Health

By Ali Tijjani Hassan 

On December 19, 2025, President Bola Tinubu presented Nigeria’s 2026 budget to the National Assembly. As a health advocate, I was curious about sector allocations, especially in health, aligned with his Renewed Hope Agenda to revitalise Nigeria’s healthcare system. I hope the administration commits to the 2001 Abuja Declaration, in which African leaders pledged to allocate at least 15% of their budgets to health to address chronic underfunding and improve health sector outcomes. Nigeria proposed spending 2.82 trillion naira, only 4.26% of its 2026 budget.

 I was nearly buried in shame when I heard the president repeating that “this health allocation represents approximately 6% of the total budget net of liabilities.” Meaning that, excluding the net liabilities, the health sector’s take-home after deduction of debt servicing of almost 15 trillion Naira from the gross budget will be only 4.26%. Which makes me pause and ask myself, “Is this allocation holistic toward changing the narrative of the dilapidated healthcare system in Nigeria?” 4.26% against the 15% is relatively less than one-third of the Abuja Declaration—a beacon of hope to combat the ravages of HIV/AIDS, tuberculosis, malaria, and other scourges plaguing our continent.

Yet here we are in 2025, over two decades later, and Nigeria, the self-proclaimed Giant of Africa, continues to stumble in the darkness of illusion, allocating a paltry 4-6% to health in the just-presented 2026 budget. How can a nation so rich in oil, talent, and potential treat its people’s health like an afterthought?

This is not just negligence; it is a disappointment that endangers millions, especially as the United States government slashes its global health aid, leaving citizens exposed to infectious diseases, non-communicable ailments like chronic kidney disease (CKD), and a rapid population boom that threatens to overwhelm our fragile systems. The Abuja Declaration was no mere rhetoric; it was a collective vow by African Union members to prioritise health financing, recognising that without robust funding, diseases would continue to feast on our people like vultures on carrion.  Nigeria is a party to this decree, but history shows we’ve never come close to honouring it. From 2001 to now, our health allocations have hovered below 10%, peaking at around 5.95% in recent years before dipping again in the 2026 proposal of ₦2.48 trillion out of ₦58.18 trillion—a measly 4.26% when liabilities are included.

Our leaders always cite debt servicing, infrastructure, and security as excuses, but I want to ask a single question: “Is the life of a Nigerian child not worth more than another flyover or armoured vehicle?”

Although they are relatively important, one thing is certain: no nation can grow beyond the quality of its people. Apology to President Tinubu.

I can’t comprehend how we can parade ourselves as Africa’s economic powerhouse yet fund health like beggars at the roadside. In comparison to our African brothers, who have shown what true commitment looks like. Rwanda, rising from the ashes of genocide, consistently meets or exceeds the 15% mark, allocating up to 18% in recent budgets, which has built a universal health coverage system envied across the continent. 

In Botswana, with its prudent diamond revenues, which hit 15-17%, investing in HIV programs that have slashed infection rates. On the other hand, the Côte d’Ivoire joined this elite club, channelling funds into preventive care that keeps NCDs at bay. Even Tanzania briefly touched the target in 2011. While we proclaimed the giant of Africa’s band, these nations have long proved it’s possible by prioritising health as a national security issue, not an optional charity. The Giant of Africa lags behind most West African peers, where allocations average below 10%. 

We boast the largest GDP in Africa, yet our per capita health spending is a shameful $15-20 annually, far below Rwanda’s more than $50. This comparative disgrace isn’t just numbers; they represent the lives lost. While Rwanda’s life expectancy climbs to 69 years, ours stagnates at 55, a gap widened by our funding failures. The consequences are alarming, starting with the relentless burden of infectious diseases that stalk our land like ghosts in the night. 

Nigeria bears the heaviest malaria load globally, with millions infected annually and economic losses of $1.1 billion each year from treatment and lost productivity. In 2025 alone, Lassa fever has claimed 195 lives, with over 1,069 confirmed cases amid 9,041 suspected—a fatality rate hovering at 18.5%, higher than previous years. Cholera surges during rains, diphtheria ravages unvaccinated children, and HIV/AIDS affects millions, with Nigeria hosting the second-largest HIV population worldwide. These figures aren’t abstract statistics; they are the number of our brothers dying in rural clinics without drugs and mothers burying infants from preventable fevers.

Underfunded surveillance systems mean outbreaks explode before a response, as seen in the 2025 Lassa resurgence, which cost billions in emergency measures. If we met the 15% pledge, we could bolster primary health centres, stockpile vaccines, and train more community health workers—turning defence into offence against these microbial invaders. But wait, the horror deepens with non-communicable diseases (NCDs), silent killers creeping up as our lifestyles urbanise. Chronic kidney disease (CKD) exemplifies this scourge, with prevalence rates of 10-19% among adults, yet awareness is abysmally low. 

In Lagos alone, hypertension affects 29% of adults, fueling CKD and cardiovascular woes.  NCDs now cause 73.6% of deaths in developing nations like ours, surpassing infectious ones. Diabetes and cancer add to the tally, with households spending fortunes on out-of-pocket care—up to ₦384 billion annually, pushing families into poverty. The double burden is real: As we fight malaria, the CKD dialysis costs bankrupt families, while public facilities are overwhelmed. In armed conflict zones of Northern Nigeria, NCD prevalence hits 15% for hypertension and diabetes, compounding the trauma of insurgency. Without the pledged funding, proper disease-screening programs remain dreams, and preventive education is scarce. 

