I was mourning the death of my mother quietly when I read about the death of one of Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s twins, Nkanu. The news reopened wounds that had barely begun to heal. I was even more pained knowing that my late mother was also a twin.
This is no longer just grief for me , its annoying to say the least, and it is time to speak.
Nigeria’s health system is not merely underperforming; in many cases, it is fatally broken.
Victims like us must speak up. Let it be clearly stated that I share these deeply personal experiences not to promote or demarket any hospital or medical brand, but to expose a systemic failure that continues to claim lives needlessly.
A Near-Miss That Could Have Destroyed My Child’s Life (Nov 2021)
In 2021, after three harrowing years of medical uncertainty, my child—barely six years old—was wrongly diagnosed with Hirschsprung’s disease at the Federal Medical Centre, Abeokuta, Ogun State. A surgeon confidently fixed a date for a major surgical procedure.
Something did not feel right.
The diagnostic results were questionable, and the surgeon’s certainty felt reckless. We sought a second opinion elsewhere. What we received was not surgery, but nutritional guidance and lifestyle modification.
Today, my daughter is perfectly healthy, without a single incision.
Had we not sought a second opinion, my daughter would have been wrongly opened up and possibly condemned to a lifetime with a colostomy bag. This is how close incompetence comes to permanently ruining lives.
My Father’s Ordeal: When the System Completely Failed (July 2023)
In July 2023, my parents required cataract surgery. In Ondo State, there were no modern facilities—no laser machines. We brought them to Lagos, where both surgeries were successful.
Shortly after, my father complained that one eye was dilating. He was examined and medicated. Five days after returning to Ondo State, my late mother called me in distress: my father could neither walk nor eat.
I rushed home immediately. What I met was terrifying.
My father was severely emaciated, barely able to stand.
We took him to the Federal Medical Centre, Owo—the only hospital with a mix of consultants. There, we were told:
- The CT scan machine was faulty
- Medical officers were on strike
- We should “come back the following week”
My father was deteriorating rapidly before my eyes.
Anyone familiar with Nigeria’s public hospitals knows this bitter truth: you often leave more hopeless—and sometimes sicker—than when you arrived. Facilities are in a deplorable state.
With no time to waste, my siblings and I made a desperate decision. Road travel was impossible due to his condition and the terrible state of our roads. He would not have survived it.
We chartered an air ambulance: Abuja to Akure, Akure to Lagos.
Within 30 minutes of landing, an ambulance was waiting at a private hangar and rushed him to First Cardiology Consultants, Lagos. In less than 48 hours, doctors discovered that medication prescribed to dehydrate fluid in his eye had dangerously interfered with his regular medications.
He lost six kilograms in five days.
This is what our health system has become.
My Own Escape from a Dangerous Misdiagnosis
Years earlier, a doctor insisted that my blood sugar levels were dangerously high and that I must immediately be placed on insulin. I refused. I practically ran out of that hospital.
Eleven years later, I have never used insulin.
We have far too many poorly supervised, poorly motivated, and unaccountable individuals wearing doctors’ coats, operating within a system that neither supports excellence nor punishes negligence.
My Mother’s Final Battle—and Her Final Trauma (May 2024 – September 2025)
The reported death of Nkanu, allegedly due to an overdose of Propofol, shocked me out of my grieving state because it mirrored my own lived experience.
In 2024, my mother was diagnosed with Stage 3C colon cancer at Evercare Hospital, Lagos. It was a brutal battle.
Mothers are sacred. I will spare the full details. Maami, as I fondly called her, received the best care we could afford—chemotherapy, radiotherapy, immunotherapy, targeted therapy, love, time, and unwavering presence.
We knew her illness was terminal. But we fought at every chance we had.
From my time in oncology wards, one reality is undeniable: Nigeria is facing a silent cancer epidemic. The number of patients is staggering, and the causes demand urgent national investigation.
On September 19, 2025, we brought my mother in for surgery to fix a broken arm caused by cancer metastasis. Payments had already been made.
Yet something weighed heavily on my spirit: What if she doesn’t survive this surgery?
I requested a postponement. The consultant was visibly displeased.
Instead, I insisted we address her pleural effusion first. We opted for pleurodesis, an expensive but comfort-improving procedure. We were assured it was painless.
It was not.
While I stepped out briefly, I received a video call. My mother was screaming in agony—crying in a way I had never seen.
The procedure had been administered without prior pain relief or analgesia.
In a functioning system, this would trigger an immediate professional inquiry. Instead, we were helpless.
On the night of September 25, my mother took her final breath with me standing beside her.
Even in death, indignity followed. The hospital billed us significantly higher than what Ebony Vaults charged directly. Only firm confrontation secured a refund.
Beyond Individual Tragedies: The Systemic Rot
Nigeria’s healthcare crisis is not only about negligence. It is also about:
- Severely inadequate medical equipment
- Obsolete diagnostic tools
- Non-functional CT scans and MRI machines
- Hospitals without basic consumables
- Doctors and nurses paid salaries that cannot sustain dignity
Poor remuneration and unsafe working conditions have destroyed morale. The result is a massive brain drain, with Nigeria exporting its best doctors to the UK, US, Canada, Saudi Arabia, and beyond—while citizens are left to gamble with their lives at home.
This is not sustainable.
What Government Must Do—Urgently
- Treat healthcare as critical national infrastructure, not a budgetary afterthought
- Invest aggressively in modern equipment, diagnostics, and digital health systems
- Pay healthcare workers living wages tied to performance and accountability
- Strengthen regulation, licensing, and malpractice enforcement
- Encourage transparent public–private partnerships, not rent-seeking arrangements
A Massive Opportunity for the Private Sector
Nigeria’s broken health system is also a huge investment opportunity for serious, ethical private capital:
- Diagnostic centres
- Oncology and dialysis hubs,etc.
- Emergency and trauma services
- Medical logistics and air ambulances
- Health insurance and managed-care systems
With the right policy environment, Nigeria can become a healthcare destination, not a medical refugee nation.
Enough Is Enough
I do not know all the details behind Nkanu’s death. But if reports of an anaesthetic overdose are true, it reinforces what many of us already know:
Nigeria’s health system is killing people—quietly, carelessly, and without accountability.
My deepest condolences go to Chimamanda, her husband, and their entire family. No parent should bury a child. No death like this should ever be normalized.
May the souls of the departed rest in peace.
But for the living, silence is no longer an option.
