wives or baby mamas?

innovation or craziness
congratulations anyways

10,000,000 what

this must be a joke

she replaced wig with clothes
must ladies always be naked before making sense

Jino33:



I have modified the post. I have sent several emails to the mods, but no single reply.

Please can you help me with any of the mods email address.

Thanks

Remodify, change the title and story
That's all you need
Don't over stress yourself ��

Why not tag some admins and email them...

It's easier to post on nairaland than to delete
Better still, modify the post and change the the story

You are not serious OP
Bring the story here

‘CORRUPTION AND ALL THAT STUFF’

Patients watching TV shortly before the clash of interests

Someday during my first week of admission, there was almost an outbreak of fisticuffs between the theologian and another patient who is the son of a pastor, over the rights to the television remote in the lobby. Each wanted to see something on TV that the other didn’t want to. In truth, the pastor’s son was part of a small clique that controlled the TV remote; the theologian was indeed right to protest. As resentment welled up in both parties, the pastor’s son, clearly ego-battered at being knock off his perch, barked out to the theologian: “Look, I paid the same amount as you did to be in this ward, therefore I have the same rights as you do to watch whatever I want.”

Irritated by the raised voices, the nurse on duty intervened. “Please, you people should stop all this noise about how much you paid,” she cut in. “You think it is your money that was used to fund this DStv subscription? Look, most the of things you see around here are not from the management; you know this is Nigeria and there is corruption and all that stuff. Most of the social services you enjoy here were put in place by public-spirited individuals.”

She hadn’t lied. I would later discover that the monthly DStv subscription was paid for by a doctor. The bathroom at Adeoye Lambo was renovated by an Egba chief. The hospital had sold him the idea of renovating Tolani Asuni as well, but he didn’t buy it, insisting he would only renovate Lambo because the late psychiatrist hailed from his town. The painting of the exterior of Tolani Asuni Ward, plus an inscription that reads ‘Turn off drugs, turn on the music’, was the idea of an arts-endowed ex-drug patient. Even the materials used for the painting were donated; they weren’t from the hospital.

‘WHO SHOULD MISBEHAVE IF NOT A MAD MAN?’

Mali Kush will push you right to the edge of the cliff. Flee from it!

Not long after I got to the ward, I started to notice a thin, dark boy at Adeoye Lambo. He was restless and desperate to get out of the hospital. He must have been aged somewhere between 17 and 20; he had a few open sores as well. The first time I saw him, it was so early in the morning yet he was shedding tears profusely. Two problems. He wanted to leave the ward; and if he couldn’t, he wanted access to Mali Kush and Colorado, two of the many drugs he abused. In his first few days, he was pretty unstable, crying, howling, scratching his body, sometimes screaming incoherently and acting irrationally. For these, he often earned himself cheap slaps and whips from the nurses, much to the chagrin of one of the two elderly patients in the ward — a dark-skinned sexagenarian who always spotted a black pair of spotty boxer shorts. While he sometimes changed his vests, his black briefs were ever-present, leaving me wondering if he had so many pairs or he wore just one over and over again.

“You’ve started beating him again!” the man screamed one day. “Why?”

We were soon told he took some keys that weren’t his. I’m not sure if the keys belonged to a fellow patient or a nurse, but I remember the nurses were clearly displeased, and they beat him for it.

“He took keys belonging to a nurse and he wasn’t supposed to, and so?” the man queried no one in particular. “We say someone is mad, you say he is misbehaving? Who should misbehave if not a mad man?”

Come to this lawn anytime from 8pm and watch well-fed rats criss-cross it in their numbers.

The elderly patient motioned the boy to come over, and to the surprise of everyone, he hearkened. The boy sat beside him, calm and attentive. I witnessed this two more times, that there was uproar and this man was the only one who could still the boy. How come the boy listened to him without a beating? The man blew his own trumpet on the third occasion.

“Without beating him, he listens to me when I talk to him,” he boasted. “No nurse should beat him. He may be mad but all he needs is love. He’ll do whatever you ask him to if you ask nicely.”

When asked to comment, a psychiatric doctor, who didn’t want to be named for fear of being seen as helping to plan the undercover work, condemned the act.

“It is a matter on two levels,” he says.

“I do not support beating a patient under any guise. But if a patient is violent — kicks at a doctor/nurse, bites someone and so on — maybe I can understand the beating, even though it still doesn’t make it right.

“However, if a patient exhibits stubbornness prompted by mental illness, such as the boy taking possession of keys that aren’t his, it’s not right to beat him. He wasn’t violent, why should he be rewarded with violence?”

Had the boy been beaten up at a hospital in the UK, the nurses in question would have been investigated and dismissed if found guilty. So said a Nigerian psychiatric nurse based in Camden, a district of northwest London, England.

Wall design by an ex-inmate

“Even if a patient is violent, a nurse has no right to respond with physical assault,” she said.

“By policy here in the UK, if the patient hits you, you are not allowed to hit back. Mentally-ill patients are vulnerable people; they are vulnerable, that’s why they are in the hospital. If you hit back and there is a complaint, you will be investigated; if found guilty, you will be suspended or sacked, depending on the weight of your guilt. There are cameras everywhere so there’s always evidence.

“What that nurse can do is to restrain the patient. And it may interest you to know that the nurse cannot do it solitarily. You alone cannot; you have to involve a minimum of two staff. And then the extent of strength you invest into restraining the patient has to be commensurate with the scale of violence perpetrated by the patient. By the way, restraining has to be the last resort. The first step is to call for help by pressing the alarm button attached to your body.”

10 DAYS, NO TREATMENT — 10 DAYS OF NOTHING

On the day I arrived Tolani Asuni, before I slipped into the hospital-approved pyjamas and I was stripped of all my personal possessions, I asked the nurse on duty exactly what kind of treatment to expect since the doctors had exempted me from drugs and injections. “Therapy,” she answered me. “Group Therapy (GT) and Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT).”

Held every working day of the week, the GT allowed all drug inpatients to come together to learn from one another’s mistakes. It was led by a firm but likeable bald-headed male doctor, who is an alumnus of the University of Ibadan, plus a fair-complexioned female psychologist who spoke with a thick Igbo accent and was generally considered by patients as brilliant but puffy. The GT came with the total N120,000 admission package.

But I would need to pay an extra N10,000, the nurse told me. This was separate from the admission fee, and this was regardless of the initial charge of N20,000 for drugs that the hospital knew I wouldn’t need but made me pay for. If I paid the N10,000 early enough, the nurse explained, I would get an early CBT date. So I paid in cash right there — before I stepped into the room allocated to me in the ward.

