Health

By Sabiu Usman

On a Thursday evening, I began to experience symptoms of a fever. I took paracetamol, which temporarily reduced the temperature, but the fever returned more aggressively by nightfall. I spent the entire night shivering and praying for dawn, hoping to visit a nearby pharmacy for further treatment.

By morning, I was too weak to leave the house alone. I contacted a neighbour who often assisted people with basic medications. He came over with some drugs, inserted a cannula into my hand, and administered an injection. After some time, I felt slightly better, just enough to perform my early morning obligatory prayers.

After prayers, I visited my parents for the usual morning greetings. They noticed the cannula in my hand and expressed concern. I explained that I had been battling a fever all night. They offered prayers for my quick recovery and good health.

I returned to my room to rest, but a few hours later, the fever returned. I decided to visit a hospital for a proper diagnosis and treatment. I informed my mother and father, who responded with prayer and support.

Just as I stepped out, NEPA restored electricity, so I went back inside briefly to plug in my phones. Then I picked up my HMO & ATM card, some cash, and headed out. I stopped an Okada taxi motorcycle and climbed. However, midway through the trip, I suddenly felt dizzy and weak. I asked the Okada man to stop so I would not fall off. He parked and waited with me for about 10 minutes. When the dizziness did not subside, he advised me to stop another Okada when I felt better, and he left.

As I sat by the roadside with my head lowered, trying to recover, I heard someone call my name: “Sabiu, what are you doing here?” I looked up and saw a man who seemed to recognise me. I told him I was heading to Doma Hospital, and he offered to give me a ride. Without much thought, I entered his tinted glass car, given my background working in places like banks, I often encountered many people, so I did not find it unusual that he knew me, even though I could not recognise him.

I did not realise the danger until the doors shut behind me. The two men in the back seat immediately pulled me to the centre and forced a long beanie over my head, covering my face. We drove for about 25 minutes. When the cap was finally removed, I found myself in an unfamiliar room with three men surrounding me.

One of them, wearing a face mask and medical gloves, opened a kit, pulled out a syringe, and took my blood. He also forced me to give a saliva sample by pressing my jaw and collected it in a small container. Then he asked for a urine sample. I told him I did not feel the urge, but he insisted. One of the men, a tall, heavy-set individual, struck me twice in the back. The pain and fear triggered an immediate urge, and I had no choice but to comply. I gave the sample.

They offered me food, which I refused. I was scared and confused, still burning with fever. I noticed a wall clock, and it was 11:20 am. They left me locked in the room around noon and did not return with food and water until late that night, around 10:00 pm. Again, I refused to eat.

Later, one of the men sitting beside me was scrolling through what appeared to be my Facebook profile on his phone. I realised he had likely performed a reverse image search using the photo he had taken of me earlier. As he continued scrolling, a call came in from a contact saved as “Dr. Gombe.” He answered briefly, and shortly afterwards, they opened the door to let the doctor in. He appeared again wearing a face mask, this time also with a pair of glasses.

He reviewed some papers and likely test results and told the others that my vitals were fine and the only issue was my fever. He handed me medication I recognised and trusted, so I took it. It relieved the fever, but I remained cautious and continued to reject all food and drinks they offered.

That night, I could not sleep. I was terrified, and I knew something terrible was about to happen.

On Saturday morning, I refused to eat the breakfast they brought. They eventually left, leaving me alone inside the room. Around 9:00 pm, they returned. I overheard a tense conversation between the men and the doctor from behind the door. The doctor confirmed that everything had been arranged for a journey to Kaduna, where a surgery was scheduled for Monday. The driver, whom I had become familiar with by voice, asked about payment and the buyer of the kidney. Suddenly, one of them realised the door had not been entirely shut and might have allowed me to overhear their plans. He quickly pulled it closed and locked it properly.

When I realised they were planning to transport me to Kaduna, surgically remove my kidney, and sell it, a wave of fear surged through me. My heart began to race uncontrollably. I knew, without a doubt, that I had to find a way to escape or I might not live to tell the story.

That night, after they all left with the doctor, I gathered what little strength I had left and began inspecting the room. The doors were solid, and the windows were tightly secured with reinforced burglar-proof bars. Then, as I looked upward, I noticed the ceiling was made of a thin, rubber-like material, not as strong as the rest of the room. I dragged a chair to the centre, climbed onto the headrest, and carefully broke through two ceiling panels. With trembling hands, I pulled myself up into the roof cavity.

Carefully crawling along the ceiling joists, I broke through another panel leading into a different bedroom. I did not stop. I kept crawling, searching for a way out, until I spotted a weak point near the edge of the roof. With all the strength I could muster, I pushed through it, and to my relief, it opened to the outside.

I jumped down and instantly heard approaching footsteps. My heart pounded as I dove into a nearby flower bed, pressing my body flat against the ground. A man walked by, sweeping the area with a flashlight. I held my breath, praying he would not see me. Fortunately, he moved on to another part of the compound. When his back was turned, I leapt up, climbed onto a drum near the wall, and scaled it, disappearing into the night as fast as my legs could carry me.

