“I have closed.”
Those were the doctor’s words when my sister and I returned to Gwarimpa General Hospital at about 3 p.m. with the laboratory result the doctor had requested for my six-month-old niece.
The hospital was still open, and patients were still arriving.
But the doctor who was supposed to review the result refused to see us.
I did not go to the hospital looking for a story.
My niece, Kendra, had been battling a persistent cough. She had developed a cold, rashes had spread across parts of her neck, and she was struggling to eat food. Concerned about her condition, my sister and I visited Gwarimpa General Hospital at about 8 a.m., hoping she would receive treatment without delay.
Our first stop was the card section.
While my sister paid for a patient card, I joined the queue of people waiting to see a doctor.
Only one staff member attended to patients while other officials had yet to resume work. Those waiting looked repeatedly toward nearby offices, expecting more staff to emerge.
After registration, we proceeded to the General Out-Patient Department (GOPD).
Things moved much faster there.
Kendra was weighed, her vital signs were taken, and we were directed to the consulting section.
That momentum quickly disappeared.
Three Consulting Rooms, One Doctor
The consulting section had three rooms, Rooms 4, 5 and 6.
Only Room 6 was in use.
Although fewer than seven patients were waiting, it took more than 40 minutes before our turn came.
When we eventually entered, another problem emerged.
The hospital’s digital system had failed to transmit Kendra’s information from the GOPD to the doctor’s computer.
We were sent back.
“It is the network,” we were told.
We returned to the consulting room.
Still nothing.
Eventually, my sister walked back into the doctor’s office. This time, he refreshed the system and Kendra’s details finally appeared.
After examining her, he requested a Full Blood Count (FBC) test and prescribed two medications pending the laboratory result.
The consultation lasted only a few minutes.
A Long Wait At The Laboratory
The laboratory was busier than other parts of the hospital.
Patients queued to make payments, submit samples and collect results.
At one registration desk, it took more than 15 minutes to enter a single patient’s details into the system while dozens of others waited.
“Why is only one person attending to everybody?” one patient asked.
No one responded.
Eventually, Kendra’s blood sample was taken after we paid N5,000 for the Full Blood Count test.
Since it was only one laboratory investigation, we asked whether the result could be ready within a few hours.
The answer was no.
We were told it would only be available later that evening.
“Come Back Tomorrow”
A laboratory scientist advised us not to return that evening.
Even if the result was ready, he explained, we were unlikely to find a doctor available to interpret it.
Instead, he told us to return the following day.
That immediately raised a question.
How does a caregiver receive laboratory results, begin treatment and obtain medical guidance promptly if the doctor who requested the test is no longer available by the time the result is released?
We had little choice.
We accepted the advice.
A Prescription That Raised Questions
Before leaving the hospital, we stopped at the pharmacy to obtain the medications prescribed by the doctor.
Only one was available.
The second prescription was Triple Action cream for the baby’s skin.
As we discussed alternatives, a nurse familiar with paediatric care overheard the conversation.
“A six-month-old baby cannot use Triple Action,” she remarked, visibly surprised.
“Who prescribed this?”
We eventually bought Sudocrem, which she recommended as appropriate for Kendra’s age.
It later proved effective.
Rain Exposed Another Problem
While we were still around the laboratory, rain began to fall.
Almost immediately, staff at the payment point urged patients to conclude their transactions quickly.
“If the rain becomes heavy, this place will be flooded,” one of them warned.
Water dripped through sections of the PVC ceiling above the waiting area, and parts of the laboratory began taking in water.
The laboratory was clean. Electricity was available. The hospital was orderly.
Yet one of its busiest departments showed signs of infrastructure that had failed to keep pace with demand.
We left without the laboratory result.
We hoped the next day would provide answers.
Instead, it raised even more questions.
We returned to Gwarimpa General Hospital on Thursday, July 9, 2026, hoping the difficult part was over.
The previous day, the laboratory scientist had advised us to return because, even if Kendra’s Full Blood Count result was ready that evening, there might be no doctor available to interpret it.
After finishing an assignment that afternoon, I picked up my sister and six-month-old Kendra, and we headed back to the hospital.
We arrived at about 2:57 p.m.
The laboratory scientist recognised us immediately.
“Ah, you’re late,” he said.
He explained that Kendra’s result had already been uploaded electronically and forwarded to the consulting doctor on duty. He urged us to hurry to the consulting section before the doctor left.
We did.
‘I HAVE CLOSED’
We returned to Consulting Room 6, where Kendra had been examined the previous day.