Compared to Botswana, where 15% allocation funds are for NCD clinics, reducing mortality by 20% in a decade. Exacerbating Nigeria’s demographic tsunami. Our population stands at 237.5 million in 2025, growing at 2.5-3% annually, and is projected to hit 380 million by 2043 and 440 million by 2050. Nearly half are under 15, a youthful bulge that could be a dividend but risks becoming a curse without health investment. More mouths mean more disease vectors: crowded slums breed cholera, and rapid urbanisation spikes NCDs driven by poor diets and pollution. By 2050, we’ll add 130 million souls, straining hospitals already at breaking point.

Rwanda, with controlled growth and high health spending, harnesses its youth; we risk a generation crippled by untreated ailments. And now, the dagger twist: US funding cuts. In early 2025, the Trump administration froze billions in global aid, slashing USAID programs by 23-40%. Nigeria lost over $600 million—a fifth of our health budget—crippling HIV treatment for millions, dropping coverage from 1.1 million to 350,000. Malaria and TB programs falter, with NGOs downsizing and lives lost estimated in the thousands.

We’ve long relied on foreign donors for 30-40% of health funding; now, with cuts, the gap yawns wider. Botswana and Rwanda, self-reliant through domestic pledges, weather this storm; we scramble with supplements like ₦4.8 billion for HIV packs, mere band-aids.

To redeem ourselves, the government must urgently ramp up to 15% by redirecting funds from wasteful subsidies, tax evasion loopholes, and corruption black holes. Invest in primary care: build 10,000 more health centres and train 50,000 midwives and doctors annually. Prioritise prevention: free CKD screenings, anti-malaria campaigns, and NCD education in schools. Forge public-private partnerships, like Rwanda’s with tech firms for telemedicine. Address demographic needs through family planning integrated into health services. And hold leaders accountable—civil society, demand audits; lawmakers, reject budgets below 10% as a start.

My compatriots, the clock ticks. It’s high time to hold our leaders accountable for their words and actions. If we sleep on this, infectious outbreaks will merge with NCD epidemics amid population surges, turning Nigeria into a health wasteland.

But with resolve, we can honour the spirit of the Abuja Declaration, outshine our peers, and build a nation where health is a right, not a lottery.

Arise, O Nigerians—demand better, for our future’s sake!

Ali Tijjani Hassan is a public health enthusiast, civil society actor, and public affairs analyst. He writes from Potiskum, Yobe State, and can be reached at alitijjani.health@gmail.com.

By Mallam Tawfiq

The scaffold that sturdily supports the pillar of success in everything is “unity”, without which we will somberly watch every beautiful thing in our everyday life running into a complete fiasco.

In healthcare settings, unity and peaceful coexistence among healthcare professionals are of paramount importance and a necessity for ensuring the delivery of effective, high-quality healthcare services.

To easily fathom the significance of that, should we reflect and ponder on the biological level of organisation of life? It succinctly and holistically depicted that the degree of unity among various cells leads to the formation of “body tissues”, and that the harmonious agreement among these tissues leads to the formation of “organs”.

Organs, however, organise to form a system, and thus the effective functioning of the respective systems yields a healthy life. Snags created by pathological factors deflect the spirit of harmonious union at different levels of this organisation, resulting in abnormality and disruption of robust, sound well-being.

The milieu of the hospital/healthcare settings comprises various health specialities from different professional backgrounds. This includes Medical Laboratory Science, Medical Radiography, Physiotherapy, Pharmacy, Nursing Science, Dentistry and Medicine, among others. The aims and objectives of each and every profession can only be appraised by rendering its best to the prime concern, and that is the patients.

As interdependent social animals tightly bound by the strong bond of humanity, we must interact, socialise, and, above all, reciprocate love and respect everywhere, be it in worship places, hospitals, banks, medical schools, and so on. The essence of so doing is to set our hearts and souls free from the bondage of emotional malice, attain optimum peace and maintain both physical and emotional well-being within ourselves. Unfortunately, the hostility, ranging from an exaggerated self-compliment and a show of self-worth and superiority to contempt for other professions in the name of rivalry amongst medical students and, to some extent, healthcare professionals, is worrisome and indeed condemnable.

Under whose tutelage in the medical school are students being mischievously taught that the six years of MBBS discipline should make them condescend and disregard other professions from being part of the healthcare system? Or the greater dispersion in the juxtaposition of the tense and heinous atmosphere under the five years of Radiography training with that of Medical Laboratory Science or Nursing renders the significance of the former and the insignificance of the latter. This is absolutely puerility of the highest degree. Each profession is worthwhile, and its ethics are centred on meeting the needs of patients.

Can we patiently have a proper dekko at how the systems of our body unite to execute their functions and maintain an equilibrium conducive to survival? What will happen if, for instance, the neural tissue says it is superior and appears to boss other systems, while the circulatory system, in response, denies it sufficient oxygen to meet its basic metabolic demand? Or what do we think is going to happen when the renal system quarrels with the immune system, whose function serves the body best, and both react so that one can predominate over the other and effectively carry out both the functions concurrently? Will this ever happen!? Capital NO.

Conspicuously, the hospital/healthcare environment is analogous to our biological level of organisation and how bodily systems work.

Togetherness leads to the existence of all sorts of misunderstandings; this is inevitably true, and the ripple effect of us not allying with one another is directed towards our subject of interest, which is the patient, because a medical doctor alone cannot efficiently run a whole hospital, nor can pharmacists or physiotherapists. As such, we need to come close, close enough together, thus respect our differences and welcome each other to specialise in one skill or the other and benefit from each other’s knowledge. Only by doing so can we render our best compassion to our patients.

There is a saying, “united we stand, divided we fall.”

Service to humanity is service to the Lord. May everything we do be solely for the sake of God and to attain the reward of God. Ameen.

Mallam Tawfiq, Physiotherapist, writes from Federal Teaching Hospital, Gombe.