I ran blindly, barefoot, and disoriented. Eventually, I found a road. I tried flagging down cars, but most sped past. Finally, an elderly man stopped. He asked where I was going. I said Nasarawo. He said he was not going that far but would drop me at Jekadafari Roundabout.

He noticed I was barefoot and looked me over suspiciously, probably questioning my mental state, but he said nothing. When we reached Jekadafari, I got down and began walking toward Central Primary School, exhausted and disoriented. Along the way, someone who looked familiar stopped me. Though I could not remember his name, we recognised each other. 

“Sabiu, what happened to you?” he asked, shocked. I did not have the strength to explain. I simply begged, “Please just take me home.” Without hesitation, he helped me onto his motorcycle and rode straight to our house in Nasarawo.

My mother was the only one at home; all of them were out searching for me. I knocked on her door and weakly said, “It’s me.” She opened it, and I collapsed in her arms, crying. She offered me water, which I drank desperately. After two sachets, I passed out from exhaustion and trauma.

My elder brother and his wife, both medical practitioners, had returned by then. They immediately began treating me. I was given injections and placed on intravenous fluids. Their swift care helped stabilise me.

I didn’t wake up until midnight the next day, Sunday. I had slept for more than 24 hours straight. My body had completely shut down from the fever, stress, and trauma.

When I finally regained enough strength to speak, I sat with my mother and narrated everything, from the moment I fell ill to my escape from the traffickers. As I said, her eyes filled with tears. She listened in horror, then pulled me close and wept.

Through her sobs, she kept repeating, “Alhamdulillah. Your prayers and ours worked. Allah protected you.” Today, I am recovering, still feeling aches and pains, but alive. I thank God for giving me the courage and the opportunity to escape.

I share my story to warn the public: organ trafficking is real. These people are organised and patient, and may even know your name or background. They work like professionals, from collecting samples to contacting buyers.

Please be cautious when interacting with strangers, even those who seem familiar. If you ever feel dizzy, disoriented, or experience sudden symptoms after a simple injection, seek professional medical help immediately.

Above all, always let your loved ones know where you are going and don’t move around alone, especially when you are unwell.

May Allah continue to protect us all, ameen.

Sabiu Usman can be reached via sabiuusman12@gmail.com.

By Oladoja M.O

How Nigeria’s Traditional Medicine Policy Falters in the Face of a Healthcare Crisis

Traditional medicine remains a lifeline in the heart of Nigeria’s vibrant communities. For millions, the village herbalist is not just a healer but the only accessible one. Yet, despite its ubiquity and potential, traditional medicine in Nigeria remains largely relegated to the fringes of the healthcare system.

Why? Because the one policy that could breathe life into it, the “Traditional Medicine Policy” of 2007, is quite frankly a policy without a pulse.

It exists on paper, yes. But in practice, it drifts in the ether of neglect, underfunding, and governmental lip service. The intent was noble: to recognise, integrate, and regulate traditional and complementary medicine (T&CM) harmoniously with Nigeria’s conventional medical framework. But over 15 years later, the landscape remains fragmented institutions, unrecognised practitioners, and a glaring vacuum of legislation that could bind it all into something functional.

The 2007 policy envisioned institutionalising traditional medicine education, promoting evidence-based practices, and protecting indigenous knowledge. It proposed the development of curricula, collaborations between practitioners and scientists, and most importantly, the integration of traditional health workers into mainstream healthcare delivery.

But here’s the reality in 2025:

Despite repeated attempts to pass the Council for Traditional, Alternative, and Complementary Medicine Practice Bill, there is no functional regulatory council for traditional medicine practitioners.

No constitutionally defined or legally licensed role for herbalists or traditional health workers within Nigeria’s medical profession.

Institutions like NICONMTECH, Ibadan College of Natural Medicine, and African College of Traditional Medicine train thousands annually, but no professional pathway exists to license or employ them formally.

Only National Diplomas or certificates exist; there’s no accredited B.Sc. program, no postgraduate clinical practice recognition, and no universal standard for certification.

The result? A generation of “trained” traditional medicine practitioners with no seat at the healthcare table.

Counting some blessings, Nigeria’s Ministry of Health did establish the Department of Traditional, Complementary & Alternative Medicine in 2018, but its impact has been symbolic at best. NAFDAC mandated herbal product registration and labelling, which doesn’t translate into practitioner recognition or integration. The Natural Medicine Development Agency (NNMDA) was signed into law in 2019 to spearhead research and development, but there is no central governing council, which means that coordination remains chaotic. State governments have made some strides, e.g., Governor Soludo’s Anambra State Herbal Practice Law, but it is an isolated effort with no national backing. Ultimately, it’s like having a beautifully designed ship without a captain or compass.

One might ask, why does this matter more than ever now?

It is no longer breaking news that Nigeria is bleeding professionals. The “Japa” wave has not spared doctors, nurses, or dentists. With over 65% of qualified health workers seeking opportunities abroad, Nigeria’s healthcare system is being hollowed out from within.

