Under the shade of the Chief’s Palace in Garki Village on Tuesday, an elderly man rolled up his sleeve, offered his arm to a nurse, and quietly did what more than 90 per cent of Nigerians infected with hepatitis have never done: he took the test.
Leading the pack was Alhaji Usman Ndakupi, the Sapeyi of Garki whose small act of courage set the tone for a landmark community outreach that health experts say could be the difference between life and death for hundreds of residents in the Federal Capital Territory.
Marking World Hepatitis Day 2026, Garki Hospital took its message out of consulting rooms and into the village square, offering free screening for Hepatitis B and C, HIV, syphilis and malaria to an estimated 1,000 beneficiaries.
For many who lined up in the July heat, it was the first time they had ever heard the word “hepatitis” spoken aloud.
“They didn’t even know what hepatitis is. Some are hearing of hepatitis for the first time,” said Dr. Justice Igbiti, a gastroenterologist who led the medical team. “They are not aware that screening exists. They are not aware that these things are preventable or manageable in the early stages.”
It is that gulf of awareness — not the virus itself — that Dr. Igbiti fears most.
“I’ve had a few people whose first time of hearing of hepatitis, they already have cancer,” he said quietly. “And not only did they have cancer, but at the advanced stage, where nothing much could be done.”
Alhaji Ndakupi welcomed the medical team with a mixture of gratitude and quiet urgency. Having submitted himself for blood pressure, hepatitis and HIV tests, the traditional ruler used his welcome address to plead for more.
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“Health is wealth, and you coming to attend to us is a gift,” he told the medical team. He asked that the hospital return to tackle diabetes, prostate enlargement and other conditions troubling his people, even as he pleaded for pocket-friendly charges and that services for the immediate community be subsidised.
“We know rich people have been helping us,” he said. “But when the immediate community comes, at least their money should be subsidised. Having known the hardship we are passing through, we appreciate what they have been doing.”
A Silent Epidemic by the Numbers
The Federal Government has aptly dubbed hepatitis the “silent epidemic,” and the figures explain why.
Nigeria carries the third-highest hepatitis burden globally with an estimated 20 million people suspected to be living with viral hepatitis. About 18.2 million carry Hepatitis B; 2.5 million live with Hepatitis C while 8.1 per cent of adults aged 15–64 is infected with HBV.
Available statistics indicate that about 4,252 Nigerians die every year from liver cancer linked to untreated hepatitis, but unverified estimates put the nation’s annual economic loss at between ₦13.3 trillion and ₦17.9 trillion.
More than 80 per cent of those infected do not know their status, according to available records. Over 90 per cent are undiagnosed — unwittingly passing the virus to spouses, friends and, tragically, to their own children.
More Infectious Than HIV
Perhaps the most sobering revelation of the day came when Dr. Igbiti was asked to compare hepatitis with more familiar killers.
“Hepatitis B is over ten times more infectious than HIV,” he said. “If you spill blood here that is HIV positive, it will likely not transmit any infection within the next 24 hours. Hepatitis will still transmit in the next five days. That is how infectious it is.”
Yet, he lamented, there is no national panic. “People just don’t even realise it exists, and the first time they present, unfortunately, is when it’s too late.”
Symptoms — fever, fatigue, malaise — are routinely dismissed as malaria or typhoid and treated with a cocktail of self-medication from patent chemists. Meanwhile, the virus quietly eats away at the liver.
For Uche Francis, Head of Marketing and Communications at Garki Hospital, taking the outreach into the village was a deliberate choice.
“Normally, we would mark Hepatitis Day in the hospital, but this time we thought to bring it into this community — to sensitise them about how deadly hepatitis can be, and how early detection can save lives,” she said.
Awareness in Nigeria, she conceded, is “a little poor, sincerely.”
“We need to go into these rural communities, the deep local communities, and get them to know — especially because they are the ones surrounded by dirty environments, dirty water, and a lot of things. They are prone to these diseases.”
Working in collaboration with the FCT Public Health Centre, the team came armed with HIV and syphilis strips, Hepatitis B and C test kits, oral HIV strips and medications.
Speaking almost as a neighbour rather than a physician, Dr. Igbiti said one villager confessed during the outreach that shame was the single biggest reason people avoid hospitals.
“At this point, we’re not coming here with our white coats as doctors. We’re coming as members of the community, to talk in languages that everybody understands,” he said. “That also gives us the opportunity to screen. If we find positives, that is not what we want to hear — but it gives us room to catch them early enough and intervene before it becomes chronic liver disease or liver cancer.”
Vaccinate, Test, Treat
Asked when Nigerians should begin worrying about hepatitis, Dr. Igbiti’s answer was blunt: “Every point.”
He outlined a two-pronged national response: First, all adults — especially those born before the year 2000, who missed out on routine infant immunisation — must get tested and, where necessary, vaccinated.
Second, every child must be vaccinated at birth. “The primary healthcare centres, the rural areas, and the anti-vaxxers — they must be encouraged to vaccinate their children. If we succeed in doing that, we will eventually have a generation not at risk of Hepatitis B.”
Hepatitis C, he added, has no vaccine yet — but it is curable if caught early. “Egypt has done a particularly good job in managing Hepatitis C. I think we can do it as well.”
Those who tested positive during the Garki outreach, he assured, would be followed up at the hospital.
 As the sun dipped behind the palace and the last villagers ambled home clutching pamphlets and, for some, life-changing test results, the significance of the day settled in.
For the Sapeyi and his people, it was more than a medical mission. It was a rare moment when the “silent epidemic” was forced to speak — in Hausa, in pidgin, in the plain language of a doctor who took off his white coat to sit among elders.
 Crediblenewsmg.com