By Oladoja M.O

Nigeria’s new tax law arrives at a moment when questions of domestic resource mobilisation have moved decisively from the margins of fiscal discourse to its centre. The reform is ambitious in both scope and intent. It consolidates previously fragmented statutes, modernises tax administration, strengthens compliance mechanisms, and expands the state’s technical capacity to mobilise revenue in an increasingly constrained macroeconomic environment. 

Read on its own terms, the law represents a serious effort to stabilise public finance and reduce long-standing inefficiencies in the tax system. But tax laws, particularly of this magnitude, should not be mere instruments of collection, but rather reflections of what a state understands taxation to be for. 

When examined from the perspective of national health financing, Nigeria’s new tax law reveals not hostility to health, nor ignorance of its importance, but striking institutional restraint, a deliberate decision to keep taxation largely neutral to the direct financing of public health.

This neutrality is especially significant because it runs counter to the evolving global understanding of domestic resource mobilisation. In contemporary public finance, DRM is no longer conceived simply as the ability of a state to raise revenue, but as its capacity to do so in a manner that deliberately underwrites social protection, safeguards human capital, and reduces long-term economic vulnerability, where health occupies a central place. 

Ill-health is not a random misfortune but a predictable social risk, one that drives household impoverishment, reduces labour productivity, and places sustained pressure on public finances. For this reason, many countries have increasingly integrated health financing into their tax systems, whether through general taxation, earmarked levies, or hybrid arrangements that link tax administration directly to social insurance and prevention financing.

It is against this backdrop that Nigeria’s new tax law must be read. 

The law unquestionably strengthens the means of mobilisation. A unified tax administration framework, enhanced enforcement powers, clearer compliance obligations, and improved data coordination substantially upgrade the state’s fiscal machinery. In theory, this expanded administrative capacity could support innovative approaches to financing social sectors, including health. In practice, however, the law exercises marked caution. Health appears within the tax framework, but only at the margins, and only in forms that preserve the traditional separation between revenue mobilisation and social sector financing.

This pattern becomes evident when examining how health-related elements are treated across the law. Contributions to the national health insurance scheme are recognised as allowable deductions for personal income tax purposes. This recognition is not insignificant; it affirms health insurance contributions as socially legitimate expenditures deserving of fiscal relief. Yet the logic remains passive. The tax system responds only after individuals have already contributed. It does not actively mobilise resources for health, nor does it deploy its collection infrastructure to expand coverage, pool risk, or subsidise access. The fiscal relationship ends at recognition, not generation.

A similar logic governs the treatment of consumption taxes. Essential medicines, pharmaceuticals, and certain medical equipment continue to benefit from favourable VAT treatment. These provisions are defensible on equity grounds, particularly in a system where out-of-pocket spending remains high. But from a financing perspective, their effect is limited. They shield households from additional burden, yet they do not generate fiscal space for the health system. Again, health is insulated from taxation, not financed through it.

The clearest illustration of this restrained approach lies in the treatment of excise duties on tobacco, alcohol, and sugar-sweetened beverages. These taxes are frequently framed as “sin taxes,” ostensibly justified by their potential to alter harmful consumption patterns. In principle, excise taxation is meant to operate through a behavioural channel: higher prices reduce consumption, lower consumption reduces disease burden, and reduced disease burden lowers long-term health expenditure. In Nigeria’s case, however, this logic remains largely theoretical.

First, the excise rates themselves are modest. The levy on sugar-sweetened beverages, for instance, is widely recognised as too low to produce a meaningful price shock that would alter consumption behaviour. Similar concerns apply to alcohol and tobacco, where cultural entrenchment, affordability, and illicit trade further blunt the intended deterrent effect. 

Second, there is no publicly available evidence demonstrating that consumption of these products has declined since the introduction or adjustment of excise duties. On the contrary, available market indicators and anecdotal trends suggest that consumption has increased. Crucially, the state does not appear perturbed by this outcome. Higher consumption translates into higher excise revenue, and excise duties, in practice, function as reliable inflows to the general federal pool.

This reveals a deeper truth about how sin taxes are governed in Nigeria. Despite their rhetorical association with public health, excise duties are not treated as health instruments. They are treated as revenue lines. There is no systematic effort to measure behavioural change, no routine publication of consumption data linked to tax policy, and no formal evaluation of health impact. In policy terms, a behavioural instrument that is not measured is indistinguishable from a revenue instrument. 

The absence of evidence of reduced consumption is not merely a data gap; it indicates that behavioural change is not being actively pursued as an objective.

From a health financing perspective, this has serious implications. Excise taxes generate revenue, yet none of that revenue is structurally linked to health financing. No portion is dedicated to prevention programmes, health insurance subsidies, or system strengthening. The public bears the health consequences of continued consumption, rising non-communicable diseases, increasing treatment costs, and productivity losses, while the fiscal gains accrue centrally, unconnected to the sector that absorbs the burden. In effect, Nigeria taxes harm, tolerates its persistence, and finances neither its prevention nor its consequences through the tax system.

This outcome is unlikely to be accidental. The new tax law is too carefully constructed for its silences to be incidental. Rather, it reflects a broader fiscal philosophy that prioritises flexibility, central discretion, and revenue pooling over sector-specific commitments. Earmarking, even in its softer forms, constrains the treasury’s freedom to allocate resources across competing priorities. From a public health financing standpoint, this caution is costly. It leaves health structurally dependent on discretionary budgets, weak insurance enforcement, donor support, and household spending, even as the state’s revenue-collection capacity improves.