I would soon find out my CBT had been scheduled for December 31 — six full weeks after the commencement of admission. Effectively, this meant that the hospital was offering me no single condition-specific treatment or therapy. I spent the last five days of my stay pestering the nurses, doctors and psychologist for a readjustment of my CBT date. “My brother, it’s not our fault,” the Igbo-accented psychologist told me one day. “Tell Buhari to employ more people.”

Until my discharge on the 10th day, I hadn’t experienced one single session of CBT. Just before signing the papers for my release as pressed for by my team, Dr. Ojo, the consultant in charge of my case, said: “Let me emphasisie that we have not released him so that you can take him away permanently. He should be coming from home — because we know that we haven’t done anything on him. Up till now, he hasn’t even been attended to at this ward yet.”

For a drug patient that hadn’t entered psychosis, that had never experienced it, that wasn’t placed on drugs or injection, this is inexplicable, actually. Ten full days of “doing nothing” on a patient who already made full payment!

STAFF SHORTAGE, GHOST WORKERS, LOPSIDED RECRUITMENT

In truth, the hospital was experiencing an acute shortage of nurses, doctors and psychologists. Only two psychologists served a patient population that often hovered around 535 inpatients and approximately 800 outpatients. Working in shifts, the nurses number just under 200, but they were evidently overworked. Ideally, two of them ought to be on duty in the morning, and another two at night. This seldom happened. Oftentimes, two worked in the morning and one in the evening, or one in the morning and two in the evening.

In addition to the general shortage of nurses, there is also a shortfall between the number of nurses on the hospital’s books and those actually operating the shifts. For a number of reasons.

“People retire every year, people get transferred, people die, people travel. If today there’s an opportunity for 50 nurses to travel, they won’t even wait till tomorrow,” a nurse said on phone when asked to explain the inadequacy of nurses.

“All these deplete the workforce. Even I myself, if I get an opportunity to travel for a course for two or three years, I will go. But my name will remain in the employ of the hospital. There are people benefitting from such arrangements, which, of course is their absolute right. It’s in-practice training, and they return to the hospital better equipped for the job.”

One of the many overworked nurses at Yaba Left

Sometimes, nurses are seconded to other institutions to offer stability for a period of time, and they’re not replaced during their absence. One or two staff may even be hospitalised long term, yet no one is employed to fill in for them. Instead, their work is spread among the remaining staff.

“At every point in time, there is avenue for many people not to be on ground,” he added. “And the expectation of the government and the hospital management is on the nominal role. However, statutorily, everyone on the nominal role cannot be on the ground.”

According to the nurse, these challenges are nothing new, not peculiar to the neuropsychiatric hospital, and easily solvable with constant reemployment and futuristic planning.

“Since October this year, a serious administration would have sat down to say, how many people are retiring next year: how many nurses, pharmacists, doctor, cleaners, and so on? How many staff relocated abroad or travelled for trainings?” said the nurse.

“Then you can factor all these information into your recruitment plan for the next year — even if not to expand, at least to maintain the current staff strength. The solution is to employ more and plan ahead.”


The problem, though, is anything but that simple. Even if nobody wants to talk about it, the scourge of ghost working is an open secret at the hospital. The nurse quoted above admitted that he was “aware that there were ghost workers” at the hospital, but he said would rather not talk about it as he was, by official duty, not in a position to obtain formal evidence.

He was the second Yaba Left nurse contacted during the search for evidence. But unlike the first, who downright turned down a request to speak, he sent us the contact details of a nurse who “certainly can give you evidence”. “I don’t know if she will want to speak with you,” he warned. “But if you’re able to, trust me you’ll get a clear picture of the number of ghost workers in the system.”

At exactly 11:02am on December 23, I called the nurse, a female. She asked that I call back at 4pm. When I did at exactly 4pm, her initially encouraging countenance had become unfriendly “Please I’m still very very busy [sic]; I’m not yet at home.”

Asked what time I could call back or if she didn’t want me to at all, she replied: “You may not bother at all. I’m extremely busy presently.”

A mini-breakthrough came through a fourth nurse based in the South-South, who promised to speak with a colleague of his at Yaba Left. The answer, when it came via Whatsapp chat, read: “The trusted colleague I spoke with confirmed to me that there are ghost workers. But he said what he will not do is give me names.”

Beyond ghost-working, there is a litany of admin issues to be resolved at Yaba Left. The hospital’s consultant-resident doctor ratio is thought to be approximately 2:1; meanwhile, standard practice is 1:4! This anomaly, I understand, has festered this badly because lots of consultants who should have exited the system are being retained on curious grounds. Aside the belief in some quarters that probably as many as 500 nurses are in the hospital’s records while roughly half do the work in practice, it is interesting to note that there are approximately 1,000 admin staff on paper — more than the number of nurses and doctors combined! There are two psychologists on drug ward but about 12 in the entire hospital, which is still grossly inadequate. There are only four occupational therapists even though the hospital runs a school of occupational therapy.

There have also been complaints of deducted but unremitted tax from staff income, plus hushed talks about the nature of ongoing projects, the identity of the contractor and the financial value of the contracts.

‘I DON’T TALK ON PHONE’ — YABA LEFT CMD


On Friday January 17, 2019, I contacted Dr. Oluyemisi Ogun, the Chief Medical Director of the hospital, for her response to my findings. I had only mentioned “the quality of food that patients eat and understaffing, inadequate number of nurses possibly due to…” when she interjected: “Who gave you the statistics? Who is complaining to you? If you have anything, come and see us, please.

“When I see you face-to-face… I don’t talk on phone. If you have any problem, then come and then we see, and then you can see the facts yourself on ground. Thank you.”

MAKING YABA LEFT RIGHT


As with all other government-run hospitals, funding is one of the major impediments to the smooth operations of Yaba Left. Despite joining 20 other member nations of the African Union to sign the 2001 Abuja Declaration agreeing on the allocation of 15 percent of federal budgets to healthcare, Nigeria has never met the target, and has in fact always fallen short of even the halfway mark. Only 3.95 per cent of the 2018 budget was reserved for the Ministry of Health; it was less than 2 per cent in 2019 and 4.14 per cent in 2020. The highest percentage since the declaration was the 5.95 per cent of 2012. Meanwhile, seven countries — Rwanda, Botswana, Niger, Zambia, Malawi, Burkina Faso and Togo — have all met the Abuja target.

