Rising cases of preventable patient deaths due to hospital negligence and delayed emergency care have triggered nationwide outrage, with activists and citizens demanding immediate healthcare reforms and stricter accountability measures.
By Nij Martin,
The death certificate didn’t mention the scissors. For four months, Aishatu Umar Kano, a mother of five, returned to her hospital complaining of unbearable pain. Each time, she received pain relievers and was sent home. By the time doctors discovered a pair of surgical scissors lodged inside her abdomen from a September operation, it was too late.
Her story is not unique. Across Nigeria, a disturbing pattern has emerged: patients arriving at hospitals in critical condition, only to die from delays, alleged negligence, or outright rejection at emergency room doors. What began as isolated complaints has mushroomed into a national crisis that exposes the fragile state of Nigeria’s healthcare system.
Prof. Akiola Akimade, Chief Medical Officer of Afebablola University, acknowledges the challenges but insists on professional standards. “In every case, the first priority of hospitals is to save lives. By training, doctors and nurses are taught that the patient’s survival comes first, and everything else follows,” he stated. He added that while complications arise—particularly with gunshot victims—”the standard protocol is always to stabilize and secure the patient’s life first; questions and other procedures come afterwards.”
Yet the gap between protocol and practice appears dangerously wide.
Activist Eneh Obi doesn’t mince words about the crisis. “It’s very disappointing, you know, the reactions of hospitals. What is humanity all about?” she asked. “You can get money from people, but it’s not all the time. When life is supposed to be saved, that should be the focus of hospitals.”
The scenarios she describes paint a grim picture: women in labor turned away, children dying because families couldn’t provide upfront deposits, snake bite and gunshot victims rejected due to missing supplies or drugs. “We’ve had children dying because they wouldn’t accept the child because there is no deposit,” Obi stated.
She traces the problem to systemic failures. “The value of life for Nigerians is so flimsy. When somebody dies, they say the person is gone. But governance is about the protection of life, the welfare of the people, and the security of the country.”
Her questions cut to the heart of resource allocation: “When last did you hear that new government hospitals have been opened for the poor? Don’t we have resources? Can’t we build and equip hospitals and make services affordable? Why should many people die so carelessly?”
The activist emphasizes that emergency care cannot be transactional. “In emergencies, you don’t know who is rich or poor. You need to save lives before you start thinking of payment,” she said, calling for stronger corporate social responsibility from private healthcare providers.
Beyond outrage, Obi demands action. “It’s unfortunate. We have so many laws we cannot implement. The government should seek direction for the welfare of the people.”
As families continue burying loved ones lost to preventable deaths, the question remains: How many more Aishatus must die before Nigeria’s healthcare system prioritizes lives over procedures, humanity over payments, and accountability over apathy?
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