The result is a growing asymmetry. Nigeria now possesses an increasingly sophisticated tax apparatus, but lacks a corresponding approach to financing social risk. Revenue mobilisation is advancing, but allocation logic remains largely unchanged. Health remains acknowledged but peripheral, recognised, accommodated, and indirectly supported, yet excluded from the core architecture of taxation.

None of this implies that the new tax law should have transformed itself into a health financing statute. No! Tax laws cannot, and should not, bear the full weight of social policy. But in an era where domestic resource mobilisation is increasingly framed as a means of financing development rather than merely sustaining government, the continued treatment of health as fiscally incidental is striking. The administrative infrastructure now exists to do more than collect revenue efficiently. What is missing is the institutional decision to deploy that capacity deliberately to protect households from the economic consequences of ill-health.

The most important lesson of Nigeria’s new tax law for national health financing, therefore, lies not in what it includes, but in what it leaves unresolved. The law strengthens the state’s ability to mobilise resources, yet remains silent on whether that capacity should be harnessed to address one of the most predictable and economically damaging social risks. As Nigeria deepens its commitment to domestic resource mobilisation, the critical question will not simply be how much revenue can be raised, but how intentionally that revenue is aligned with protecting human capital. A tax system that improves efficiency without strengthening social purpose risks becoming technically impressive but socially thin.

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

By Mujahid Nasir Hussain

On 14 November 2025, the world marked World Diabetes Day, and a familiar message rang out across hospitals, communities, and workplaces: Africa must “know more and do more” to confront the rising tide of chronic diseases. It is a message that feels especially urgent here in Nigeria, and in cities like Kano, where the realities of modern life have dramatically reshaped how people live, move, work, and stay healthy. For many families, this year’s theme was not merely a global campaign. It reflected what they witness daily—more people living with diabetes, hypertension, kidney disease, stroke, obesity, and joint disorders than ever before.

The World Health Organisation has warned that Africa will soon face a dramatic shift in its health landscape. By 2030, deaths from non-communicable diseases are projected to surpass those from infectious diseases. This is a striking transformation for a continent historically burdened by malaria, tuberculosis, and HIV. Nigeria, Africa’s most populous nation, is at the centre of this shift, with cities such as Kano experiencing a rapid rise in chronic and progressive conditions. The reasons are both complex and straightforward: changing diets, prolonged sitting, stressful work environments, reduced physical activity, environmental pollution, and limited access to preventive healthcare.

Yet amid these alarming trends, one therapeutic tool stands out: exercise. For many years, exercise has been treated merely as a wellness activity or an optional lifestyle choice. But in reality, it is one of the most powerful and scientifically proven therapies for slowing the progression of chronic diseases. When the body moves consistently, it undergoes profound biological changes: insulin works better, blood vessels become healthier, the heart becomes stronger, inflammation decreases, and harmful fat around organs begins to shrink. These benefits are not cosmetic; they are therapeutic.

However, there is a critical truth that the public often misunderstands: exercise is powerful medicine, and like any medicine, it must be prescribed correctly. It is not something people with chronic diseases should “start doing” without guidance. The mode, frequency, intensity, and duration of exercise must be tailored to the individual’s medical condition, age, fitness level, and risk factors. What is safe and effective for one person may be dangerous for another. This is why professional guidance is so essential. For instance, a person living with uncontrolled hypertension should not begin intense aerobic workouts without clearance from a doctor, because sudden spikes in blood pressure could lead to complications.

Someone with diabetic neuropathy may not feel injuries in their feet, making certain activities unsafe without supervision. Individuals with chronic kidney disease need specific exercise prescriptions that do not strain the cardiovascular system or accelerate fatigue. People recovering from stroke require structured rehabilitation overseen by physiotherapists to prevent falls or further damage. Even patients with obesity, osteoarthritis, or long-standing back pain need tailored, gradual programs to avoid joint overload. This is why exercise should not be approached casually, especially in a context like Africa, where many chronic conditions are undiagnosed or poorly monitored. Before starting an exercise program, individuals living with progressive diseases should consult qualified professionals. Doctors provide medical clearance and identify risks. Physiotherapists design safe movements that protect joints and nerves. Exercise physiologists prescribe evidence-based routines that align with the patient’s goals and limitations. Their role is to ensure that exercise becomes therapy, not a trigger for complications.

In Kano State, this issue is especially relevant. The city has undergone a rapid transition from physically demanding lifestyles to sedentary routines. Many residents now spend long hours sitting in shops, riding motorcycles, or working in offices. Combined with high consumption of energy-dense foods and limited awareness of disease symptoms, progressive illnesses have become deeply entrenched. Yet awareness of safe, guided exercise therapy remains low. Many people begin rigorous routines abruptly, driven by social pressure or misinformation, only to injure themselves or exacerbate their conditions. Others avoid exercise entirely because they fear doing the wrong thing. Both extremes are harmful.

To confront this, a cultural shift is needed, one that recognises exercise as a vital part of medical care. Hospitals and clinics across Nigeria must integrate exercise counselling into routine visits, especially for patients with diabetes, hypertension, kidney issues, and obesity. Something as simple as a doctor explaining which movements are safe, or a physiotherapist demonstrating gentle routines, could prevent years of complications. Exercise physiologists, though still few in number, should be incorporated into more healthcare teams to design personalised programs grounded in scientific evidence.

At the community level, awareness must grow that exercise therapy is not a one-size-fits-all approach. It is a carefully structured health intervention. Encouraging early-morning walking groups, promoting workplace movement breaks, and organising community fitness sessions are valuable, but they must be paired with safety education. Leaders—traditional, religious, and educational—can play a vital role by emphasising the importance of seeking professional guidance before starting any intense routine, especially for those already living with chronic diseases.