The neuropsychiatric hospital at Yaba — and indeed other government-managed hospitals — can’t offer quality healthcare to the people with continued underfunding, especially with an ever-increasing patient population that rose by 51 per cent from 40,502 outpatients and inpatients in 2018 to 61,154 in 2019. However, the finance-induced problems of tertiary hospitals nationwide are always complicated by “corruption and all that stuff”.

In the 2017 budget, for example, N9 billion was specifically allotted to the purchase of radiotherapy machines for some teaching hospitals (and another N117 million was also budgeted for cancer-related issues). At that time, the most expensive linac radiotherapy machines cost between of $750,000 and $1.5million (between N228 million and N456million, at the then CBN rate), excluding associated costs such as the vault that will house the system, treatment planning and oncology information system software, lasers, and other accessories. Still, the government bought only one RT machine — for the National Hospital! And this is despite knowing there were only four functioning radiotherapy machines all over the country at the time to serve an estimated 200million Nigerians, The question, then, is: where is the rest of the N8bn?

One big strength of the Federal Neuropsychiatric Hospital Yaba is the sheer passion of majority of its workforce. There are many Dr. Ogunlowos and Dr. Akingbolas at the hospital — medical staff who are incredibly committed to the profession but are becoming increasingly pessimistic about the Nigeria project.

“Many of us love this job to bits but our frustrations with the system pushed us out of the country,” said a former staff of the hospital who now practices in the Canada. “I hope the government addresses Yaba Left’s problems because the more the doctors get frustrated by the system, the more they leave and the more the number of untreated or shabbily-treated mentally-ill patients walking the streets. That can’t be good for Nigeria.”

Those sentiments were shared by the UK-based Nigerian nurse. “I probably would have beaten that boy myself if I was still in Nigeria,” she said.

“Over there in Nigeria, it isn’t that professionals are inherently civil. But here in the UK, we have a system in place that punishes unprofessional behaviour. That way, civility is inculcated by sheer force of discipline. Look at the idea of CCTV camera, for instance! We can do it in Nigeria, too, if we really want to.”

Editor’s Note: This is the second and final of a two-part series. You may read Part I here.

This investigation was published with collaborative support from Cable Newspaper Journalism Foundation and Business Day.

PRINCIPALITIES AND POWERS IN THE KITCHEN’


The horrible food eaten by patients of the hospital is the end result of a complex mix of corruption and desperate office politicking. So said an employee of the hospital who asked not to be named for fear of retribution.

“There are certain people who have been in charge of the kitchen for a long time now; they are the ones who buy foodstuffs from the market,” said the source. “When the present CMD came in, part of what she did was to get those people out of the way. And it was quite messy — because there were accusations that their purchases were rarely commensurate with the released funds.”

The responsibility of buying foodstuffs and verifying the prices was then transferred to another committee. However, in terms of the cooking, the original set of people in charge of preparing the food remained in charge. Repeated complaints by patients prompted a decision to employ a dietician to oversee the kitchen.

“The dietician was frustrated out of the system by every means possible,” the source said. “And since her exit, nobody has been brought in for that purpose.”

The failure to replace the former dietician has meant a lack of professional input into the goings-on in the kitchen. For instance, when patients request special meals, the kitchen staff don’t seem to know what should be prepared. What the patients get, instead, is the same set of food served to all the patients.

“The complaints about the quality of food persist but the reasons are not clear,” the source concluded. “It is hard to say whether some of the foodstuffs are being kept back or not, but the final food output that we see is not palatable at all. And this has been going on for years.”

THE PATIENTS’ BATHROOM IS AN EYESORE

The first time I entered the toilet serving Tolani Asuni Ward, the scenery was so nauseating I wanted to puke. I ran straight back out! The tiles were either irredeemably stained or unrestrainedly peeling off the walls. Parts of the floor were somewhat waterlogged, helped by burst pipes that shelled out water in place of regular taps. The water closets had all lost their lids and, just like the pint-sized bathrooms, had become permanently discoloured by filth. Professor Asuni would be turning in his grave at the sight of the bathroom in the ward named after him!

One consequence of the shabby state of the Asuni toilet is the pressure it puts on Adeoye Lambo’s, still relatively new. A philanthropist — not the hospital management — renovated the Adeoye Lambo bathroom recently. This was a bathroom built for a small group, the 30 patients of Lambo, but it now serves no less than 20 more patients from Asuni. I was a late bloomer in this regard — until my sixth day at the ward, when, seeing that I was holding myself back from using the toilet, a patient asked me to “try Lambo like almost everyone else”.

FULL-BLOWN PROTEST

Monday morning was pap and bean cakes, afternoon was beans and yam, evening was another lump-filled yam flour with okra. I went into the nursing office not just to complain but to show the male nurse on duty. “You know that even if we were hopelessly mentally deranged, we don’t deserve this kind of food,” I told him. “You cannot continue doing this just because you think nobody is watching you.”

Truly, nobody was watching them. And if any drug patient dared report to his parents/guardian, they wouldn’t be believed for obvious reasons. Many of the drug patients, even those who weren’t psychotic, landed at Yaba Left in the first place because they had started to misbehave at home. The substances they were abusing had given them such false sense of confidence that they could insult anyone. The psychotic ones among them often hallucinated, felt persecuted, felt being gossiped about, saw ghosts, felt families and friends were ganging up against them and felt the entire world was against them. Therefore, if any of them complained about the hospital’s food, no one would believe. Such complaints would be viewed as one of the many manifestations of psychosis.


This bathroom just as bad as the toilet.

Breakfast on Tuesday was yam and stew, lunch mashy rice plus half-done beans, and dinner garri with stony egusi. Wednesday morning was sugarless pap with bean cakes, while lunch was mashy rice and egg with water melon. One patient who couldn’t take it anymore raised his voice against a nurse. “Please, hold your breath!” the woman exclaimed. “The people who served you the food were here minutes ago; you didn’t shout at them. Now that they’ve gone, you want to shout at me?”

The patients felt they’d directed their protest at the wrong quarters; they resolved to correct it. A protest was starting to brew. By the time the servers returned with dinner, the patients had seethed with rage for hours. Some of them had lined up with their plates but they were crowded out by the dissenting voices. Soon, they unanimously insisted they weren’t going to eat the food.