To compound this, the country now faces blocked financing from global donors like the U.S., partly due to concerns over poor transparency, suboptimal health data management, and systemic inefficiencies. With this dwindling foreign aid and a crumbling workforce, we should explore every viable alternative, and traditional medicine stands at the crossroads.

But rather than mobilise this ready workforce, we shackle them with policy paralysis, leaving our vast herbal and traditional knowledge base languishing in semi-formal practice, unprotected, unregulated, and unsupported.

Time after time, the National Association of Nigerian Traditional Medicine Practitioners (NANTMP) has repeatedly called on the National Assembly to pass the Traditional, Complementary and Alternative Council of Nigeria (TCACN) Bill. Their plea is simple: recognise, regulate, and give us a voice in the national health discourse. They are not asking for a free ride, but for the years of training at herbal schools, skills acquisition centres, and research institutes across Nigeria to be met with a legitimate path to service.

After all, how do you tell a Nigerian College of Natural Medicine Technology graduate that their diploma is valid, but they are legally invisible? How do you justify decades of policy silence when the country desperately needs all hands on deck?

A living policy evolves with need, responds to gaps, and energises sectors. The 2007 policy is comatose, hanging on by technical documents and departmental charades. What it needs now is:

An active national council to regulate, license, and accredit T&CM practitioners.

Curriculum reform and NUC-approved B.Sc. degrees to professionalise training.

Legal recognition of traditional practitioners under Nigeria’s health law.

Clear collaborative frameworks between conventional health professionals.

Nigeria cannot afford to sideline its heritage medicine when its hospitals are overcrowded, its workforce is thinning, and its people are desperate for healing, wherever it may come from.

We do not need another policy document. What we need is a pulse.

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

By Oladoja M.O

In a country where bold promises often fade into political noise, something refreshingly different is happening. A movement that started quietly, with little fanfare, is now humming with purpose, momentum, and an energy that cannot be ignored. The 774 National Health Fellows programme (NHF) initiative, launched a few months ago by President Bola Ahmed Tinubu, is not just another government announcement lost in the pages of bureaucracy but a living force, a symbol of action, and a spark rapidly becoming a flame.

At its core, the programme is a strategic investment in youth leadership for health, designed to place one young, vibrant fellow in every local government area across the federation. But what sounded like a brilliant idea on paper has quickly become bigger, bolder, and beautifully human. Under the coordination of the Sector-Wide Approach Secretariat, the NHF initiative is reshaping what grassroots health intervention looks like. 

The young professionals are not just observing the system but are being immersed in it and studying the core concepts of public health, data analytics, and leadership. As of April 30th, it was made public that they had already completed over 73 per cent of their assigned learning modules. That is such a fantastic feat, Signalling that these young Nigerians are hungry to learn, ready to lead, and prepared to deliver.

Beyond the e-learning, every fellow has been paired with an experienced health sector mentor, creating powerful bridges between knowledge and action. Available information showed that over 2,100 structured mentorship engagements have taken place, alongside more than 6,000 follow-up calls to troubleshoot, guide, and refine their experience in real time. This showcases what mentorship with muscle and real grooming looks like.

Moving forward, another exciting phase is here. The Capstone projects. Showing that these fellows are not just learning and listening. They are launching. They are mapping the real health challenges in their communities and crafting innovative, locally tailored solutions. This is outlined as far from the usual cut-and-paste interventions. Indeed, these are not just symbolic gestures. Rather, seeds of lasting change. A blueprint for the kind of youth engagement that works, and not just a flash in the pan.

Much credit must go to the Honourable Minister of Health, Professor Muhammad Ali Pate, who has done more than supervise. He has inspired. With every update, he speaks with authority and visible passion for the possibilities this programme unlocks. His hands-on leadership reminds us that good governance is not about policies alone, but people. Not about titles, but tangible results. The collaboration with local government leaders, traditional rulers, and State Commissioners for Health has ensured the programme’s success. Together, they have ensured that the fellows are not strangers in their host communities. They have been welcomed, embraced, and empowered to act. Their presence has been described as transformative, and rightly so.

As we hail progress so far, a big focus on sustainability must be the centre of thought. The NHF programme must not end as a one-time experiment. It must become institutionalised. The structure is already in place. The model is working. The results are rolling in. The political and budgetary will to scale this from pilot to permanent remains. The impact of new cohorts of fellows being trained yearly would be tremendous. The ripple effect of turning these 774 fellows into thousands over the next decade will be epic. Nigeria would not just be training health professionals. It would generate problem solvers, data warriors, and service-driven leaders. 

More importantly, the data collected by these fellows across LGAs must be treated as a goldmine. All the information must be analysed, shared, and applied to shape more innovative and targeted policies, responsive budgeting, and real-time decision-making. As time goes on and more capstone projects unfold, we will witness a subtle but decisive shift in our health governance story. 

When young people are not just beneficiaries of change, but creators of it, the shift cannot be undervalued. When they are not just consulted, but trusted. When they are not just inspired, but given the steering wheel.

Even though Nigeria’s health system still has other challenges, even though the journey is long, this initiative is proof that with the right strategy and the right people, progress will not just be a possibility in the abstract. It will become a happening event—something visible, something contagious.

