By Gbayesola Samuel 

Scene on Arrival at UCH

At around 4PM, I arrived at the University College Hospital, Ibadan (UCH), although it was quite different from what I expected. The sight before me reflected struggles with maintenance, and my expectations were quickly cut short as the experience unfolded.

“What is the name of your patient? For proper documentation,” an official of the unit asked while clutching a notebook to collect details.

Although the scene was not packed like a marketplace, the environment carried a different kind of congestion—controlled movement layered with urgency. Every available space appeared in use, yet it was still insufficient for the volume of patients arriving.

“There is no bed at the moment,” a doctor said. “We are working on transferring some patients to the ward. You will have to wait; we will attend to you.”

Near the entrance, a woman was being prepared for transfer from her vehicle to a stretcher. Attending to her were security personnel and attendants who coordinated the movement.

“Can we lift her up?” one asked.

Another voice quickly followed: “Where are your gloves? We need gloves.”

In haste, her caregiver rushed towards the vehicle in search of gloves. Eventually, a rolling stretcher with side rails was positioned, and the patient was carefully moved.

Similar scenes played out repeatedly, each with different faces and different cases.

“Don’t park there. Move behind this vehicle,” a staff member instructed, gesturing for drivers to clear the space and avoid blocking the road.

Sitting outside were families of affected individuals. There were no chairs, so we sat on the edge of a partition brick.

At last, it was our turn. Inside the reception area, the congestion became more apparent.

“Wow, this place is too congested. Is this how UCH is on a regular basis?” I asked.

“Sometimes it is even busier than this,” a friend responded without hesitation.

From the entrance to the inner corridors, every available space was occupied. Walkways were filled with patients on stretcher, while caregivers stood beside them. Movement through the unit required careful navigation through tightly packed clusters of people.

It was difficult to identify the hospital map or determine one’s exact location within the unit. A patient was allocated a spot nearby. Medical students paced to and fro with some in white coats, others in scrubs.

The atmosphere carried a sensory overload: voices overlapping in the background, movement in different directions, and the constant arrival of new cases adding to the pressure already on the ground.

Some patients were kept in areas with limited lighting and visible signs of wear. In one corner of the unit, stains on the floor drew attention to the challenges of maintaining the environment.

“Is this not blood?” I asked.

“It has been there for a while,” a companion responded.

It was an overwhelming feeling, as though multiple senses were being triggered at once. The remark passed without disruption, reflecting a sense of normalisation within the environment.

“I have to be careful where I place my things so I don’t carry bacteria home,” I said, seeing the need for caution.

Despite the conditions, activity continued steadily. Those working within the unit appeared accustomed to the environment, moving with practiced urgency between patients and tasks.

Payment Delays and Informal Charges

At the pharmacy, despite not queuing for long, getting a response from the pharmacist felt like a long wait. I stayed on my phone, wondering when she would attend to me.

Resting on the pavement while waiting, I looked down in shock.

“What is this? Is this not blood?”

Right beneath where I rested were blood stains from who knows where.

When I asked the pharmacist, her response was an “oh,” as if in surprise. Many others, it seemed, had reached that point without noticing the stains.

When I was eventually attended to, I proceeded to make payment. The typical experience of disorder still exists, with some individuals breaking the line to force their way to the counter.

When it got to my turn, I transferred the exact amount required, which was confirmed. I was then told I had to add a ₦100 charge before I could be attended to.

The charge was not displayed on any visible notice, and no prior explanation had been given before payment was requested.

When questioned informally, it was explained as a requirement to complete processing through the hospital account, though no clear signage or prior communication was observed at the point of transaction.

The lack of clarity added to the delays already experienced by patients attempting to complete pharmacy procedures.

Diagnosis Under Pressure

Within the diagnostic and treatment sections, staff continued working under visible pressure.

“Can you attend to her now?” an elderly man asked.

“I have someone else to attend to,” a nurse was heard saying while checking the time.

Despite the presence of medical students assisting with clerking and preliminary tasks, the number of patients required continuous rotation between available personnel.

UCH Ibadan remains one of the foremost referral hospitals in southwestern Nigeria, serving a wide catchment area of patients requiring emergency and specialised care. However, like many major public health institutions, its emergency units often face pressure from high patient volumes, limited bed space, and staffing constraints.

These conditions were reflected in the pace of care observed within the UCH emergency unit, where medical personnel must manage simultaneous emergencies within constrained infrastructure.

The experience inside the UCH emergency unit presents a system working continuously under strain, where urgency is constant, space is limited, and staff must make rapid decisions under difficult conditions.

As patients continued to arrive and staff moved quickly between cases, the unit remained in constant motion. It is a reminder of both the demands placed on emergency healthcare workers and the strain facing one of Nigeria’s foremost teaching hospitals.

Image Credit: Emmanuel Elegbede