Stunned, the servers scampered to the nursing office for help. One elderly patient was impressed by the steam the nonviolent protest was gathering. I had picked out his face from the food queue the previous week when he politely asked a lady server if the yam flour to be served that day was not lump-filled. “Can you enter the kitchen?” the lady, clearly offended, had fired back.

The bathroom walls and ceiling

“Don’t you have a father at home?” the man responded.

“Which father?” she snapped. “He’s in heaven!”

One nurse came to plead with the patients, promising that the food would improve, but her pleas were drowned by the angry voices of the patients. I couldn’t witness it to the end because my team had come to discharge me against medical advice, as laid out in the plan. I’d in fact been discharged an hour earlier but I managed to delay my exit by spending idle time in the toilet just to witness the protest.

“We will not eat this food… we cannot take this anymore,” I could still hear some patients shouting as I slipped through the gates of Tolani Asuni into the general space of Yaba Left.

I may not have witnessed the outcome of the protests but I really could tell, based on precedent. Five months back, in June, patients had staged a stiffer protest against the servers, insisting there wouldn’t be peace unless the CMD came forward to address them. A patient who was on admission at the time said the group went as far as insisting they would no longer take their drugs. “The CMD indeed came,” the patient said of the incident. “However, to the disappointment of everyone, when she tasted the food, she claimed nothing was wrong with it.”

A ONE-MAN PROTEST DEALT WITH ‘THE YABA LEFT WAY’



Breakfast on Sunday, November 24, was bread, tea and egg. Lunch was jollof made from low-grade rice. The eba served for dinner was well-done this time; however, the vegetable stew was so watery and stony it rendered the eba inedible. I managed to eat it without complaints but one patient who claimed to have studied Theology at a UK school couldn’t. It was the Sunday Sheffield United’s Olivier McBurnie scored a last-gasp 3-3 equaliser to deny Manchester United victory at Bramall Lane.

Marcus Rashford had just put United 3-2 ahead when the theologian abruptly switched off the television in the paved courtyard to the consternation of viewers. “This hospital is taking us for a ride and you all are here watching football,” he barked. “This food is sh*t. They do it all the time, and now it must stop.”

Many liked his anti-bad-food campaign but only a few supported his methods; they wanted to continue watching their TV, but he wouldn’t budge. A patient— let’s call him Yellow — stood up to him. There was uproar. Had they not been separated, Yellow and the theologian might have come to blows. During the melee, one patient kept warning the protester: “Looks like you don’t know where you are. This is Yaba Left o. The nurses will just change your drugs.”

“Changing of drugs,” as I was made to understand, is the practice of adding sleeping pills to the drug list of patients deemed troublesome by the hospital. I personally doubted the credulity of this claim, but by Monday the theologian was sleeping like a pregnant woman. He’d borrowed Dr. Olayinka Egbokare’s ‘Dazzling Mirage’ from me the previous day but hadn’t read beyond the opening pages. When I saw he’d spent more than half of Tuesday sleeping again, I approached him shortly before 5pm: “You’ve been sleeping all day like someone bitten by tsetse fly, man. What’s wrong with you?”


The toilet used by patients of Tolani Asuni ward will make you puke!

“Nothing, bro,” he replied. “I told the nurses the hospital food was making me purge, so they gave me new drugs.”

“Are you sure they didn’t ‘change your drugs’ because of your Sunday protest?”

“No, bro. Just drugs to stop the purging.”

I could tell he was living in denial. I almost believed him, in fact. But when I went looking for him half an hour later, he was back in bed, sleeping and snoring away, oblivious of my presence.”

This wasn’t the effervescent man I’d come to know for almost a week; he had become, as Darey would say, a “shadow of himself”.

UNDERCOVER INVESTIGATION (II): Staff Shortage, Ghost Workers, Principalities and Powers… Many Things Not Right At ‘Yaba Left’
UNDERCOVER INVESTIGATION (II): Staff Shortage, Ghost Workers, Principalities and Powers… Many Things Not Right At ‘Yaba Left’
AUTHOR:
'Fisayo Soyombo

After altering his looks and taking psychiatric lessons every day for one week, investigative journalist ‘FISAYO SOYOMBO went undercover for three weeks in November, including 10 straight days on ward admission, as a patient of the Federal Neuropsychiatric Hospital, Yaba, Lagos, one of the nation’s most historic mental rehabilitation centres. His report unveils the decrepit state of hospital facilities, gross understaffing of critical staff despite a bloated workforce widely believed to be populated by ghost workers, low quality of service delivery, arbitrary charges on patients — all stemming from personal and institutional corruption and the hospital’s implicit stigmatizing of its very own patients.

...continued from Part I

‘THIS FOOD IS CLEARLY FOR MAD PEOPLE’

Thursday morning was pap and two pieces of bean cake. The general complaint was that the pap lacked the sugar that the servers claimed to have added. Afternoon was low-grade beans plus garri. Evening was lump-filled semolina and bland ewedu stew containing a pebble-size meat. Hard as I tried to eat, I couldn’t. That Thursday night, I lodged a verbal complaint with the male nurse on duty. “This is not fair,” I told him in an impassioned tone, personally pained because I was truly hungry. “It’s not like the hospital is rendering us a favour; we paid for this service.”

Friday morning was yam and stew; it ought to contain fish or meat but it didn’t. Afternoon was jollof rice, which, to be honest, was perhaps the only meal that tasted good of the 28 I ate at the hospital — a success rate of 3.6%. Dinner sucked away all the good of lunch; the eba was so lump-filled my appetite instantly went numb; the egusi was watery as usual and therefore tasteless. I threw it away and went to bed on empty stomach.

Saturday morning was pap and bean cakes; it was manageable. Afternoon was stony and husky white rice with stew. Dinner was irritating; the amala was so horrible I wondered if the lumps were deliberately introduced in it. I couldn’t believe that someone indeed cooked that and was proud enough to serve it to anyone.

“Look, the hospital management and the cooks in the kitchen prepare these meals like they’re meant for mad people,” one patient told me that night while I threw the food away for the umpteenth time. “Nobody in his right senses would serve this kind of food to a normal human being. No hospital will give this to regular patients. In their heads, we’ve run mad and our taste buds can’t spot ill-prepared food.”

THE ORDERLIES ARE CORRUPT — BRAZENLY SO

Mrs Adeniyi, one of the shady orderlies who have devised numerous ways of swindling patients of their money.