Renewed Hope in Motion is not just a slogan but a movement. A youth-led revolution quietly takes shape in every LGA, one fellow at a time. It is the sound of a country remembering how to believe again. 

And best of all, it is only just getting started.

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

By Abdullahi Mukhtar Algasgaini

Across many regions, there are wells that dry up once the rainy season ends. These seasonal wells, which only refill with water during the rainy period, often become active again when the rains return, prompting local residents to fetch water from them for daily use.

However, consuming water from such wells poses serious health risks and should be avoided.When a well dries up after the rainy season and refills again only when the rains return, it is often a sign that the water source is unstable and potentially unsafe.

The stagnant or intermittently replenished water in these wells can harbor various harmful contaminants. Here are some key reasons why drinking from such wells is dangerous:Seasonal wells can harbor dangerous pathogens like E. coli, Salmonella, and Campylobacter.

These bacteria are commonly associated with severe illnesses such as diarrhea, vomiting, and other life-threatening gastrointestinal infections.Wells that dry up and refill can also become breeding grounds for parasites like Giardia, Cryptosporidium, and bacteria such as Vibrio cholerae.

These organisms are known to cause waterborne diseases like cholera, typhoid fever, and dysentery, which can spread rapidly in communities and cause widespread illness.These wells may also be contaminated by industrial runoff or agricultural chemicals, including pesticides, heavy metals, and solvents.

Consuming water tainted with these substances can lead to long-term health effects, such as cancer, bone diseases, and reproductive issues.Seasonal wells can also serve as a source of contamination for nearby permanent wells.

If water from these unsafe sources mixes with groundwater or nearby clean sources, it could compromise the quality of otherwise safe drinking water.

Given the serious health hazards associated with using water from seasonal wells, it is strongly advised to avoid drinking or using water from such sources. Even if the water appears clean, it may contain invisible contaminants that can cause serious illness.

Public awareness, community education, and regular testing of water sources are essential steps to ensure safe drinking water. Communities should invest in safer, more sustainable water sources and prioritize water treatment practices to protect public health.

Remember: Prevention is better than cure. Protect yourself and your family—say no to unsafe seasonal well water.

Abdullahi Mukhtar Algasgaini wrote in from Gombe.

By Oladoja M.O

In recent years, the word “Japa” has become an emblem of escape, a chant of hope, and sadly, a whistle of despair. Particularly in Nigeria’s healthcare sector, the mass exodus of young, vibrant medical professionals has left our system gasping for air. What we face is not just a brain drain—it’s a heart drain. And in the middle of this haemorrhage lies a controversial bill, once proposed by Honourable Ganiyu Abiodun Johnson, now buried under the backlash of public outrage.

But was the bill completely out of line, or was it simply unfinished thinking?

It is no longer news that Nigeria’s doctor-to-patient ratio falls miserably short of the World Health Organisation’s recommendation. Yet what may not be so widely understood is that the stressful, overburdening conditions often cited as a reason to “Japa” are partly the consequences of those who have already left. One person’s departure makes another’s stay unbearable. The domino effect deepens.

While the most effective and lasting solutions lie in long-term efforts—revamping the economy, tackling insecurity, and fixing systemic rot—we must also admit that time is of the essence. The house is on fire, and we need water now, even if the fire truck is on its way.

There’s this question of “can patriotism be stirred in a broken system?”

Critics often point to a profound lack of patriotism among the youth, and it’s not unfounded. But when young Nigerians have watched corruption erode public trust, when they are owed salaries, and when survival is a struggle, can we honestly ask for blind loyalty? Still, the bitter truth remains: if patriotism isn’t growing naturally in this climate, maybe it needs to be carefully engineered, not through coercion, but through incentivised responsibility. 

The original bill proposed tying Nigerian-trained doctors and dentists to a mandatory five-year practice before granting full licensure. It sparked nationwide uproar, accused of being coercive, discriminatory, and even unconstitutional. The medical council body argued that such a condition could only apply to those whose education was publicly funded. And frankly, they had a point.

However, what if the bill didn’t force, but inspired commitment instead? Clearly, the strategy to curb this heartbreaking issue lies between the government and the various governing councils of these professions. After an extensive and wide brainstorming, it is my opinion that the following recommendations should be weighed and given consideration;

Let the Medical and Dental Council adopt a digital licensing model that is highly secure and tamper-proof, implement a differential licensing fee, where those practising within Nigeria pay subsidised rates (e.g., ₦50,000).

In contrast, those seeking international practice pay a premium (e.g., ₦250,000). Substantial penalties for forgeries should be introduced, ranging from travel bans to long-term suspension from practice. Also, full international licensing should probably be accessible only after 5 – 8 years of verified practice in Nigeria, but with allowances for truly and genuinely exceptional circumstances.

Each Local Government Area (LGA) can be mandated to sponsor at least two candidates annually for critical medical professions, especially medicine and nursing. This would ensure that the selection is need-based and done after national admission lists are released to prevent misuse by those already financially capable. Aside from other ongoing state or philanthropic sponsorships, this alone could inject an extra 1,500–2,000 health professionals yearly into the system.

