Under Attack: How Thieves and Neglect Are Breaking Abia’s Village Clinics, Putting Lives at Risk.

By Chidalu Glory

Madam Lucy Okekere will never forget the night she got the urgent call. It was about 10 p.m. A pregnant woman needed help fast at Obiehie Primary Health Centre in Abia State. Without a moment’s thought, Lucy and her coworker, Abigail Ogadi, hurried to the clinic in the dark. They found Blessing Obioma in pain and quickly used their rechargeable torches and a kerosene lamp to light the room and start the delivery.

But in the middle of this life-or-death moment, they heard strange noises outside. “At first, we ignored it and just focused on helping with the birth,” Lucy remembered, her voice still shaky from the fear. “But the noise kept coming. I had to go check.”

What she saw shocked her: a man was on top of the clinic’s newly roofed security post, pulling off the metal sheets. Lucy shines her flashlight on him, hoping he’d run away. But the man kept going, acting as if she wasn’t even there.

“I was so confused and scared,” Lucy admitted. “There were only women around. I called the police and the community leader. Luckily, they came and chased him off. But the fear from that night, thinking what could have happened to Blessing or her baby, stays with you.” This scary event, just one small part of a bigger problem, showed how truly unsafe health workers and patients are.

Clinics Under Siege: A Silent War on Healthcare

Stories like Lucy’s are sadly common across Abia State. Village health clinics (PHCs), which are supposed to be safe places for the sick, are increasingly becoming targets. Thieves and vandals, combined with a severe lack of basic security, are putting them at risk. My investigation, which looked at 25 PHCs across the state, found a shocking truth: only one clinic had a security guard. The other 24 are left wide open, often without fences or any protection, leaving them defenseless against criminals.

At Ohanku PHC, the damage was clear to see. Burglars broke in and stole beds, glass windows, and important electrical wires. The room where babies are born is now empty, with no delivery bed in sight. “We have nothing left,” said Adaora Ebeano, a health worker there, her voice full of sadness. “They took everything. Now, pregnant women are scared to give birth here. We don’t even feel safe coming to work, let alone expecting patients to trust us with their lives in such a place.” When there’s no safe place to give birth, pregnant mothers are forced to have risky home births or travel long distances to crowded clinics, which can lead to serious problems or even death.

These bold attacks even affect personal belongings. At Abaki PHC, the head nurse, Okoro Chinoyerem, told how intruders stole her personal fridge, sockets, and wires. “They messed up my office and stole my fridge, sockets, wires, everything,” she said, clearly upset. “I think it’s people from the village. I told the town head, but nothing has changed. We’re still sleeping here with no security, always afraid of what might happen at night.” A stolen fridge might seem small, but it often holds important vaccines, which hurts the community’s efforts to keep people healthy.

The same problem is seen at Elugwu Umuoram PHC. Nurse Blessing Ndukwe listed many stolen items: IV stands, stretchers, wires, windows, and beds. Even though they reported these problems to both the local government and community leaders, nothing real has been done. “They don’t want us to have light,” Blessing said, pointing to the missing wires. “They took all the wiring. Now we charge our phones outside and use torches during births, putting mothers and babies at risk in the dark.”

The Real Cost of Neglect: Bravery Against Huge Odds

The clinics in Abia are even more vulnerable because most of their staff are older women and volunteers. Protecting these places from determined thieves is almost impossible. The constant lack of electricity and security makes their already tough and risky jobs even more dangerous. “Our lives are at risk every day,” stressed Chinoyerem, her voice a clear plea for help. “We live here. We sleep here. Anything can happen at night, and we can’t defend ourselves.” This constant fear not only harms their well-being but also affects how well they can do their job and provide good care.

Many PHCs in the state already suffer from too little money, too few staff, and a severe lack of basic tools. The few items and medical supplies that are left are constantly in danger of being stolen, creating a bad cycle of loss. These thefts only make things worse, hurting healthcare services and putting patients’ lives in grave danger. The dream of healthcare for everyone seems far away for these communities, hidden by the constant threat of danger.

A Community’s Cry: An Urgent Call to Government

In Ohanku, a community leader, Mr. Samuel Peter, admitted the growing worry and clear fear in his community. “We didn’t catch those who stole last time, but I’ve told the health workers it won’t happen again,” he said, his voice showing both determination and frustration. “We’re working with the local vigilante group to watch over the clinic, but this is just a temporary fix. We desperately need government help. These centers need permanent security guards, proper fences, and immediate repairs to work properly again and to earn back our people’s trust.”

The bravery and strong commitment of health workers across Abia State, who keep delivering babies by torchlight and guarding public health clinics with only their courage and prayers, is truly admirable. But their bravery alone cannot fix the problem; strong action from the government is needed.

The time for talk and promises is over. The time for real action is now. Lives depend on it.

This story was produced for the Frontline Investigative Programme and supported by the Africa Data Hub and Orodata Science.