For the fourth time in less than a week, I was back at the Neuropsychiatric Hospital, Yaba, on November 18 without any assurance of securing bed space. After more than six hours of laborious wait, intense lobbying to see doctors and queuing up to pay fees, my admission was finally confirmed.

“Bring N20,000,” Mrs. Adeniyi, the orderly, ordered right inside the hospital reception. She never told us what it was for, and we got no receipt after paying. We would later find out it was for a Ghana-Must-Go bag I was to enter the ward with. The contents were a 400g sachet of powdered Dano milk, a 500g sachet of Milo chocolate and malt powder, two pairs of velvety pyjamas that threatened to tear up at the slightest pull, a medium-size towel, a small takeaway-style food plastic, a 140g package of CloseUp tooth paste, a stick of Oral tooth brush, a small-size cup, Two 65g bars of Premier Cool soap, two pairs of plastic spoon, two pairs of boxer briefs, one low-grade round-necked vest and a sachet of little-known detergent. It wasn’t until I arrived at the ward that I discovered other patients had been similarly swindled. The contents of the bag shouldn’t even cost up to N15,000. Securing bed space at Yaba Left is so difficult that those who finally succeed are too physically and psychologically exhausted to ask too many probing questions before complying with payment instructions.

AN INTRODUCTION TO THE WORLD OF YABA LEFT’S UNBELIEVABLY BIG RATS

I arrived at Tolani Asuni, one of only two male drug wards at Yaba Left, in a hospital ambulance some minutes past 5pm. It was a block of five rooms comprising six beds each. Thirty patients in all. Opposite it stood Adeoye Lambo, similar in number of rooms and bed space, but spotting a major difference that will be discussed later. The two wards are named after perhaps the two most influential Nigerian psychiatrists ever, both deceased. While Professor Thomas Adeoye Lambo, who died in 2004 aged 80, was Nigeria’s and Africa’s first-ever western-trained psychiatrist and a former Vice Director-General at the World Health Organisation (WHO), Professor Tolani Asuni, aged 87 when he died in 2011, is remembered till date for his wide-ranging scholarly and leadership contributions to psychiatry in Africa. It was Lambo, in fact, who, in 1956, convinced Asuni to take up psychiatric training. Till date, Lambo is remembered as a world leader and one of the first to promote psychosocial rehabilitation for persons with mental illness and disability, and to develop primary care in the community for persons with mental illness in Africa. Fitting, therefore, that the wards named after both men at Yaba Left stood opposite each other.

Dinner, served every 6pm, was eba and egusi, but I waited until a little after 8pm before eating. It was the first time in decades I was seeing eba so full of lumps, and egusi so bland and watery. Even though I had not eaten all day, I lost my appetite instantly. I had ingested no more than three morsels when I spotted a strand of local sponge in the egusi. I showed my ‘neighbour’.

“Welcome to Yaba Left,” he exclaimed.

I tucked it away quietly under my bed, just beside one of the four iron poles anchoring the bedframe. The plan was to lodge a complaint with the nurses the following morning. How wrong I was! By 7am the next day when I checked, the strand of sponge was gone.

“Anything you don’t want rats to touch, don’t put it on the floor,” a patient announced to me when I moaned aloud. “Even your Ghana-Must-Go bag. Everything you have should be on your bed!”

I would learn about Yaba Left rats in the evening of my second day at the ward. Well-fed and therefore robust, they roamed the greenery separating Tolani Asuni from Adeoye Lambo in their droves every night. Not that I hadn’t seen rats before, I just didn’t know rats so big existed anywhere in the world.

“It’s been brought to the attention of the Chief Medical Director several times, but she said there’s nothing wrong with it,” one patient told me.

Actually, many things are wrong with the population of rats inside Yaba left. Lassa fever, a viral infection caused by the Lassa fever virus, is, for example, primarily transmitted to humans via contact with excreta from rats. According to the Nigeria Centre for Disease Control (NCDC), Lassa fever is spread through “direct contact with urine, faeces, saliva or blood of infected rats; eating food or drinking water contaminated with urine, faeces, saliva or blood of infected rats; touching of floors, beddings and household materials contaminated with urine, faeces, saliva or blood of rats or an infected person; and person-to-person through contact with blood, urine, saliva, throat secretion or semen of an infected person”.

The Lassa fever virus is a familiar threat in Nigeria. In the week November 25 to December 1, 2019, eight new confirmed cases were reported in Ondo (six) and Edo (two) states, with two new deaths from Ondo. From January 1 to December 1, 2019, a total of 4,771 suspected cases were reported in 23 states. Of these, 793 were confirmed positive, 162 of which resulted in deaths.

“The rats in the kitchen are even bigger,” another patient added. “The first day I entered the kitchen was the day Yaba Left’s food began to irritate me. See, we, the patients, and the rats are eating the kitchen’s food together!”

MOSQUITOES AND EX-PATIENT’S BED SHEETS — WELCOME TO YABA LEFT


This announcement hit me below the belt. It was my second day at Yaba Left and I hadn’t seen anything encouraging. The previous night, the nurse on duty had told me to “manage this bedsheet for today” after I was checked into my ward. The bed sheet was originally coloured white but had become browned ostensibly by several years of overuse. The bed sheet smelled stale, clear proof it hadn’t been washed for days or weeks in the lead-up to the last patient’s exit.

On my 10th day at the ward, I summoned the courage to ask a senior nurse if my sheets would ever be changed. Her response was shocking.

“We can give you another one if you promise to wash it from time to time,” she said. “The problem is that when we send them to the laundry, white bed sheets suddenly become brownish.”

Yet all patients paid for laundry.

The bed sheet and rats weren’t the only oddities on my first night. The mosquitoes stung my legs mercilessly, no thanks to the overgrown lawn bordering the fence outside my ward and the Mrs. Adeniyi-purchased pyjamas that only stretched over a third of my legs. Consequently, my opening night was largely sleepless — and turbulent when I did manage to catch some sleep.

You can then imagine my consternation when I woke up in the morning to a breakfast that was two slices of yam, tasteless stew and a piece of fish half the size of my index finger. Afternoon was mashy rice — close to the kind of rice I once tweeted about — and beans. Evening was again eba, this time with vegetable and egusi that was not only insipid but also watery. I ate half and binned the rest. Trouble was already brewing but I didn’t know.

TROUBLE BREWING… A CIVIL, ANTI-FOOD PROTEST

Tests, tests, tests — and more tests!