Beyond the Medical Residency Training Fund (MRTF), the government can introduce provisions for payment of residency program fees, subsidies for first and second fellowship exams, partner with international and local equipment companies to provide cutting-edge residency exposure, and full sponsorship for mandatory travel during training with conditions of local practice attached. More importantly, it should be to the core interest of the government to streamline the bureaucracy around MRTF disbursements to reduce frustration and improve compliance.

For these health professionals committed to staying, the government can introduce affordable credit schemes for cars and home ownership. This strategy speaks not just of comfort but dignity and hope, ensuring these professionals see a future here. A doctor with a home loan and a dependable car is more likely to stay and build a life.

Relatively, in a bid to arrest some unnecessary uproar from various other professions, the government can broaden the application of similar strategies to other key professions facing mass emigration, like pharmacy, engineering, and IT. Let emphasis be on this is a quick-response initiative and not a substitute for long-term development, and also communicate clearly that staying doesn’t mean stagnation but service with reward.

No one can deny that Nigeria’s system is in a broken state, and no young professionals should be intentionally shackled to that broken system. It is also true that patriotism cannot be forced, but it can be nurtured. These professionals can, however, be valued, supported, and invited into a new contract of service, not as slaves to a nation, but as partners in rebuilding her.

Therefore, before we completely dismiss the Hon. Ganiyu Johnson Bill as modern slavery, perhaps we should ask: did it simply lack the right lens? With the right blend of compassion, policy, and investment, could it become a promise and not a prison?

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

By Maimuna Katuka Aliyu

Pollution poses one of the greatest threats to human existence, yet it remains highly underestimated. All over the world, air, water, and land are being contaminated by industrial waste, plastic, toxic emissions, and deforestation. 

The impact is devastating—rising diseases, extreme climate shifts, and dwindling biodiversity. Yet, many people treat it as a distant problem, failing to see that the air we breathe, the water we drink, and the soil that grows our food are already contaminated.

With rapid industrialisation, urban expansion, and population growth, pollution has reached critical levels, threatening ecosystems and human survival. The consequences are already here—millions of lives are lost to pollution-related diseases annually, while climate change escalates natural disasters. 

Without urgent action, the world may be heading toward irreversible environmental collapse.

The Invisible Killer in the Air

Air pollution remains one of the deadliest forms of contamination, responsible for nearly 7 million preventable deaths yearly. Toxic substances such as carbon monoxide, sulfur dioxide, and nitrogen oxides fill the atmosphere due to vehicle emissions, industrial activities, and deforestation. 

Respiratory illnesses, cardiovascular diseases, and lung cancer are rising sharply, even in developing nations where pollution regulations are weak.

A recent World Health Organisation (WHO) campaign has garnered support from nearly 50 million individuals, highlighting the growing global concern over pollution’s impact on health. 

Advocates call for cleaner energy, stricter environmental policies, and large-scale sustainable infrastructure. Without such efforts, air pollution will continue to rob millions of their health and shorten lifespans worldwide.

Poisoned Waters and a Dying Ecosystem

Water pollution is another crisis unfolding before our eyes. Industrial waste, plastic pollution, and chemical runoffs have turned once-thriving rivers and oceans into toxic dumps. 

Marine life is being suffocated by plastic debris, while communities reliant on rivers and lakes for drinking water are facing increasing cases of waterborne diseases. The situation is especially severe in developing countries, where clean water is still viewed as a luxury rather than a basic right.

Land pollution is also eroding our ability to produce safe food. Improper waste disposal, deforestation, and unregulated pesticide use are depleting the soil, making it more difficult to grow crops. This issue coincides with the rise of global hunger, further exacerbating the suffering of millions.

Nigeria’s Battle Against Pollution and Disease

While the world grapples with pollution, Nigeria confronts a dual crisis—environmental contamination and disease outbreaks. The country is currently facing an alarming rise in Lassa fever cases, with the Nigeria Centre for Disease Control and Prevention (NCDC) implementing emergency measures to contain its spread. 

This outbreak, linked to poor sanitation and rodent infestation, is a stark reminder of how environmental degradation fuels public health disasters.

The parallel concerns of pollution and infectious diseases demand urgent intervention. Nearly 50 million individuals worldwide have signed petitions demanding stronger policies to combat pollution, but actions on the ground remain insufficient. 

If nations like Nigeria fail to address these twin threats, millions more could be at risk.

The Fight to Save Our Planet

The crisis may seem overwhelming, but solutions exist. Governments must enforce stricter environmental laws, encourage the adoption of clean energy, and invest in waste management systems. Individuals also have a role to play—reducing plastic use, supporting eco-friendly products, and advocating for policy changes.

Nigeria, in particular, must strengthen its disease surveillance systems and healthcare access, especially in rural areas where pollution-related illnesses are rampant. Public health campaigns must be intensified, educating citizens about preventive measures against pollution-induced diseases and outbreaks like Lassa fever.

