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Chimamanda, I won’t cry for you

By The Duke of Shomolu


 Over the last 48 hours, I have had extensive conversations with Chimamanda’s media consultant, Eurocare’s media consultant, the chairman of one of Nigeria’s largest private hospital chains and one of Nigeria’s most brilliant medical practitioners who has consulted for the top five private hospitals in Nigeria and was recently headhunted from the UK by one of them.

 

I even took my time to listen to Olisa Agbakoba, who claims to have handled over 50 medical claims in recent times in Nigeria.

 

The stats are staggeringly scary, and this is why I won’t cry for Chimamanda.

 

Her case is precisely the case of that person who will not shout until it happens to her.

 

 

This is not only to Chimamanda but to all 200 million of us.

 

I have learnt that we have only 43,000 hospitals in Nigeria, with fewer than 10,000 beds, and a very shameful doctor-to-patient ratio.

 

I have also learnt that there is no regulatory framework governing the health sector at any level and that the last law promulgated in that sector was in 1963.

 

 

I have also learnt that Sir Manuwa was the last medical official charged with regulating the sector in Lagos in 1976.

 

I have furthermore learnt that only Lagos state and Yobe state have a hospital registration board, while the rest operate on a free-for-all basis.

 

An estimated 50,000 people die monthly in our hospitals, a killing density much denser than the insurgency in the north-east.

 

For all intents and purposes, if you, as a Nigerian, fall sick and go to the hospital, the chances of coming out alive are less than 40 percent.

 

 

The beautiful thing is that the epidemic knows no social or income boundaries, as our elites, in their usual manner, have tried to build medical enclaves for themselves within the country, but still end up victims like Chimamanda’s case.

 

Then, when they rush abroad, some come back like Muhammadu Buhari, showing that there is nowhere to hide.

 

One in 100 Nigerian families has lost someone to medical negligence.

 

I, the author, lost Mena Joseph Edgar, and just last week, my egbon lost his wife, whose arteries were slashed open in a bid to serve her intravenous drugs.

 

 

This article is not to recount the many cases or to list all the deficiencies of the sector, and certainly not to profer solutions or shout the usual wake-up call, but to laugh at us.

 

We are a country of goons, a clownish conglomerate of selfish and self-centred baboons who fool themselves by calling themselves Giants of Africa.

 

 

Our collective wickedness and selfishness turn around to bite us as it is in this health system collapse, and we shout for a week and then move on.

 

Until this happened to Chimamanda, she was out there shouting whatever it was that made her famous without lending her very strong voice to this matter because -it did not concern her.

 

 

Till it happened to me, I was out there running wild.

 

Nobody expects it to happen to them, because it happens to the next guy, and we will go to his house as they did to me and utter the rubbish – it is well- that we all say in self-deprecating hypocrisy.

 

 

I will never cry for Chimamanda because this was never her business till it happened to her and I will not cry for anyone who has to go through the harrowing trauma of losing a loved one in the putrid smelly bowels of our healthcare system until we as a nation rise up like Olusegun Obasanjo did when planes were dropping from the skies on a daily basis, to say enough.

 

One last thing, though, the health community cannot, each time this happens, start shouting about the ‘traumatic conditions’ of their service as an excuse to be killing people.

 

The next time any doctor or health official tries that with me, God knows, I will slap the person.

 

When we are ready to collectively tackle this matter, I will cry for Chimamanda.

 

For now, she should cry her tears, because I have my tears to cry, just as relatives of the 50,000 that will die next month will cry.

 

Everybody, cry your tears, and if that won’t console you, you may come and beat me.

 

Thank you.

 

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