It is also worth acknowledging the emotional dimension. People battling progressive diseases often feel overwhelmed, frightened, or uncertain. Exercise offers not just physical healing but a sense of agency. It improves mood, relieves anxiety, supports sleep, and helps people feel that they are actively shaping their health. This psychological benefit is powerful, especially in societies where chronic diseases still carry stigma. But again, confidence grows stronger when people know they are exercising safely and correctly under the guidance of trained professionals.

Nigeria’s future health outcomes depend on coordinated action. Families must embrace a culture of safe movement. Workplaces must reduce prolonged sitting and encourage healthy routines. Schools must restore physical activity as a normal part of the day, not an afterthought. Healthcare institutions must treat exercise as a formal therapy, not a casual suggestion. And individuals must understand that professional guidance is the foundation of safe and effective exercise therapy. The WHO’s projections are indeed alarming, but they are not destiny. Africa still has the opportunity to change its trajectory. But to do so, we must shift how we view health, how we integrate movement into daily life, and how we approach treatment of chronic diseases. Exercise will play a central role in this transformation, but only if it is approached with the same seriousness and medical supervision as any other form of therapy.

In the markets of Kano, the offices of Abuja, the streets of Lagos, and the rural communities of northern and southern Nigeria, the message must be clear: movement heals, but only when guided, intentional, and safe. The global call to “know more and do more” continues beyond 14 November. This is a reminder that Africans must not only embrace exercise as therapy but also do so with professional guidance to protect the body and preserve long-term health. Our path forward lies not just in treating disease, but in transforming lifestyles with knowledge, with care, and with the understanding that the right kind of movement, at the right intensity, prescribed by the right professional, can change the story of health for a generation.

Mujahid Nasir Hussain is an exploratory researcher in biomedicine, deeply passionate about public health, chronic disease prevention, and evidence-based community health interventions.

By Hadiza Abdulkadir

Yunusa Mu’azu, a well-known actor and producer in the Kannywood film industry, has issued a public appeal for urgent financial support for popular actress Zee Diamond Talatuwa, fondly known by fans as Maman Bintalo from the hit television drama Labarina.

In a statement posted on his official Facebook page, Yunusa Mu’azu revealed that the actress is battling a serious and life-threatening medical condition involving blocked blood vessels and abnormally thick blood. According to medical reports shared in the post, the condition—linked to hereditary factors and allergies—has made even basic intravenous treatment difficult and places her at high risk of heart failure and kidney complications.

Doctors have reportedly advised that Zee Diamond must be taken abroad for specialized treatment, as the condition cannot be adequately managed locally. The total cost of the medical procedure and travel is estimated at ₦25 million.

Yunusa disclosed that members of the Kannywood community, alongside the actress’s relatives, have so far raised approximately ₦18 million, leaving a shortfall of ₦7 million. He added that medical experts have warned that the treatment must be carried out within the next two months, stressing that any delay could have fatal consequences.

The appeal has triggered renewed calls for support across social media, with colleagues, fans, and well-wishers urged to contribute toward closing the funding gap. The development has once again drawn attention to the health challenges faced by creative industry professionals and the strong culture of solidarity within the Hausa film industry.

By Oladoja M.O

The Ministry of Health convened a timely, critical, and necessary gathering earlier last month: the National Health Financing Dialogue. A gathering with so much relevance and significance to address the almost comatose state of the Nigerian health sector. Reflecting on all said during the “dialogue,” there are just many thoughts creeping in here and there, which I feel compelled to just put up here for public consumption, and hopefully get across to the rightful authority to pick one or two important things. 

The dialogue, as noted earlier, was undeniably timely. I was not disappointed at all at various thematic areas buttressed on, ranging from health financing, health out-of-pocket spending (OOP) reduction, call for increment of the Basic Health Care Provision Fund (BHCPF), accountability and budgeting, over reliance on external health funding, insufficient resources as needed in the health sector, the need for proper, timely data to guide government decisions, the role of the media, and civil society organization in health sector, and holding government accountable, inclusivity of citizens in the budgeting process, budget execution, status of LG autonomy, the gap between research and policy making, establishment of proper framework for mental health in Nigeria, amongst many other things the dialogue rallied around. Reiteratively, all of these are core and vital to ensuring a positive paradigm for the national health sector state and to delivering on the interests of the citizen at large. Indeed, it was a worthwhile and insightful meeting. 

Though we still have quite a long way to go, I cannot help but acknowledge the works of the government of today on how far we’ve come in policies, increased allocation, investment in facilities, equipment, and a healthy workforce as regards health, captured in my work “Tinubu’s Healthcare Reforms: A Turning Point or Déjà Vu?”. During the course of the dialogue, a lot of observations kept creeping in, questions, suggestions, which there was not enough time to even express.

On observation

(1) We are unprepared to solve the country’s health problems, especially the issue of LG autonomy. The government focuses on superficial solutions instead of addressing root causes. LG autonomy is treated lightly compared to its importance. Primary care, which, if improved quickly, could significantly boost our health status. Unfortunately, the government is unable to do so. When I talk about autonomy, I mean actual, constitutionally granted autonomy, not superficial gestures like the Supreme Court’s jamboree. My writings, “LG: The Employed Man with no Office” and “Federalism and the Paradigm of Healthcare Accessibility,” elaborate on my views on this. The primary health issue affects p

(2) Make us talk truth, behind the blinking good intentions, health-related matters are often used for political publicity rather than long-term structural impact. Hence, many government interventions in healthcare are politically motivated rather than development-driven. 