There is no more time for complacency. The battle for a cleaner planet is also a fight for human survival. Every moment wasted brings us closer to a world where clean air, safe water, and healthy food become privileges rather than rights. The time to act is now.

Maimuna Katuka Aliyu is a correspondent of PR Nigeria in Abuja.

By Oladoja M.O

…and if we begin to face a threat of setbacks in our supposed success against diseases induced by pathogenic microorganisms, are we not seemingly sent back to the dark ages even as we claim to have advanced? When recounting the history of medicine, few triumphs can compare to the emergence and widespread use of antimicrobials, for indeed, it was a win for the world. 

Without mincing words, Alexander Fleming’s serendipitous discovery of penicillin on his petri dish ushered in a new era in biomedicine. For just before our eyes, pathogens that had wreaked havoc for generations, perpetuating morbidity and mortality in their wake, were suddenly at the mercy of the new chemical arsenal deployed in the fight; and just like that, infectious diseases receded before the ever-rising tide of antimicrobials. Everyone felt optimistic and, in fact, predicted a swift and righteous victory over the scourge of infection.

For over a decade now, the world’s leading figures have consistently voiced concerns about the threat to global health posed by microorganisms’ resistance. It appears that humanity’s arsenal, which once assured victory over these microorganisms and their harmful effects, is now inadequate. Can we suggest that the drugs being produced are ineffective? Can we assert that our research is flawed? Or that humanity has developed a different genetic makeup? Or that these microorganisms are now clever enough to evade destruction? 

Well, many questions like these are very relevant. But as we consider these questions, it is more reasonable to retrace our steps to identify the real causes and understand what has positioned the world, particularly Africa and Nigeria, toward this path of looming global, continental, and national health breakdown.

Nationally, for example, this issue is moving very rapidly. Diseases that should be treated in a short time are becoming difficult to manage, with treatment becoming elusive. Many blame the serious organized crime surrounding “fake drug production ” in Nigeria, which floods the market day and night, and yes, this is a reasonable claim. What greater factor could contribute to a drug’s ineffectiveness than poor or flawed production? However, if this were the only cause, it would be a unique issue to Nigeria; instead, it transcends even beyond that. 

The individual practice can be directly linked to this whole issue without prejudice. Simply put, the consistent intake of drugs renders the individual impotent over time. The Department of Health of the Australian Government, in one of their submissions, noted that “using a drug regularly can lead to tolerance (resistance); your body becomes accustomed to the drug and needs increasingly larger doses to achieve the same effect or, even, becomes less potent.” This attitude, unfortunately, is almost a daily occurrence for many individuals, stemming from the persistent issue of self-prescription, however minor it may appear. 

The US National Library, in one of its publications in 2013, stated that “Self-medication is a global phenomenon and a potential contributor to human pathogen resistance to antibiotics. The adverse consequences of such practices should always be emphasized to the community, along with steps to curb them.” I think we can all agree that many people are guilty of this act; at the first sign of discomfort, almost everyone becomes a medical expert in their own home, concluding which drug works best for them, diagnosing their own ailments, and taking antibacterial drugs for fungal issues. 

A user on X @the_beardedsina narrated his experience: “A patient comes to the hospital. He has been sick for a week, having had a fever for days. A blood culture is done, and the result shows that he’s resistant to the following drugs (antibiotics): Ceftriaxone, Ampicillin, Cipro, Levofloxacin, Metronidazole, Cefepime, Meropenem, Piperacillin, Gentamicin, Amikacin, Nitrofurantoin, Vancomycin, and Chloramphenicol.” How can we survive this??

The issue of how antimicrobials are used in agriculture is another concern. The rise of industrial farming has fully embraced the prophylactic use of antimicrobials in livestock, not primarily to treat diseases, but to enhance growth rates. However, unlike clinical settings, the agricultural use of antimicrobials lacks the same oversight and prescribing guidelines. 

The inconsistency in regulation allows for significant variation in the classes and concentrations of antimicrobials used in agriculture. In 2021, approximately 54% of the 11 million kilograms of antimicrobials sold for use in domestic agriculture in the United States were categorised as “medically important. “

In conclusion, this issue requires significant awareness and sensitisation of the general public regarding the dangers of antimicrobial resistance. Conservative preventive care should be promoted, and individuals should seek care from qualified professionals. 

The commercial use of antimicrobial drugs must be approached with caution, and all relevant agencies responsible for this oversight at national, continental, and global levels should act swiftly before the situation escalates and threatens global health, reverting us to the dark ages of high mortality and the economic toll of microbial threats.

The world faces numerous challenges, and we should focus on celebrating our victories rather than becoming overwhelmed by this struggle.

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

By Muhammad Sulaiman

A recent study conducted by the University of Otago has found that using electronic devices in bed, such as smartphones, tablets, and laptops, is linked to poorer sleep quality. The research indicates that individuals who engage in screen time while in bed experience delayed sleep onset and reduced overall sleep duration.

Dr. Bradley Brosnan, the lead author of the study, emphasized that while screen time before bed had little impact on sleep, usage once in bed significantly impaired sleep quality. The study observed that 99% of participants used screens in the two hours before bed, with more than half continuing this usage once in bed, leading to an average delay of 30 minutes in falling asleep.

