“Nigeria possesses a legal framework capable of addressing medical negligence. The difficulty is not absence of law. It is the gap between legal right and practical justice.”
She went in for an elective hysterectomy. She never woke up.
Peju Ugboma walked into a Lagos hospital in April 2021 for what should have been a routine procedure. Hours later, she was dead. The autopsy revealed two litres of blood in her abdomen. The hospital failed to detect internal bleeding. Her husband, a doctor, pleaded with staff. They did not listen.
She is not alone.
Medical Negligence A Silent Epidemic In The Health Sector
In December 2025, Samuel Alozie took his twin babies for routine immunisation at a Lagos Primary Healthcare Centre. Within 24 hours, both were dead. He alleged they were given an unfamiliar injection. The video went viral in January 2026. A post-mortem is pending.
In September 2025, Aishatu Umar underwent surgery at the Abubakar Imam Urology Centre in Kano. Surgeons left a pair of scissors inside her abdomen. For four months she returned, complaining of pain. They never investigated. In January 2026, before the scissors could be removed, she died. The state has admitted negligence.
And in January 2026, Nkanu Nnamdi, the 21-month-old son of Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, walked into Euracare Hospital in Lagos with a mild illness. His family alleges inadequate monitoring after sedation.
The MDCN has established a prima facie case of negligence against three doctors and suspended them pending proceedings. Nnamdi never made it abroad.
Four names. Four hospitals. Two public, two private. One common thread: the law that should have protected them arrived too late — if it arrived at all.
The Scale Of The Crisis
Reports claim about 70,000 Nigerians die from medical negligence yearly. Other estimates suggest 250,000 annual deaths from medical errors. These figures are difficult to verify — Nigeria’s vital registration is weak. But the consistency across sources suggests a scale that cannot be dismissed.
What is not in dispute is this: medical negligence in Nigeria is not a series of isolated accidents. It is a systemic crisis.
What The Law Already Provides
Nigeria possesses a legal framework capable of addressing medical negligence. The difficulty is not absence of law. It is the gap between legal right and practical justice.
The tort of negligence requires four elements: duty, breach, causation, and damage. Where a doctor-patient relationship exists, duty is clear. Where instruments are left inside a body, breach is admitted. Where death follows, causation is established. Where life is lost, damage is catastrophic.
There is a constitutional paradox. Section 17 directs the state to ensure adequate medical facilities for all. Yet Section 6(6)(c) makes Chapter II non-justiciable.
A citizen cannot sue the government merely for failing to build hospitals. Sections 33 and 34, protecting life and dignity, are justiciable. Negligence law is dignity law in action: it enforces the Constitution where the state cannot be compelled.
The Medical and Dental Practitioners Act establishes the MDCN to investigate misconduct. The National Health Act 2014 sets standards for care and patient rights.
In April 2026, the Federal High Court in Lifebridge v. FCCPC affirmed that the FCCPC can investigate negligence complaints even where the MDCN has regulatory powers. Justice Emeka Nwite held that healthcare is a “service” under the FCCPA, and consumer protection is distinct from professional discipline.
This creates, for the first time, a dual-layer framework: professional accountability through the MDCN, and consumer protection through the FCCPC.
The Nigerian Medical Association (NMA), particularly its Lagos branch, has criticised the judgment as creating regulatory overlap. But whose interest should the law prioritise — the practitioner who fears multiple regulators, or the patient who fears none at all?
Where The System Falls Short
The greatest weakness is fragmentation.
Civil litigation is lengthy and expensive. Families must obtain expert evidence and pursue claims for years. Justice delayed becomes justice abandoned.
The MDCN’s Investigation Panel comprises only medical practitioners — no lawyers, no patient advocates. The Disciplinary Tribunal cannot operate until the MDCN Council is fully constituted — and it is not.
Government hospitals hide behind institutional walls. When negligence is admitted, the state treats it as internal. Families must fight for compensation through slow courts against a government with deeper pockets.
Dr. Olisa Agbakoba (SAN), who has handled over 50 malpractice cases, has raised alarm about record tampering to evade liability.
The result: a system where everyone has a role, but no one delivers timely justice. The bereaved wait. And often give up.
Human Dignity Does Not End At The Hospital Door
Every discussion about negligence returns to one principle: human dignity. Section 34 guarantees the dignity of the human person. Section 33 protects the right to life. These are not abstract ideals. They are the foundation of every patient’s right to trust that their life matters.
A hospital is where citizens entrust their lives to professionals. That trust is the foundation of healthcare. When negligence destroys it, the public loses confidence.
Nigeria has thousands of dedicated healthcare professionals who save lives daily. The tragedy is that weak oversight allows a minority to destroy public trust for everyone.
Richard Ajayi, founder of Bridge Clinic, put it starkly: “Nigeria’s 1.3 billion medical tourism bill is the symptom of a system that stopped trusting itself.”
Every time a Nigerian flies abroad for treatment they could receive at home, they vote with their feet against a system that has failed them. Every time a family buries a loved one who should have survived, the dignity violation is irreversible.
Time For Stronger Reform
The tragedies of 2025 and 2026 must become a turning point. Nigeria needs comprehensive reform.
First, enact a unified Clinical Negligence and Patient Safety Law. Dr. Agbakoba has called for this — a law that consolidates fragmented provisions, codifies standards of care, and separates civil, criminal, and disciplinary liabilities.
Second, establish independent State Healthcare Commissions, separate from ministries of health, with powers to license, inspect, investigate, and sanction. The current structure creates conflicts of interest.
Third, create administrative redress schemes for low-value claims. A dedicated tribunal could resolve straightforward cases within months without the delay of full litigation.
Fourth, mandate professional indemnity insurance for all facilities. Public hospitals often lack coverage, leaving victims to fight the state. Mandatory insurance ensures compensation does not depend on government goodwill.
Fifth, strengthen the FCCPC’s healthcare oversight. The Commission needs dedicated investigators, clear protocols for accessing records, and memoranda with the MDCN defining respective roles.
Sixth, mandate publication of anonymised annual data on serious adverse events. The National Health Act 2014 and MDCN Code already impose record-keeping duties. Linking mandatory reporting of “never events” — retained instruments, wrong-site surgery, medication errors — to these obligations gives regulators tools they lack.
Seventh, the MDCN must be fully constituted. The NMA warns that without a functional Council, the Disciplinary Tribunal cannot operate. The Adichie-Esege case exposed this paralysis. It must end.
The Bottom Line
Peju Ugboma, Samuel Alozie’s twins, Aishatu Umar, Nkanu Nnamdi — their deaths are not statistics. They are human beings who trusted they would be cared for. The law owed them protection. It arrived too late, or not at all.
Nigeria has the laws, the institutions, and the Constitution. What it lacks is the will to ensure every patient enters a hospital confident their life matters.
Health law is not statutes on paper. It is protecting human dignity when you are most vulnerable, trusting strangers with your life.
Your life should not depend on whether a hospital remembers to count the surgical instruments. But in Nigeria today, sometimes it does.
And that is the silent epidemic no enrolment figure can disguise.
•Sanu is a Nigerian lawyer, researcher and health law scholar. This column examines contemporary health policy and legal issues through the lens of accountability, justice and human dignity.
