Healthcare Nigerian style

I managed to go 7 months without having to encounter the Nigerian healthcare service. Until last week when I had to take myself to a clinic in Abuja. The clinic itself was completely fine; that’s one of the benefits of being based in Abuja, there’s a clinic that VSO recommends here. I did however find some elements of the experience slightly amusing. When I registered at the reception I was given the number 35 so went to sit down to wait until it was my turn. I had assumed that I would follow whoever had number 34. Silly me. It became clear that it didn’t really matter what number you had in your hand, what was far more important was how much of a fuss you made and who could run to the door of the consultation room the fastest when the last patient came out. I’ve never seen so many clearly ill people move so fast. Not being one for pushing in or creating a scene, I didn’t relish the prospect of this. The man next to me asked when it was my turn. I pointed at my ticket and said after number 34 and he burst out laughing. It seems the numbers are really quite meaningless. Thankfully my friend was with me, who is far more used to the ways of doing things here, so I didn’t have to wait too long. Then when I was in the consultation room being examined, a woman walked in, sat down, and started talking to the doctor. I have no idea who she was, but they seemed to have a lovely conversation about how their children were, about general life in Abuja, and about how busy the clinic was. After 10 minutes she got up and walked out and the doctor returned to my consultation. I then had to repeat the fun game of jumping the queue when I went down to the lab for the next stage of the ‘process’. The lab technician was very friendly. He wanted me to take him to the UK to do his attachment in microbiology. I had to gently explain that perhaps that wouldn’t work, because 1. I am not living in the UK; I am living in Nigeria, and 2. On my VSO allowance I don’t really have the money to support myself and a random stranger doing his medical attachment. He looked quite upset, I almost wished I’d mentioned this after he’d done the blood test, I think he’d have been considerably more gentle with the needle if he’d still thought there was a chance I’d adopt him and take him home with me.

So, that was my first encounter with the healthcare service here, and also my first encounter with malaria. Not too bad after 7 months, but an experience I’m hoping I can avoid repeating for the remainder of my placement, I don’t really like going to the doctor at the best of times.