Health experts warn that poor sleep can have serious long-term effects on mental and physical well-being, including increased risks of anxiety, depression, obesity, and heart disease.

Dr. Amina Bello, a sleep researcher at the National Institute of Sleep Research, who was not involved in the study, commented on the findings: “This research reinforces the importance of creating a tech-free bedtime routine. Even just 30 minutes without screens before bed can make a significant difference.”

The study recommends setting screen curfews, charging devices outside the bedroom, and engaging in relaxing activities like reading or meditation before bed to promote healthier sleep habits.

By Lawal Dahiru Mamman

Some Nigerians with the wrong intention to mock believe that sick individuals, particularly those living with Human Immunodeficiency Virus (HIV) in Africa, especially Nigeria, are now an “endangered species” due to the United States’ withdrawal from the World Health Organization (WHO).

On January 20, 2025, Donald Trump was sworn in as the 47th President of the United States, marking his return to the White House after defeating the Democratic candidate in a fierce election battle. As the world looked on to see how he would start fulfilling his promise to make “America great again,” he wasted no time signing executive orders that sent shockwaves around the globe.

One of his most controversial directives came just days into his presidency: the announcement of the U.S. withdrawal from the WHO, an organization of which it had been a founding member since 1948. This move was not entirely unexpected, as Trump had previously attempted to exit the WHO in 2020 before his decision was overturned by President Joe Biden in 2021.

To the delight of his supporters and the disappointment of his critics, Trump successfully achieved the withdrawal in early 2025. In February, he made further decisions, including cutting funding to certain organizations such as the United States Agency for International Development (USAID).

WHO leadership bemoaned the decision for obvious reasons. According to financing data, the U.S. contributed an estimated $988 million between January and November 2024, marking approximately 14% of WHO’s $6.9 billion budget. The organization further noted that U.S. funding provides the backbone for many large-scale emergency operations to combat diseases globally.

Citing an example, the WHO stated, “U.S. funding covers 95% of the WHO’s tuberculosis program in Europe, along with 60% of the agency’s TB efforts in Africa, the Western Pacific, and headquarters in Geneva.”

The African Union (AU) also expressed deep concern over the development as events continued to unfold. In a statement, AU Commission Chairperson Moussa Faki Mahamat emphasized the crucial role the U.S. has played in shaping global health standards over the past seven decades. He noted that the U.S. was a key supporter in establishing the Africa Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (Africa CDC), which works closely with WHO to tackle global health challenges, including those on the African continent.

This concern, coupled with comments such as those in the opening paragraph of this piece, should not be taken at face value or dismissed as mere press statements. It warrants careful consideration. Although the latter’s comment may be seen as a reaction to unfolding events or an attempt to mock Nigeria and Africa jokingly, more is at stake if the lives of millions of Africans solely depend on that funding.

Dead Aid: Why Aid Is Not Working and How There Is a Better Way for Africa, a 2009 book written by Zambian economist Dambisa Moyo, comes to mind. It earnestly challenged the traditional approach to foreign aid in Africa.

Moyo argues that foreign aid has failed to lift Africa out of poverty and has instead fostered a culture of dependency, corruption, and stagnation. She claims that aid has weakened Africa’s incentive to develop its own economic and political systems. Consequently, it has hindered the growth of Africa’s health sector.

It is a universal truth that no nation can survive in isolation; however, countries should be able to provide for their basic survival needs. The concern raised by the AU may validate Moyo’s hypothesis, as Africa remains dependent on aid from foreign entities like the WHO, despite having a continent-wide centre for disease control.

In 2001, African leaders signed the Abuja Declaration, promising to increase budgetary allocation for health, eradicate HIV/AIDS, and strengthen the health sector through improved infrastructure, human resources, and access to essential medicines.

Two decades later, we are lamenting a single nation’s withdrawal from the WHO because we have failed to uphold the promises we made to ourselves. What will happen if other “powerful” countries choose to leave? Will our already poor health metrics deteriorate? This should serve as a wake-up call.

All hope is not lost, as some progress has been made. In Nigeria, there was a breakthrough in November 2024. Doctors at Lagos University Teaching Hospital (LUTH), in collaboration with the Sickle Cell Foundation, successfully carried out a bone marrow transplant on two patients. This procedure once thought impossible in Nigeria, was described as “a significant step forward in the treatment of sickle cell disease—the first of its kind in West Africa.”

Also, in February 2025, Usmanu Danfodiyo University Teaching Hospital (UDUTH) joined the ranks of medical facilities that have successfully performed kidney transplants.

Nigeria can build upon and enhance these developments, attracting patients from other regions for treatment. This influx will generate revenue and may elevate us to a point where we no longer depend on funding from external organizations.

Nigeria and other African nations can leverage their existing resources to generate revenue while investing further in research to discover cures or treatments for diseases for which we have traditionally relied on palliatives.

Lawal Dahiru Mamman writes from Abuja and can be reached at dahirulawal90@gmail.com.