I was soaking in Karl Meier’s ‘This House Has Fallen’, my most frequently-read book, the following morning, my third day at the ward, when the doctor overseeing Tolani Asuni announced that all patients needed to gather for a meeting. That, a two-time patient told me, was unusual for that hour of the day.

As we would later discover, some patients had written a protest letter to the authorities on behalf of the group, listing a number of grievances. Majority were minor but two were major: exit date and food. I at once dismissed the clamour for exit on the simple basis that nobody likes to lose their freedom, even though it is evident, in this case, that it must happen if they must be weaned off drugs. For drug patients, the psychiatric hospital is a glorified prison. They’re locked up in a ward. Whether they were brought in psychotic or conscious, they soon start feeling trapped in a matter of days. Yet, they can’t leave of their own volition; only the doctors or their parents or guardians can set them free — unless they want to escape, which has happened before. But I was quite happy the bad food had been brought up. Like others, I keenly awaited answers.

Dr. Ojo requested to know exactly those who wrote the letters. One was the Captain of the ward, one of the longest-serving patients. Soft-spoken and well-respected by the patients and even the nurses, he had been at the ward for close to three months and that was his second, possibly third, admission. The other, a lawyer, was a returnee-patient too. The lawyer was invited upfront to read the letter to the hearing of all. The session erupted in a cacophony of laughter when, while expressing displeasure with the food, he said: “The egusi soup is notoriously known to appear like a lagoon.”

There was hardly anyone who didn’t laugh but this was a very serious matter. For three reasons.

WHAT’S THE BIG DEAL ABOUT YABA LEFT’S FOOD?

The admission receipt… proof of the importance of feeding (half the total cost), and payment for laundry, which patients don’t always benefit from, and drugs, even though they weren’t prescribed for me.

Every drug patient pays a minimum of N120,000 for an initial two-month admission; N60,000 of that is for feeding. Technically, this means feeding is half the service rendered by Yaba Left. If it fails, therefore, the entire rehabilitation project is potentially as good as null. To put this in proper context, the next most expensive item after ‘feeding’ is ‘drugs’, at N20,000. And that’s one-third the cost of feeding!

Two, among the drugs taken by patients are Artane, which can cause dry mouth, and Thiamine, which can cause nausea. Therefore, patients on these drugs typically need their food tasty.

Three, drug patients are battling an addiction problem; if you take drugs away from their lips, you cannot afford to simultaneously take food away. Thiamine, for example, is a known appetite stimulant; you normally don’t give it to patients and starve them, which is technically what happens when they bin Yaba Left’s food.

And, finally, roughly a week before I was admitted, the hospital banned visitors from bringing in food for patients. The ban was the consequence of an ex-patient’s bad behaviour. The patient, Ife, had tried to import marijuana into the ward, via a Dundu Nation employee who folded six wraps of the weed among fried yams delicately packaged in a paper and foil. One patient told me arizona had been successfully imported and smoked at the ward a few times because of its discreet smell, but this time, the nurses intercepted the marijuana wraps at the point of entry, prompting uproar in the hospital. On learning of the development after a protocol breach that involved bypassing one or two doctors who could have smothered it, a thoroughly incensed Chief Medical Director, Dr. Oluyemisi Ogun, placed a ban on delivery of edible food to patients, save the ones brought by the two registered relatives who originally presented the patient for admission. Summary of the story, Yaba Left’s concoctions were the only edible food available to patients — and they were often terrible to behold, much less consume.

The protest letter of November 20 was laid to rest with a promise that things would improve, especially with regards to the food. They never did.

Editor’s Note: This is the first of a two-part series. Part II will be published on Friday.

This investigation was published with collaborative support from Cable Newspaper Journalism Foundation and Business Day.

BED-SPACE CORRUPTION

Even though Dr. Akingbola, as I later found her name to be, was evidently in the third trimester of her pregnancy, she proved herself a class act, professionally. Dressed in a loose pair of black trousers and a flowing, silky robe, she stood up when she needed to, talked when she should, listened when she should, despite battling personal discomforts that manifested in the form of repeated sneezes and coughs. Dr. Akingbola did not speed up the questioning one notch; it lasted nearly the full three hours I’d anticipated. Her overall professional conduct was impeccable.

A consultant whose name I later established to be Dr. Ogunlowo courteously interrupted us from time to time, interacting with the first doctor in a manner suggesting he was trying to help her settle. I easily concluded Dr. Akingbola was either newly employed or relieving another doctor at the hospital. A consummate professional, Dr. Ogunlowo’s face lit up with glee once Dr. Akingbola announced to him that I voluntarily walked in; medically, I was “motivated”. Motivation, I’d been pre-informed, is big deal to psychiatric doctors. Motivated drug patients stand a better stead of overcoming their psychiatric disorders than those coerced or bundled into the facility. Dr. Ogunlowo couldn’t hide his excitement. But there was a little problem.

“There’s no bed space,” he announced to me.

I couldn’t believe my ears. This, coupled with its annex at Oshodi, is the only Federal Government-owned full-fledged psychiatric hospital serving the whole of Lagos — Nigeria’s ex-seat of federal power, most populated state, current economic capital — and only one of two available in the six states of the South West. It is also one of only eight public psychiatric hospitals serving an estimated 200 million Nigerians, one of every eight of whom were long proven by the World Health Organisation (WHO) to be suffering from one form of mental illness or the other. It’s a 535-bed facility; however, only two male wards comprising 60 bed spaces and a female ward of 30 bed spaces were wholly dedicated to drug patients.

“Don’t worry; come back next week. I’ll keep a space for you,” Dr. Ogunlowo’s words interjected my thoughts. “I don’t usually do this, but I see you’re motivated, and I don’t want you to go back to drugs.”

Going back to drugs was not the problem; it was that I’d already altered my looks; I couldn’t move about this way, yet I wasn’t prepared to be idle indoors. Having told them minutes earlier that I came in from Ibadan, I begged them not to allow me go. “Please help me,” I pleaded soberly. “If I go back to Ibadan, I may not come back.”

Actually, this is the reality of real drug addicts; they hardly reach a point where they opt for admission, and if they ever do, only to get turned back, it’s bye to the hospital and back to the lure of drugs. Days later, I would overhear a doctor lamenting to a colleague about a young female crack cocaine addict who found time out of her banking job to seek help at the hospital; unfortunately, it was one of those numerous no-bed-space days. The doctor exchanged contacts with the lady, promising to alert her once a space opened up. Space opened up two weeks later but the banker never returned. It’s 18 months after but the doctor hasn’t quite managed to convince the lady to come back! If I was indeed a drug addict, the system had failed me.



