BY ROSEMARY NWAEBUNI/ CHIKA KWAMBA/ RITA OYIBOKA/ AMAYINDI YAKUBU
In a nation where hope for a better future rests on the shoulders of the young, Great Ogono’s tale is one of heartbreak, betrayal, and a healthcare system that abandoned him when he needed it most. It’s the story of a father desperately trying to save his son, only to be met with bureaucracy, indifference, and ultimately, devastating loss.
As he watched his vibrant young son, Great, suffer, Mr. Jonathan Ogono’s frustration grew. Every effort to save his child was stymied by what he calls “carelessness” and a system that placed bureaucratic barriers above human life. Like many Nigerians, he entrusted his family’s welfare to a healthcare structure that, in his words, ended up betraying him.
Nigeria, a land of immense potential, a youthful nation bursting with the energy of 234 million people, ought to be more than this. But, in a country with rapid urbanisation and a median age of just 17.9, the healthcare system has not kept pace with its population.
In the backdrop of bustling cities and packed communities, public health infrastructure remains worryingly underdeveloped, struggling under the strain of limited resources and extensive brain drain.
By 2023, Nigeria’s healthcare crisis had reached a fever pitch. The sector is plagued by a mass exodus of professionals, crumbling infrastructure, a growing dependence on medical tourism, and paltry government funding, just 5% of the federal budget in 2021, far short of the 15% pledge made in the Abuja Declaration over two decades ago.
Despite these glaring needs, modern medical facilities are still rare, pushing Nigeria’s healthcare metrics to some of the lowest on the continent. With a staggering growth rate of 3.2% annually, the population could reach 400 million by 2050, intensifying the pressure on a system already stretched to breaking point.
These systemic shortcomings came to bear with brutal force in the case of Mr. Ogono’s son, Great, a 17 year old boy who had just gained admission into the university. In his interview with The Pointer, Mr. Ogono described a harrowing sequence of events that no parent should ever endure. From hospital to hospital, they chased the elusive promise of treatment, only to be met with indifference and demands for payment.
It began when Great first showed signs of illness. “Around 2 a.m., we took him to Lana Hospital, a private clinic in Sapele,” Mr. Ogono recalled. The staff there provided immediate treatment, asking nothing upfront. By morning, Great seemed stable and was sent home with instructions for daily follow-up care. But just a day later, his condition worsened. Back in the hospital, his journey through a chain of healthcare facilities began, as his family frantically sought help.
With hope slipping, they took him to another private clinic, Obule Medical Centre, where he fell into a coma. He was immediately referred to the Delta State University Teaching Hospital (DELSUTH). Comprehensive tests at DELSUTH indicated an urgent need for surgery to remove a significant deposit lodged in his forehead.
However, DELSUTH, lacking the necessary equipment, referred him to the University of Benin Teaching Hospital (UBTH). What followed was a nightmarish odyssey of dismissive staff, ignored pleas, and protocol-enforced delays that, Mr. Ogono believes, led to his son’s death.
“We arrived in Benin City that Sunday, October 27, 2024 at 7 PM, accompanied by a nurse and doctor from DELSUTH, who had been responsible for the oxygen machine my son was using. At UBTH, despite our urgent pleas, we were met with indifference. The medical staff refused to recognise the situation as an emergency, insisting that we follow “proper channels” and leaving us to navigate the process on our own. “At the Accident and Emergency Unit, we were told to take him to the Intensive Care Unit (ICU). On getting to the ICU, the doctor refused to take my son in and ordered us back to the emergency insisting that we must followed a process. We returned back to the Emergency helpless, praying that the said process be concluded quickly to return to the ICU where who thought treatment could commence.
“At the Accident and Emergency (A&E) Unit, a staff there came towards the ambulance, ordered us to open it as he stood at a distance to observe my child. Eventually, they ordered us to deposit N500,000 and open a file with N20,000 before they could attend to him. We completed the payments for the file and treatment within 15 minutes and received receipts. Afterward, we were referred back to the ICU centre,” he said.
“For over four hours, Great was left in the ambulance with the oxygen running low,” he said. Mr. Ogono revealed that when they got to the ICU, the doctor refused to accept his son into the Ward as he claimed that there was no ventilator to use for his son. “The doctor said that the hospital had 10 Ventilators but that eight of them had broken down and the remaining 2 were in use for other patients. I pleaded with the doctor to take my son in while I look for where to rent a ventilator for my son but the pleading fell on deaf ears. He refused and ordered us to take my son back to Delta. At this point, my son’s life was slipping away as the oxygen was running out”.
Mr. Ogono shared that while he was pleading with the doctor to save the life of his son, he was alerted by the medical personnel who had accompanied him from DELSUTH that the oxygen had run out and his child had taken his last breath inside the ambulance.
