daily lost.

And when leadership does finally begin to show some will, as Pate briefly did, the ever-thirsty machinery of Nigerian politics lures it away. This, perhaps, is the cruellest irony: politics that should drive public health, instead devours it.

The Nigerian public, meanwhile, remains largely unaware of how deeply entangled their health is with political decisions. Health issues are often viewed as isolated, with a bad hospital here and an unavailable drug there, rather than as symptoms of a larger systemic failure driven by poor governance, poor prioritisation, and a lack of sustained leadership.

We cannot continue to treat the health sector as an afterthought or a public relations prop. Health is not a photo opportunity. It is not a campaign gift or a once-in-a-quarter press release. It is a right, and more than that, it is the foundation for national development. No country has risen out of poverty, no economy has truly grown, without first investing heavily in the health of its people.

So, here’s the truth we must face: until Nigerian politics stops viewing health as just another item on a manifesto’s checklist and starts seeing it as a cornerstone of national survival, we will continue to spin our wheels. Ministers will come and go. Budgets will be announced and unspent. And the average Nigerian will continue to suffer preventable deaths, unaffordable care, and unattended illness.

The solution lies not only in leadership, but also in the voice of citizens, civil society, professionals, the media, and everyday people, who demand more than shallow commitments. We must demand that health be taken seriously, institutionally. That it be enshrined not just in words but in political action, protected from the cycles of campaign season, ego projects, and elective distractions. In this moment, we are witnessing a perfect case study of how even a promising leader can be lost to the lure of political pursuits. 

If Dr. Ali Pate, arguably one of Nigeria’s most qualified health minds, could be drawn away from a national assignment to a regional ambition, it speaks volumes about the fragility of reform when politics remains unchecked.

This article, then, is not just a critique. It is a call to consciousness. A call for the government to return to the trenches of national responsibility. A call for health to be declared not just a service, but a strategic national priority. A call for the public to realise that the decaying hospital they see is not just a facility issue, but a political problem. And it demands a political solution.

Let us stop treating the symptoms. Let us diagnose the root. And let us finally begin to treat politics as the virus silently killing Nigeria’s health system.

Oladoja M.O writes from Abuja and can be reached at mayokunmark@gmail.com.