One member of my team approached an official of the Crisis Intervention Personnel for help. I had been told that the ‘Crisis’, as they were simply called, sometimes pressured doctors into taking patients in. Olaniyi Olawale pressed for hours but didn’t succeed. Before we left the hospital a little past 9pm, we greased his hands with N5,000 — to say thanks for his effort. At that point, it was an honest gift from us; not a bribe. Soon, Olawale would prove himself a member of a syndicate at the hospital that specialized in arranging bed space for under-pressure patients in exchange for a token, often at the expense of more deserving patients.

Realising, shortly before leaving, that he hadn’t collected Olawale’s number, a member of my team approached a hospital orderly, Mrs. Adeniyi, for Olawale’s number. Mrs. Adeniyi declined to release it, instead insisting that we talk to her.

“Do you want to give him something?” she queried knowingly, furtively flickering her eyes over each one of us. “What exactly do you want? Talk to me.”

Mrs. Adeniyi assured us she could secure bed space for us, but she made it clear we would need to “settle”. To prove our seriousness, we handed her N2,000 and collected her number. To protect her own interest, Mrs. Adeniyi refused to release Olawale’s number even though she had it. Well, we found it through alternative means the following day, Wednesday November 13, and contacted him.

N10,000 OR N7,000, BED SPACE AT YABA LEFT ‘DOESN’T COME FREE’

On Thursday, Olawale’s call was what roused me from sleep. He had found a hospital staffer by the name Tosin Karunwi, who was willing to secure bed space for me, provided we understood that “nothing comes free”. We weren’t sure if Karunwi was a nurse, an orderly or a Crisis official, but we established that she indeed worked at the hospital.

Olawale announced that Tosin had demanded N10,000 to help lock down a bed space for me, but he successfully negotiated a N7,000 deal. He asked us to forward the money to Account Name ‘Olaniyi Olawale Matthew’ with Access Bank — because Tosin didn’t want the money sent to her. He passed the money on to Tosin, after she agreed to return it if she didn’t secure a bed space.

To our utmost shock, once she took possession of the money, Tosin began to sell Oshodi to us. Actually, Oshodi, the neuropsychiatric hospital’s annexe, was even worse managed than Yaba. It was graveyard-like, largely abandoned. Oshodi was technically the hospital into which Yaba’s vomits were spilled. But Tosin argued otherwise.

“Wait a minute, why don’t you want Oshodi?” she’d asked on phone in the evening of Thursday November 14. “Oshodi and Yaba are the same. Three bed spaces are vacant at Oshodi; I’d advise you to take one of them.”

On December 3, three full weeks after Tosin was paid for the bed space that never came, she was told to refund the payment, but she refused, and blatantly too. “You cannot get N7,000,” she snapped. “The [two] nurses I gave money to, do you expect me to pay back on their behalf? Maybe I can send N4,000 to you; it’s just maybe. Maybe. That’s even if I’m able to raise it. Do you expect me to hold the cash or keep it in the bank?”

Tosin claimed that no space had opened up at all, both at Yaba and Oshodi “since last week”. What she didn’t know was that I’d gone in (and come out) as a patient because a space indeed opened up for me, and that at least two more opened up during my stay.

‘YABA LEFT ANNEXE DOESN’T HAVE A GOOD DRUG REHABILITATION PROGRAMME’

Inside this gate, at Oshodi, is the annexe of the Federal Neuropsychiatric Hospital, looking not one bit like a hospital

Some days after I started discussing admission with Olawale without success, I returned to Yaba to try to force the issue. There, I met a doctor who surprisingly urged me not to waste my money on admission at Oshodi. Instead, this doctor advised me to consider the Federal Neuropsychiatric Hospital, Aro, Abeokuta.

“The issue is this: at Oshodi, you may not get the maximum benefit you need, to be sincere with you,” the doctor said. “I work here, and I know that after a while you may be frustrated, because what you will be doing there is not really rehabilitation. Many of the patients at Oshodi are psychotic; they have one form of behavioural disorder or the other. The hospital’s programme for rehabilitation is not well-developed over there, so you may be there for days without seeing a psychologist.”

When I insisted I’d rather take Oshodi than wait endlessly for bed space to open up at Yaba, the doctor replied: “Probably it’s because you don’t know how Oshodi is.”

This was the same Oshodi that Tosin was trying to trick me into accepting admission at.

IN THE BEGINNING



The history of mental rehabilitation in Nigeria is incomplete without the Neuropsychiatric Hospital, Yaba, Lagos. Since beginning life as the Yaba Lunatic Asylum in October 1907, when its primary purpose was to serve as a holding place for keeping the mentally ill out of the way of ‘normal’ people in the society, the hospital has played a leading role in the evolution of mental care to treatment and healing, not just holding, of patients.

In the opening years of its founding, and until 1950, it was purely an asylum. The first batch of 48 inmates were admitted in a rundown Nigeria Railway Building in Yaba. It was a time West Africa was generally witnessing the opening of asylums. Before this time, the mentally ill were kept in the custody of native doctors, who often contained but sometimes restrained them.

By 1951, qualified psychiatrists, nurses and pharmacists were starting to arrive. After it was managed by expatriates until the mid-1950s, the responsibility of management fell on Abraham Ordia, the first Nigerian psychiatric nurse. The next 20 years would witness the creation of an outpatient department and the commencement of occupational therapy. From the Yaba Asylum, it became the Yaba Mental Hospital. These changes were accompanied by a rising patient population that wasn’t matched by increased staffing. One hundred patients in 1925 became 200 in 1944 and 448 in 1961, yet only one doctor manned the facility. It wasn’t until 1961 that two more psychiatrists — Dr. A Boroffka, a German, and Dr. A Marinho, the first Nigerian psychiatrist to work at the hospital — were employed.

More recent decades have seen the staffing of nurses and pharmacists, a second name change to the Neuropsychiatric Hospital and the appointment of Nigeria’s first female psychiatrist as Chief Medical Director (CMD) of the hospital. These strides notwithstanding, Yaba Left was neck deep into violating is ‘guiding principles’, listed on its official website to include “patient-centred service delivery, patient and staff welfare, transparency and accountability”.

