Alu Azege
As the sun rose over Makurdi, Benue State, Mimidoo stood outside the local clinic, tapping her foot against the worn pavement. It was her third visit this month for a pregnancy check-up, and a deadly mix of bureaucracy and outdated practice seemed bent on delaying care. Mothers like her face daunting obstacles — limited prenatal services, crippling costs, and overstretched staff. Despite her hopes for a healthy pregnancy, the hurdles left her feeling vulnerable and alone.
Inside the crowded room, anxiety was visible on many faces. A woman in the corner wept quietly; another clutched her child and stared straight ahead. These were not private crises but symptoms of systemic failures that shape women’s health across Nigeria.
I have seen this before. In a public hospital in Abuja, I sat clutching my medical file as a tired nurse called names down the corridor. Women nearby whispered about endless queues, the lack of privacy, and the fear that their pain would be ignored. That waiting room held dozens of small indignities that, together, form a larger narrative about what it means to seek care and dignity as a woman in Nigeria.
Those personal moments are not isolated. They expose the urgent gaps in our healthcare system — gaps that demand reform to ensure reproductive health services, maternal care, and mental health support are accessible, respectful, and stigma-free. Justice, here, is tangible: it is the right to enter a clinic and be treated with competence and compassion.
But better healthcare alone is not enough.
Women make up a substantial portion of Nigeria’s population yet contend with persistent disadvantages in health, economic opportunity, and social wellbeing. High maternal mortality and inadequate sexual and reproductive health services underscore a dire reality. The World Health Organisation reports that Nigeria’s maternal mortality rates remain unacceptably high, driven by limited access to quality care, entrenched stigma around reproductive health, and weak enforcement of policies designed to help women.
Our health system reflects broader social hierarchies that too often dismiss women’s needs. Policies exist on paper, but enforcement is inconsistent. Many facilities fail to meet national standards because of chronic underfunding and a shortage of training in gender-sensitive practices.
Still, there are bright spots. In communities where women’s groups have organised, change is happening. Grassroots organisations provide information about available services, offer peer support during pregnancy, and educate women about their rights in healthcare settings. These initiatives help destigmatise care-seeking and build local cultures where women’s health is prioritised.
A pleasure-positive outlook is essential to this work. Justice is not only redressing inequity; it is enabling thriving. When women have access to high-quality care, health education, and supportive networks, pregnancies are healthier, families are stronger, and women can make empowered choices about their lives. Justice should mean the freedom to pursue wellbeing, joy, and potential without the weight of shame or systemic barriers.
Systemic reform through firm policy change is necessary to make that vision real. Priorities should include comprehensive healthcare coverage, mandatory training for providers in gender-sensitive care, enforcement of reproductive health laws, and expanded access to family planning and mental health services.
The urgency is real. As Nigeria confronts these challenges, we must imagine — and then build — a future where justice becomes routine. We need effective health reform, stronger community-based support, and a determined effort to dismantle the stigmas that keep women from care.
Justice must become the new normal: an everyday opportunity to thrive. Let us make that future real — for Mimidoo, for me, and for every Nigerian woman.
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