They Trusted the Hospital, They Never Came Back
By Hafsat Ibrahim,
Life is the ultimate gift. Once it slips away, there is no refund, no appeal, no second chance. To treat it casually is to discard something sacred. Every breath matters. Every patient deserves care that understands this simple truth.
Yet, in Nigeria today, hospitals – places meant to preserve life are increasingly becoming scenes of avoidable tragedy. The outrage surrounding the death of Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s 21-month-old son, Nkanu Nnamdi Esege, is only the latest reminder. The toddler reportedly died following alleged medical negligence at Euracare Multispecialist Hospital in Lagos.
According to the family, an excessive dose of propofol was administered by an anesthesiologist, with inadequate monitoring afterward. The result was cardiac arrest. Adichie insists her son would still be alive if proper care had been given.
Her demand is simple and devastatingly reasonable: accountability. This is why this piece must be written. Medical negligence in Nigeria is no longer rare or shocking; it is becoming tragically familiar. Lives are being lost, and too often, it feels like nobody is truly responsible.
In Kano, Aishatu Umar, a mother of five, died following what her family describes as blatant medical negligence. She underwent surgery at Abubakar Imam Urology Center in September. Afterward, she complained repeatedly of severe abdominal pain. Each time she returned to the hospital, she was given pain relief medication and sent home.
It was only two days before her death that tests revealed the unthinkable: surgical scissors had been left inside her abdomen. She was scheduled for corrective surgery. She never lived to see it. Two years ago, I experienced my own painful encounter with Nigeria’s healthcare system.
I collapsed in the bathroom and fractured my waist. When I arrived at an orthopaedic hospital in severe pain, the doctor refused to attend to me. His reason was not clinical. It was financial. He had not received an alert. Imagine lying in agony while life-saving care is withheld over a bank notification.
In that moment, it became painfully clear that, for some hospitals, money arrives before compassion. I witnessed another scene that still haunts me. A woman in labour, writhing in pain, was left unattended while nurses gisted and laughed nearby.
When questioned, they casually explained that her cervix was “not yet open.” One is left to ask: where, then, was the care? When did medicine become indifference? Earlier this year, another loss shook social media. Esther Thomas, a 26-year-old skit maker popularly known as Sunshine, died following complications from fibroid surgery. She had endured stomach pain for two weeks before seeking medical help.
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Doctors discovered a large fibroid and performed surgery that was initially declared successful. Complications followed. Sunshine did not survive. According to her colleague, Chidera Madu, Sunshine was first taken to Orchid General Hospital, where she was allegedly given only pain relief medication because of a doctors’ strike.
She was later transferred to Havillah Hospital, where the surgery took place. Once again, delays, system failures, and questionable care converged with fatal consequences. Renowned fashion designer Toyin Lawani has also spoken openly about her ordeal with spine surgery gone wrong. She alleges that profit was prioritised over proper care, leading to severe complications.
Her conclusion is telling: Nigerians who can afford it should seek medical treatment abroad. When citizens begin to see escape as healthcare policy, something has collapsed. Medical negligence is not a minor lapse. It can worsen conditions, prolong suffering, cause permanent disability, or end lives altogether.
When healthcare professionals fail to meet basic standards, the damage goes far beyond the patient. Families are shattered. Trust is destroyed.
What makes these stories especially painful is that many of these deaths were avoidable. Patients enter hospitals with faith. They surrender their bodies and futures into professional hands.
Negligence betrays that trust in the cruelest way. Addressing this crisis requires more than outrage. It demands prevention, accountability, and compassion. Healthcare professionals must receive regular training to minimise errors. Hospitals must create environments where mistakes can be reported honestly, without fear, so that lives are saved rather than reputations protected.
There must be clear regulations and real consequences for negligence. Patient safety, communication, informed consent, and access to justice should never be optional. At the heart of this crisis is regulation—or the absence of it. Nigeria’s healthcare system continues to suffer from poor funding, inadequate infrastructure, workforce shortages, corruption, and weak oversight.
Medical negligence thrives where accountability is absent.
Regulation matters because it sets standards. It ensures hospitals meet basic requirements, reduces errors, improves patient outcomes, and curbs corruption. It creates consequences where there is recklessness and incentives where there is excellence.
Strong regulation can also drive investment into healthcare infrastructure, equipment, and personnel, particularly in underserved rural areas. Experts have long argued for the establishment of an independent Health Regulatory Authority—one empowered to inspect facilities, enforce standards, and sanction defaulters without fear or favour. That call has never been more urgent.
Because in the end, this is not about policies or institutions alone. It is about human beings. It is about mothers who should return home to their children, babies who should grow into adults, and patients who deserve care—not gamble—with their lives. Life is precious. Every soul matters. And no hospital should ever forget that.