THE DELICATE JOURNEY TO YABA LEFT



After three unrelated complaints in two years about the standard of medical services on offer, I decided to experience the hospital myself as a patient rather than believe the complainants. To help devise a medically impregnable entry strategy, I enlisted the services of a US-based mental health expert. When we communicated for the first time in the first week of October, he explained I could only enter as a drug addict requiring rehabilitation after abusing marijuana and cocaine. If I faked the regular, mentally-ill patient, I would definitely be found out, he explained.

“That means I have to ingest cocaine just before I go in?” I asked. With the benefit of hindsight, I was only displaying the naivety that made me know I had to contract him in the first place.

“Not on your life!” he warned. “Close your eyes. Imagine yourself having sex and you’re just about to climax.”

Silence.

“You see that feeling, cocaine will give you five times of it. Cocaine addiction, if it happens, is almost impossible to solve. You should never touch cocaine for any reason. Never.”


This small mass of crack cocaine — worth between N5,000 and N10,000 depending on location of purchase — will ruin your life. Flee from it!

We agreed I would take no drug, not even marijuana. However, I would be taught how to answer a doctor’s questions like a drug addict. He told me that on arrival at Yaba Left, I would be grilled by a doctor for roughly three hours. I had to answer the questions in such a manner to make my addiction serious enough for hospital admission yet unserious enough for injection or drugs. Tough one. One mis-answered question could convince the doctor that I was unworthy of admission, which would spell the end of the story or, worse still, I could be admitted but placed on drugs/injection, which will subject me to some unpleasant side effects.



One more warning: no patient admitted at Yaba Left could refuse drugs or injections; any patient who tries it would be forcefully subdued by the Crisis Intervention Personnel, famed within and beyond the hospital for their reputation to overpower the hardest of drug addicts and mentally-ill patients. My mental health expert and I knew the three-hour questioning was crucial; for this reason, we held six virtual meetings in late October — three for learning the answers to the questions and another three for reenacting the sessions. After making a few alterations to my looks, I presented myself to doctors at the Neuropsychiatric Hospital, Yaba, as a drug addict in need of rehabilitation, just like any other member of the society. My discoveries were disturbing.

ON THE GOPOLICY RADARTOP STORIES
UNDERCOVER INVESTIGATION (I): Bed-space corruption, terrible food, well-fed rats… Many things not right at ‘Yaba Left’
UNDERCOVER INVESTIGATION (I): Bed-space corruption, terrible food, well-fed rats… Many things not right at ‘Yaba Left’
AUTHOR:
'Fisayo Soyombo

After altering his looks and taking psychiatric lessons every day for one week, investigative journalist ‘FISAYO SOYOMBO went under cover for three weeks in November, including 10 straight days on ward admission, as a patient of the Federal Neuropsychiatric Hospital, Yaba, Lagos, one of the nation’s most historic mental rehabilitation centres. His report unveils the decrepit state of hospital facilities, gross shortage of critical staff despite a bloated workforce widely believed to be populated by ghost workers, low quality of service delivery, arbitrary charges on patients — all stemming from personal and institutional corruption and the hospital’s implicit stigmatizing of its very own patients.

We believed we had missed our way that sweltering afternoon of Tuesday November 12, 2019, when we prematurely turned off Harvey Road into a building we were half sure was the Federal Neuropsychiatric Hospital, Yaba, Lagos. But we were less than five seconds in when we knew we were indeed at ‘Yaba Left’, as the hospital is colloquially, and more popularly, known.

“We’re going to the psychiatric hospital; are we in the right place, please?” I asked the gatekeeper as politely as I could. To my utter shock, he flared up. “You are at Yaba Left and you’re still asking again,” he screamed. “Oga, you wan enter or you wan comot?”

In truth, we had expected this sort of aggressive behaviour. This, after all, was a hospital for treating the mentally ill. We just didn’t expect it so soon.

Study4life:


Wow!
Congratulations kunle

Congratulations

is it true chioma is Peruzzi's ex?....

Pray for Iran

The world does not need a war right now!!!!

Jabioro:
He is not lying..I have experienced such dasdard idiot at orile.I was saved by an elderly man who told me about the money with and they got to know..he also told me the antidote.. Whenever you are carry large money..put little dry pepper and white corn on especially "ata ijosi".. African Magic.. another one inside bus.. whenever you are having a lot of cash on you, boarding public transportation..when you sit and someone sat beside you asking to adjust or shift unnecessarily.. moment you shifted and he sit on that spot your cash is gone..it is common at republic of Benin...Seun come and proof me wrong ooo..I haven't eat
your Xmas and New year chicken ...Still
waiting to collect am in arrears..

you are right... especially at seme border,
they really stole money from students crossing border to withdraw their school fees... I heard when you wrap money inside a black/white nylon, it would become invisible

Na to wear ring enter bank and cart away all their money

United Nations should just intervene in this thing and halt anything called war....

LIVING FAITH CHURCH COMPLETES OTA-NIGERIAN NAVY MUSIC SCHOOL-AIT ROAD

The Living Faith Church has announced the completion of the Ota-Navy School of Music-AIT Road. The road was among those slated for repairs in 2019 as part of those covered under the Church approved N650 Million ($1.8m) budget. The road which had been closed for a while due to its state of disrepair leads from Oju-Ore Junction of the Idi-Iroko Expressway towards Lagos through the Navy School of Music (NNSM) to African Independent Television (AIT) at Alagbado, Lagos. Church Gist. This new development will surely make life much easier not only for the Church members every Sunday but more importantly for citizens and inhabitants of Ota, Ogun State who ply the road daily especially to and from Lagos as it will reduce the pressure and congestion on the decrepit Lagos-Abeokuta Expressway.

In a release by Pastor Ibitoye on behalf of Pastor David Oyedepo Jnr, the statement said:

“GOOD NEWS!

Please be informed that the Ota - Navy Music School - AIT Road has been successfully completed to the glory of God. To this end, all Winners' are to take advantage of this development to ease movement to and fro church to complement other routes.


To God be the Glory

PS: Kindly note that this road is different from the IKOLA-NAVY-RAYPOWER-COMMAND Road still undergoing construction by the Ogun State Government.

Yes we made it Glorious New Year

Rest well great man of God

�

congratulations

congratulations sir have a great tenure in Achievers University

this is creativity...
at least it is faster and safe compared to canoes and being held up in Lagos traffic jams ...

Exactly!!!
we hope they will all be exposed
the most annoying thing about this story is the fact that some women would cheaply return grades, job favour or movie roles for sex,
That is why these men frustrate innocent women who are not willing to offer same.
they are like "ain't you all same?"

so sad