(3) Still on the LG thing, I am more than disappointed at the way and manner in which the ALGON representatives at the dialogue spoke. What do you mean that you, as a stakeholder, come to such a stage to complain like every other person?? Basically, no form of cognitively presented way forward or suggestion, just another “we are being victimised” rhetoric. So Shameful! I was expecting them to flare up, demand something meaningful, but chai! My expectations were shattered. I thought they would speak about actual autonomy, driven by the constitution, not some half-baked, almost non-enforceable liberation.

In fact, the LG people present were just disappointed. We are talking about how to mobilise money, generate revenue for development, generate more liquidity to fund health, fund infrastructure, and none of them could make a meaningful comment on how funds can be generated rather than “if the autonomy sets in, we will ensure that all the allocation from the FG will be fully maximised.” As cool as that sounds, it was just another “we cannot do anything aside from what the FG says” kinda statement, and it only made me feel like this autonomy thing sef fit be another set-up… God abeg…. 

(4) On the role of media, it is crucial to even lean towards the perspective that the media is a culprit for where we are. Unfortunately, many media outlets and media handles are so fixated on just saying something, rather than saying something correct, and something from a knowledgeable stance, which to me, is even more dangerous than no information at all. Notably, the media are failing to pass information effectively. Especially the way they handle headlines. It is unfortunate, but it is the reality of our Nigerian populace that we have less of a reading habit. Hence, it is easy just to pick a headline, usually different from the content of the post, and run with it. Which is causing more harm to available information in the media space? Careless or sensational headlines have the potential to mislead the public, especially regarding sensitive policies such as those related to health. The issue of meaningless government secrecy is another thing I observed… and much more the issue of partisanship in politics by various media platforms and handling is another very obvious issue, causing every bit of information, especially unfinished policies or updates that are still in the pipeline, to be twisted for “political goals.” 

(5) In research, I observed that independent researchers and young passionate individuals in public health are often ignored, not encouraged, nor recognised, despite the need for data provision to help the government in setting priorities on health, and assisting in policy-making. 

(6) There’s just little or no innovative lawmaking pursued to fix systemic problems, especially wasteful constituency projects.

(7) Also, there seems to be too much focus on “there’s limited of…” What happened to the effective and efficient usage of the ones available?? Both in resources and in data.

And upon all the gbogbo atotonu of the dialogue, I was able to curate some suggestions which might be found useful;

(1) One of the major highlighted themes of the dialogue is the need for health insurance. It cannot be overemphasised that the importance of awareness still needs to be emphasised, especially to get the informal sector on board, because even among the small number of health insurance adopters, the major participants are those in the formal sector, with government employment. This awareness is not just something that will be around; “there is health insurance, and it is good for you.” But down to explaining various packages and what they cover, which can help guide expectations, correct misconceptions, and promote positive word-of-mouth about health insurance.

To meet up the ambiguous target of 40 million by 2030 and get more people from the informal sector onboard, I think a referral model (like those used in Ponzi schemes or digital marketing) could be adopted, making Civil servants primarily to act as “agents of change” or in this case, referral ambassadors, with promise of small tokens as reward for each successful referral. Because these civil servants are friends of people in communities, and even in places where government jingles and banners cannot reach, they help propagate.  No matter how we put it, the mouth-to-mouth campaign remains a powerful promotional strategy.

Another strategy is to tie health insurance enrolment to certain civic entry points, such as marriage registration. It can be mandated as part of the requirement to be submitted to the registry, where intending couples must show evidence of insurance. Procedural inefficiencies and bottlenecks should be removed to improve efficiency and ease the process, because I believe they are part of what discourages enrollees. Because even some who are already on health insurance coverage sometimes, because of long processes, delays, and stress, abandon the health insurance thing and pay out-of-pocket to get “sharp sharp” attention to their need. These negative experiences contribute to negative user feedback, and it spreads faster to non-users, worsening perceptions of health insurance enrollment.

(2) Though it may feel morally vexing, I suggest that health subsidies be tied to individual health behaviours. Those with risky lifestyles (alcohol, smoking) could face different treatment costs compared to people with unavoidable illnesses or accidents. This could encourage preventive lifestyles and behavioural change.

(3) On constituency projects, motorcycles, tricycles, food items… even outreaches) seems wasteful. I would suggest that a ban be placed, or at least regulations be given to what exactly these funds can be used to do… but then, who are those to impose that ban or restrictions, other than the actual people guilty of the bad behaviour? By direct analysis, these funds can be used to build facilities instead… whether school, or even hospitals, in this regard, left to the management of an independent body to be used efficiently and be used productively to generate money, money that can even be enough to run the operations and cover costs on its own, at least, and since the focus is to be able to generate liquidity to operationalize the facilities, the cost would be meager. They should not be free but rather run like a private entity to promote productivity. The billions lavishly spent on those meaningless things, if used in this manner, will result in more than 5–10 facilities at the senatorial district level or at whatever level of representation. Imagine if this number of facilities joined what we have??

(4) On the failure of some states in meeting their counterpart funding for BHCPF, they should not receive interventions from the FG. FG should publicly announce those states, carry the citizens along, and allow them to hold such state(s) accountable. There’s not enough funding. Therefore, the one we have must be spent in a way that is strictly tied to value and commitment.

(5) It is my suggestion that stronger media regulation be deployed to curb the spread of harmful and incorrect information (such as more dangerous than no information). And there should be a regulation/restriction on every journalist’s participation in politics. The place of media is quite sensitive, and they must remain sterile and neutral. Involvement in politics should be punishable by a ban on practising. This will give credibility to the profession and what their position is in the process of building a better state of the nation.

(6) On mobilisation of funds for health, I would suggest that the FG create something like a Health Bond, similar to commercial papers, to mobilise funds for health.