By Saifullahi Attahir

If there was ever anything that gave me goosebumps and immense pleasure, it was being surrounded by intellectuals and mature minds absorbing facts and figures about governance, economics, public health, policymaking, national security, and international relations. In such situations I easily lose myself, forgetting almost all other things.

Even at medical school, my best lectures were those with frequent digressions, whereby the lecturer would discuss the pathogenesis of diseases for 30 minutes and later sidetrack into discussing politics, governance, or other life issues. I always enjoyed classes led by Prof. Sagir Gumel, Dr. Murtala Abubakar, Dr. Rasheed Wemimo, Dr. Aliyu Mai Goro, and co. During such lectures, I often observed some of my colleagues disappointment for such deviation. I rather casually show indifference, for I was eternally grateful for such discussions due to the stimulatory effect they had on my mind.

After such classes, I sometimes followed up with the lecturer, not to ask about a medical concept I did not grasp, but to ask for further explanation on policy making, project execution, budgetary expenditures, why African countries are left behind, and similar pressing issues.

In situations where I can’t catch up with the lecturer, I jotted down the questions for further deliberation.

One of the manifest feature I know about my greediness was at reading books. I can open five different books in a day. I lack such discipline to finish up one before another. I can start reading ‘Mein Kampf’ by Adolf Hitler, and halfway through 300 pages, I would pick up ‘My Life’ by Sir Ahmadu Bello, and would have to concurrently read both until the end.

I often scolded myself for such an attitude, but I can’t help myself. The only way to practice such discipline was to at least read two different books in a day. Such was a triumph in my practice of self-discipline. This was apart from my conventional medical textbooks.

To some of my friends, I was called an accidental medical doctor, but actually it was a perfect fate guided by the merciful Lord that I’m studying medicine. For it was only medicine that makes reading books easier for you. Although time is precious in this profession, but one finds it easier to do anything you are passionate about. The daily interaction we have with people at their most vulnerable state was another psychostimulant. Seeing humans suffering from disease conditions is heartachy. Some of the causes are mere ignorance, poverty, superstitions, and limited resources.

The contribution one can give couldn’t be limited to just prescribing drugs or surgical procedures that end up affecting one person. It’s much better to involve one self in to position that may bring possible change to the whole society even in form of orientation.

What also motivated me more was how I wasn’t the first to traverse this similar path. Bibliophiles were common among medical students and medical professionals.

At international level, the former Prime Minister of Malaysia, Dr. Mahathir Muhammad, was a physician. Most of the current economic development of Malaysia was attributed to him. The South American revolutionary figure Che Guevara was a physician. Atul Gawande was an endocrinologist, health policy analyst, adviser to former President Obama, campaign volunteer to former President Bill Clinton, and adviser to USAID/WHO on health policies.

Frantz Fanon was another physician, psychiatrist, racial discrimination activist, and political writer. Dr. Zakir Naik was a renowned Islamic scholar, comparative religion expert, and physician.

At the national level, Prof. Usman Yusuf is a haematologist, former NHIS DG, and currently a political activist. Dr. Aminu Abdullahi Taura was a psychiatrist and former SSG to the Jigawa state government. Dr. Nuraddeen Muhammad was a psychiatrist and former cabinet minister to President Goodluck Jonathan.

During ward rounds and clinics, my mind often wanders to enquire not just about the diagnosis but the actual cause of the disease condition; why would a 17-year-old multiparous young lady develop peripartum cardiomyopathy (PPCM)? Why would a 5-year-old child develop severe anaemia from a mosquito bite? Why would a 25-year-old friend of mine develop chronic kidney disease, and his family would have to sell all their belongings for his treatment? Why are our Accident and Emergency units filled with road traffic accident cases? Was it bad road conditions or lack of adherence to traffic laws and orders?

Why are African countries still battling with 19th century diseases like Tuberculosis, filariasis, and malarial infections? Why issues of fighting cervical cancer and vaccination campaigns are treated with contempt in our societies? Why access to basic primary healthcare in Nigeria was still a luxury 50 years after Alma Ata declaration? The questions are never-ending.

Answers to these questions could be found not in the conventional medical textbooks like Robbins/Cotrand, Davidson, or Sabiston. Answers to these questions are there on our faces. Answers to these questions are tied to the very fabric of our social life, our public institutions, our culture, and our life perspectives.

In order to make any significant contribution towards the betterment of this kind of society, it would be quite easier as an insider rather than an outsider. You can’t bring any positive outcome by just talking or commenting. It was rightly stated that a cat in gloves catches no mice.

The real players in a game are always better than the spectators. A player deserves accolades despite his shortcomings, frequent falls, and inability to deliver as planned theoretically. For the player has seen it all, because so many things in public life are not as they appear. It’s only when you are there that the reality becomes visible. This is the reason why many leaders who have goodwill and enjoy public support appear to have lost track or contributed insignificantly when elected or appointed into office.

But despite all these challenges, one can’t decline to do something good just because something bad might happen. The risk is worth it.

Saifullahi Attahir wrote from Federal University Dutse. He can be reached via; saifullahiattahir93@gmail.com