The door was open.
Inside sat a man who appeared to be in his late forties, scrolling through his phone.
We explained that the laboratory had directed us to him because Kendra’s result had already been sent electronically for review.
Before we could finish, he replied.
“I have closed.”
My sister explained again that the patient was only six months old, that she had been coughing persistently and that the laboratory had specifically directed us to him.
He repeated himself.
“I have closed.”
I could hear Kendra coughing as we stood there.
I knew healthcare workers in public hospitals often work under difficult conditions, coping with long hours, staff shortages and heavy workloads.
Even so, it was difficult to reconcile those realities with what was happening.
We pleaded once more.
“Please, sir. She’s only six months old.”
Without another word, he stood up and began shutting down his computer.
The consultation ended before it began.
We quietly walked out.
PAYMENT FOR DIGITAL RESULT
Back at the laboratory, my sister explained what had happened.
The laboratory scientist listened patiently.
With no doctor available to interpret the result, we asked whether it could at least be printed so we could seek treatment elsewhere.
He said yes.
Although the hospital had digitised its laboratory reporting system, patients who wanted a hard copy had to pay N500.
We paid, and the result was printed and handed to us.
With no doctor available to explain the findings, we left the hospital.
Outside, we consulted a private pharmacist, who reviewed the result and recommended medication for the baby.
That was how Kendra eventually began treatment and eventually recovered.
WHAT I SAW BEFORE 3 P.M.
As a family member, my concern was for Kendra.
As a reporter, something else caught my attention.
It was what the hospital looked like before 3 p.m.
Shortly after leaving the consulting room, we walked around the premises.
Many staff members were already preparing to leave.
Some sat outside waiting for colleagues.
Others stood near the exit chatting.
Cleaners had begun sweeping parts of the hospital.
Several offices were locked.
I took photographs and recorded short videos of the consulting section, the GOPD, the NHIS unit and other parts of the hospital.
The hospital was still open.
Patients were still arriving.
But clinical activities appeared to be winding down.
At about 3:09 p.m., I watched at least three people arrive seeking medical attention.
They paid for hospital cards.
Their cards were issued.
But there were no consulting doctors available to see them.
One question stayed with me.
Why collect consultation fees from patients if there is no doctor available to attend to them?
The hospital was not overcrowded during either of my visits.
There was a steady flow of patients, many of them mothers carrying young children and elderly people seeking treatment.
Many nurses carried out their duties professionally despite visible signs of fatigue.
Some units also appeared understaffed.
As I reflected on those two days, I began to wonder whether what my family experienced was an isolated case or part of a wider pattern across public hospitals in the Federal Capital Territory.
That question led me to check for complaints on social media.
What I found suggested our experience at Gwarimpa General Hospital was not the only one.
A week later, while scrolling through Facebook, I came across a post that made me pause.
It was written by an Abuja resident, Steve Joseph, who described his experience at Nyanya General Hospital.
His account sounded familiar.
According to a post published on July 17, 2026, Joseph rushed a young man to the hospital at about 2:30 p.m. after the patient’s condition suddenly worsened.
He said staff in the Records Department told them patient cards were no longer being issued because it was already late in the day and directed them to the emergency unit instead.
Although the patient’s condition had stabilised slightly by then, Joseph said the doctor on duty questioned why they had not come earlier that morning.
He replied that illnesses do not announce themselves and that no one could have predicted the patient’s sudden deterioration.
Rather than receiving the medical attention they expected, Joseph alleged they were asked to leave and return the following morning.
He said it was only after he contacted SERVICOM that they were directed to the Compound Office, where a nurse attended to the patient professionally.
Joseph ended his post with a question.
“Why should a general hospital stop attending to patients at a particular time of the day?”
He also asked Abuja residents whether similar practices occurred in other government hospitals across the FCT.
Two days later, on July 19, Joseph posted an update that the Nyanya General Hospital management set up an investigative panel to examine his complaint.
He said he appeared before the panel alongside the doctor involved, the Compound Office nurse and the SERVICOM officer who handled the case.
Joseph also disclosed that the patient was invited for comprehensive medical care.
He commended the Medical Director and hospital staff for investigating the matter, stressing that his complaint was never intended as a personal attack on any healthcare worker but as an effort to improve accountability and patient care.
In the comments section, hundreds of residents shared similar experiences.
The accounts shared on social media are also personal experiences and may not be treated as evidence of system-wide practice.
But they reflect recurring concerns raised by residents about access to public healthcare in the Federal Capital Territory.
(The Whistler)