(7) Research should be given all the support it may ask for. A nation without accurate data is one with a lack of radar for progress… and I think one of the ways the government can support young, enthusiastic researchers (especially to gather young brains who are ready to help the government generate actual data for purpose of health policy and priorities) is to create access to platforms to show their works, something like a journal. We all know how much publications mean to researchers, and for young fellas like that, it can boost morale, knowing that their work is not wasted and is seen, whether it is to publish for free or at a very subsidised cost.

Lastly, I have been, and I remain, an advocate for the proper integration of the traditional health care system into the general healthcare system in Nigeria, especially at the grassroots level (Primary Health Care). My advocacy and thoughts are captured in some of my writings on Blueprint and HealthDigest. Health is people; people are culture. Nothing screams culture more than the traditional health care system. We cannot only tech-chase ourselves into a proper healthcare system in Nigeria.

Yes, technology is excellent, and AI is great, but the actual health burden we face requires that we not focus solely on these technologies. To me, I ask: why are we running? There’s a system that has been in place all this time; it should not be ignored. Many big economies have this included. The place of this traditional health system is beyond just provision of care (because, yes, a lot needs to be moderated). Still, these people can be brought in as agents, and their already established, patronised platforms can be used to promote government activities. Yes, they can assist in care provision. In fact, they have to. Knowledge of healing from generation to generation should not be neglected or allowed to die out.

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

By Saifullahi Attahir

I had the privilege of attending the Africa Youth Health Summit organised by the Federation of African Medical Students’ Associations (FAMSA). It was a 3-day event, a highly engaging program in which over 200 young and passionate healthcare students and professionals gathered at the United Nations House to learn, network, discuss, and chart the future of the healthcare system in Africa.

The delegates come from many African countries and represent diverse cultures, languages, backgrounds, religions, and colours. We had the privilege of hearing from representatives of leading agencies, including the World Health Organisation (WHO), the Africa Centre for Disease Control (CDC), the United Nations, the Nigerian Minister for Youth, Information Technology experts, and several other non-governmental organisations (NGOs).

Several hands-on workshops were organised on public health advocacy, cutting-edge cancer management, transformational leadership, reproductive health issues, and policy formulation. I was fortunate to sit next to the Nigerian Minister for Youth, Mr Ayodele, and even took a memorable photo.  

As a side trip, we visited memorable places like the Africa Medical Centre of Excellence Hospital (AMCE), the NIKE ART AND GALLERIES, and Abuja Magic Land.

AMCE is a state-of-the-art facility built by AFREXIM Bank to curb health tourism by Africans to Europe. The facility is a replica of King’s College Hospital in London, featuring the latest technologies and expertise.

My visit to NIKE GALLERY left a lasting impression on me about the human ability to turn waste into wealth through talent. The gallery contains thousands of beautiful paintings, some made from trash (bola/shara). Indeed, Nigeria is full of untapped potential!

As a President, National Association of Jigawa State Medical Students (NAJIMS) National Body, I make the best use of the opportunity in this summit to network with a lot of like-minded individuals, to voice out my opinion, and to shine Jigawa State on the radar of African maps.

I am aware of the challenges of the healthcare system in Jigawa State, ranging from maternal mortality, under-5 infants mortality, vaccination misconceptions, mental health, adolescent challenges, infrastructural and manpower shortages. I’m fully equipped with the knowledge to help my dear state and medical students back home.

Panels were organised around essential topics such as the efficient use of Artificial Intelligence in medical practice, data-driven research, Japa syndrome, and youth inclusion in healthcare system leadership.

The trip was worth attending, the investment priceless, and the experience handy. I love travelling to important places like these, as it broadens my horizons, pushes me out of my comfort zone, lets me interact with like-minded individuals, and teaches me things books or classrooms could never teach me.

Saifullahi Attahir is the President of the National Association of Jigawa State Medical Students, NAJIMS National Body. He can be reached via saifullahiattahir93@gmail.com.

By Engr. Khalilah Yahya Aliyu 

September was the month dedicated to raising awareness of various medical conditions, among them hydrocephalus, which is commemorated in the United States on the 20th. This article was meant to have been published as my contribution to this course, but you will have to forgive me. The pen became too heavy for me to write as it required revisiting emotional wounds and acknowledging future fears.

I am a mum to a vibrant two-year-old blessed with this little-known condition–Hydrocephalus. Or so I thought, until I had him and realised hydrocephalus has quietly existed around us all along. During my final ultrasound before delivery, I curiously read the note from my OB-GYN: “mild ventricular dilatation.” At the time, “dilatation” only meant one thing to me, which was that my body was preparing to bring my baby into the world. What caught my attention, though, was how different this report was from the one I received during my first pregnancy.

As soon as I got home, I turned to Google: “What is mild ventricular dilatation in a foetus?” I learned it’s also called ventriculomegaly. It is a condition characterised by enlarged ventricles (fluid-filled spaces in the brain). The diagnosis was mild, and I read that it might normalise. I was still advised to watch for signs like visible veins on the scalp, projectile vomiting, and a rapid increase in head size.

Let me take you back a bit. Hydrocephalus, in direct translation from Greek, means ‘hydro’ (water) and ‘cephalus’ (head). Literally speaking, “water in the head”. But it’s not just any water. It’s cerebrospinal fluid (CSF). While CSF is essential, an excess of it leads to hydrocephalus.

Although some cases are congenital, it is critical to note that hydrocephalus can be acquired either due to old age or blunt trauma to the head. The case that scared me to my bones was when we were researching for a registered Medtronic vendor to purchase Ja’far’s shunt. We heard about a ten-year-old whose head accidentally hit a wall. The trauma distorted the flow of CSF, and he was not diagnosed on time till he nearly lost his mobility and sight. The shunt surgery restored his health.