It beats our imagination, why a tertiary health institution entrusted with the critical task of saving lives, could toss a patient about for over four hours demanding different payments when it knows it had no ventilator to care for the patient. Was it out of place to inform the parent of Great Ogono that the hospital had inadequate ventilators on arrival and to either seek healthcare service elsewhere or rent a ventilator while various payment deposits were made?
Even the reported cases were swept under the carpet. But be rest assured, that He who recompense in secret will administer justice for the helpless Nigerians.
According to him, “I observed there was conflict between the heads of the ICU and the emergency unit, which ultimately led to my child’s death. We had trusted these professionals, only to discover that they were more focused on payments than on my son’s life. It felt like money took precedence over human life. During our time there, I witnessed the deaths of at least three individuals due to a lack of compassion and commitment to saving lives.”
Great Ogono’s case is just a tip of the iceberg of the rots that goes on in Nigeria’s health sector. It seems that Nigerian healthcare providers have become so used to seeing people die that they have become immune that death of patients means nothing to them. One will not be mistaken to say that it is almost becoming a delight to them seeing patients die.
This played out right in front of Mr. Ogono who recalled that while at UBTH, he witnessed,
“One family was arguing with the staff because their child had been brought in that morning and had still not received any attention by nightfall. The family of a man who had died was told by a nurse at the hospital, ‘Do not leave that thing there. Carry it to the mortuary,’ referring to the man’s corpse. The situation was chaotic, and there was a clear absence of urgency.”
Mr. Ogono reflects that their experience is a grim reminder of Nigeria’s unfulfilled healthcare promises. “The doctors wouldn’t allow my child to leave the ambulance, even though it was an emergency,” he said.
In the end, the Ogonos are left not only with grief but with demands. They call for justice, proper investigation into the negligence that took the life of his young undergraduate son. He is equally seeking refund of the N520,000 paid to UBTH as the hospital did not attend to his son “Our son’s death must not be in vain,” Mr. Ogono insisted. “Medical personnel should be held accountable for negligence that costs lives. It’s time for change, for true compassion.”
These calls resonate, as reports of malpractice and neglect mount across health institutions in Nigeria. A 2023 study by Olaniyi Olaleye exposed the extent of underfunding in the health sector, with budget utilisation in decline, from 69% in 2018 to a mere 53% by 2021.
Despite the Abuja Declaration’s benchmark of 15%, Nigeria’s health budget has stubbornly hovered below 6%. Meanwhile, other African nations like South Africa and Rwanda have honoured their commitments, and their citizens reap the benefits.
The rot in Nigeria’s health system goes far beyond funding. Former Secretary to the Government of the Federation, Boss Mustapha, admitted during the COVID-19 crisis that he had no idea how decayed the infrastructure was until the pandemic hit. “Our healthcare system was shockingly unprepared,” he said, a sobering assessment from someone at the highest levels of government.
Indeed, stories like that of the Ogonos are sadly common. In recent years, medical negligence has claimed lives across Nigeria. Mrs. Peju Ugboma, founder of I Luv Desserts, died following alleged incompetence during surgery, her family alleging fatal errors. The case of Prince Ovwiomodiowho’s wife, Loveth, who died in childbirth due to inadequate care, highlights the chronic lack of accountability. Her husband believes that simple preparedness could have saved her and their unborn child.
For Nigeria, these cases serve as grim indicators that the system isn’t just failing, but that in some instances, it is actively harming those it’s meant to protect. Laws like the Medical and Dental Practitioners Act outline standards for care, yet lapses in professionalism and empathy are all too frequent. Despite the Hippocratic Oath, stories of malpractice and negligence continue, leaving countless families devastated.
The rules of conduct are clear: prompt patient care, accurate diagnoses, informed consent, and meticulous monitoring are all mandated. And yet, families like the Ogonos are left with only heartbreak and the sense that, somewhere along the line, human life has taken a backseat to procedural red tape and bureaucratic indifference.
For Mr. Ogono, the fight does not end with his son’s burial. His demand for justice, an overhaul of the healthcare sector, a refund of the money UBTH failed to use to save his son, and accountability for those who failed is a clarion call for all Nigerians.
The message is unmistakable: let Nigeria’s health system finally deliver on its promise to protect its people. Not for headlines or political pledges, but for the simple, sacred duty of preserving life.
To underscore this point, we turn to the sobering words of former Chairman of the Committee of Chief Medical Directors of Federal Tertiary Hospitals in Nigeria, Dr. Thomas Agan who boldly states that over 90% of deaths in Nigerian hospitals stem from the troubling attitudes of healthcare workers.
“Until healthcare providers recognise that the patients they serve could just as easily be their own family members, spouses, siblings, or children, nothing will truly change,” he warns.
It’s time for a wake-up call, one that we cannot afford to ignore any longer.
