In 2006, I was conducting research on animal traction in Maiduguri under the scorching sun of Ramadan. At the end of the day’s work, I dropped off one of my enumerators at his house, which he amusingly described as being near “London.” I was puzzled but too exhausted to probe further.
The next morning, I asked him about his comment. He explained that “London” referred to the graveyard—a satirical jab at the Nigerian elite who often travel abroad, especially to London, for medical treatment but end up returning as corpses. This streetwise cynicism speaks volumes about the irony and futility of medical tourism when death remains inevitable. It also reflects the deeper issues plaguing Nigeria’s healthcare system.
Over the last 15 years, hospitals in London and surrounding areas have witnessed the deaths of at least ten prominent Nigerians, validating that cynical Maiduguri joke and raising serious questions about the quality of healthcare in Nigeria. The most recent example is the passing of former President Muhammadu Buhari, who died in a London hospital on July 13, 2025. Buhari had previously overcome critical health issues early in his presidency and had served Nigeria both as a military ruler and a democratically elected president. Another notable death was that of Dr. Abba Sayyadi Ruma, a former Minister of Agriculture, who passed away unexpectedly after reassuring a phone call with me from London just days earlier.
Other high-profile Nigerians who died abroad include Kano’s Sheikh Isyaku Rabiu, a philanthropist and businessman; the revered Emir of Kano, Alhaji Ado Bayero; Oba Okunade Sijuwade of Ife; and former Vice President Alex Ekwueme. The list continues with diplomat Oluyemi Adeniji, entrepreneur and senator Ifeanyi Ubah, former CBN Governor Clement Isong, and Biafran leader Chukwuemeka Odumegwu Ojukwu, all of whom died in hospitals across the UK. While these are just the documented cases, countless others—both famous and ordinary—have died in hospitals abroad or en route in search of better healthcare.
This recurring trend represents a massive outflow of human and financial resources. Medical tourism costs Nigeria billions of dollars annually, worsened by an ongoing brain drain in the health sector. It is an unsustainable pattern that desperately needs to be reversed. The question is: how do we stop it? One suggested solution comes from Dr. Hassan Gimba, who recently proposed the establishment of six world-class hospitals, one in each geopolitical zone, plus one in Abuja. His argument is that Nigeria possesses both the financial and human resources—many of whom are abroad—to build and run such facilities.
Indeed, Nigeria can afford to build top-tier hospitals. Estimates from Quora (based on RSMeans data) suggest that a 300 to 600-bed hospital can cost between $87 million and $202 million. During Buhari’s eight-year administration, Nigerians reportedly spent $29.29 billion on foreign medical treatments—an annual average of $3.6 billion. With that kind of money, Nigeria could have built 17 first-rate hospitals at $202 million each and still had $166 million left over. Affordability is not the problem; rather, feasibility and sustainability within the current public sector framework are the real concerns.
Corruption and inefficiency in Nigeria’s public service make such projects nearly impossible to implement successfully. Budgets are routinely inflated and mismanaged, procurement processes are riddled with nepotism, and hospital infrastructure is often compromised by substandard materials and poor maintenance. The painful saga of Ahmadu Bello University Teaching Hospital—which took over 25 years to complete—illustrates how long such projects can drag on, often due to political and administrative bottlenecks.
Moreover, issues of tribalism, nepotism, and religious favoritism stifle meritocracy in health sector appointments. Competent individuals are frequently sidelined in favor of those with powerful connections. Even if these hospitals are built, will they attract and retain skilled personnel? Will they be adequately powered in a country plagued by electricity shortages? Will they be protected from vandalism and theft? And what about vested interests from private hospital owners and corrupt officials who may sabotage such initiatives for personal gain, much like the alleged resistance to the Dangote Refinery?
Despite these challenges, there is a glimmer of hope. Nigeria can leverage private sector participation to build and operate world-class hospitals. This can be achieved through incentives such as tax breaks, infrastructure support, public awareness campaigns, and partnership models that attract both local and international investors. The example of Aliko Dangote, who built a $20 billion refinery to address Nigeria’s fuel issues, is a powerful case study in patriotism-driven investment. A similar approach could revolutionize Nigeria’s healthcare system and significantly reduce dependence on medical tourism.
To save our health sector and conserve scarce foreign exchange, Nigeria must urgently curtail medical tourism. This requires commitment from both government and private sectors, strategic investment in healthcare infrastructure, and a shift in public mindset. It’s time to turn “London” from a metaphor for the graveyard into a symbol of what can be achieved right here at home. All hands must be on deck.