I gave birth via emergency C-section after a prolonged labour. The first thing I checked when I held my baby was his head. It looked normal, covered in a full mass of hair. I couldn’t even see his scalp. Due to the labour complications, we stayed in the hospital longer. On the second day, neonatal jaundice set in, and my baby was admitted to the Intensive Care Baby Unit (ICBU). By the third day, I noticed something unusual. He vomited after every feed, and not just regular spit-up. It was forceful, the typical definition of projectile vomiting. I informed the paediatrician, who advised smaller, more frequent feeds. I followed the advice, but the vomiting persisted. Luckily for us, he had a voracious appetite, and after each episode, he’d eagerly refill his tummy.

We were discharged after 10 days. Grandma gave him his first haircut, and that’s when we noticed the intricate network of veins on his scalp. Visitors had all sorts of suggestions, from saffron oil to headache “ciwon kai” remedies. But deep down, I knew what it was. I anxiously waited for the final symptom to appear. Within days, his head began to enlarge, and his fontanelle (Madiga) wasn’t pulsating as it should. The vomiting continued. I turned to my husband and said solemnly, “Baby Ja’far needs urgent medical attention.” Grandma agreed. I trusted my instincts, and kudos to my husband, family, and friends for providing me with the strength to keep hope alive. They left no stone unturned to make this trial bearable.

At precisely one month old, we took him to Aminu Kano Teaching Hospital. We first saw a paediatrician at the GOPD, who ordered a scan, and my fears were confirmed. He has Dandy Walker Syndrome (DWS), which has led to excess fluid buildup in his head. I cried. Yes, I did. But I was also hopeful because I had read that early intervention could improve his chances of living an everyday life. We were given a medicine, Acetazolamide, that must be compounded to suit a child’s dosage. The medication is to reduce cerebrospinal fluid (CSF) production and help manage intracranial pressure. We were then transferred to the Neurosurgical Department, where we met the neurosurgeons on their clinic day, a Wednesday. A strike by resident doctors worked in our favour, allowing Ja’far to be seen directly by a consultant neurosurgeon. 

I mentioned how warm his head felt, and the consultant reassured me it wasn’t related to hydrocephalus. “He’s like any other baby,” he said. “He can have a fever”. That was the beginning of our journey. I was frantic. I just wanted him treated quickly to relieve the cranial pressure. He needed brain surgery to insert a shunt that would regulate the CSF flow. Delays could cause irreversible damage. The medical team was dedicated and compassionate, particularly the doctors. He had the surgery successfully at two months old, and we watched him ace his developmental milestones. We celebrated his second shunt anniversary on June 19, 2025.

After Ja’far’s diagnosis, my curiosity deepened. I consumed every piece of literature I could find related to hydrocephalus. Wednesdays became my learning days, not just from the doctors but from fellow patients and caregivers. I remember overhearing a professor of neurosurgery advising a mother of another shunted warrior: “You and your partner should properly plan subsequent pregnancies. Gone are the days of ‘just taking in'”. He emphasised starting folic acid six months before conception, staying healthy, and avoiding harmful practices. And of course, make prayer your closest ally as you follow the healthiest regimen possible. Take your child to the hospital because even with limited resources, our healthcare workers continue to perform wonders, saving lives every day. They are our true heroes. 

It is pertinent to add, though solemn, that a shunt is a foreign body and can be prone to infection, blockage or malfunction. You must be alert; should you observe the slightest recurrence of any of the pre-surgery symptoms, hasten to the hospital for proper diagnosis. The doctors often reassure us that milestones might be delayed for our warriors. Still, with the appropriate care, they accomplish them over time. Seeing the scars where the shunt is placed, be it the catheter or the pump, and knowing that it is going to be there for life, can be heartbreaking. But I have learned to overcome this feeling by viewing it as a lifesaver because without it, you might not even be able to hold your bundle of joy. Brace up, not everyone’s journey is the same, but be ready for bumps. They can come in the form of incessant headaches, seizures or double incontinence.

I cannot conclude without a strong plea to the government. Congenital diseases are rare. Ja’far’s DWS, for example, ranges from 1 in 10,000 to 35,000 live births. Setting aside funds that low-income parents can access to cover medical expenses will go a long way toward improving our warriors’ quality of life. Make the health sector more robust. Map out a lasting plan to eradicate strikes. It might have worked in our favour, but it has also stalled the needed intervention for some of our warriors, leading to irreversible brain damage. Mandatory, accessible antenatal care, overseen by qualified medical practitioners, will help preserve the rarity of these conditions.

To all my fellow hydro mums, be grateful to the Almighty for the gift and celebrate your little warriors. Whether it’s an inch or a milestone, every step is worth celebrating. Also, you are not alone. We have a community, and we’re here to support one another, always. To everyone who stood by us throughout this journey, I want to say thank you. Where could we have found the strength to carry on without you?

Engr. Khalilah Yahya Aliyu wrote via khalilah20@gmail.com.

By Maryam Ahmad

The Maldives has become the first country in the world to implement a generational ban on tobacco use, marking a historic step in global public health policy.

According to a statement from the Ministry of Health, anyone born after January 2007 will be permanently prohibited from purchasing, using, or being sold tobacco products within the country. The measure aims to create a tobacco-free generation and reduce the long-term health and environmental impacts of smoking.

Health officials described the policy as part of the government’s broader strategy to curb non-communicable diseases and promote healthier lifestyles among young people in the Maldives.

The Maldives joins a small but growing list of nations considering similar “smoke-free generation” initiatives, with New Zealand having previously proposed a comparable plan before it was repealed.

Authorities say enforcement guidelines and public education campaigns will accompany the new law to ensure effective implementation and community support.

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.