By Prosper Mene
As Nigeria grapples with a deadly Lassa fever outbreak that has claimed 118 lives in the first three months of 2025, women in affected communities are emerging as the unsung heroes, and unintended victims, of this public health crisis. With 645 confirmed cases reported across 33 states by March 31, according to the Nigeria Centre for Disease Control and Prevention (NCDC), women, often the primary caregivers in households, are bearing the brunt of the disease’s toll, particularly in hard-hit areas like Kano.
The outbreak, which has a case fatality rate of 18.3%, has exposed deep-seated gender dynamics in Nigeria’s healthcare landscape. Women like Amina Yusuf, a 38-year-old mother of four from Kano, have found themselves thrust into the role of caregiver as family members fall ill. “My husband caught the fever last month, and I’ve been nursing him day and night,” Amina said, her voice heavy with exhaustion. “There’s no one else to do it. But the clinics are far, and we don’t have enough medicine or information to keep us safe.”
Lassa fever, a viral hemorrhagic illness transmitted primarily through contact with infected rodents or bodily fluids, thrives in Nigeria’s dry season, peaking between November and April. The NCDC reports that 3,465 suspected cases have swept through 91 local government areas this year, with Kano among the regions sounding the alarm. For women, the risk is twofold: caring for the sick exposes them to infection, while limited access to medical resources heightens their vulnerability.
Dr. Fatima Bello, a public health expert in Kano, emphasized the gendered impact. “Women are the backbone of caregiving in our communities, yet they’re often the last to receive protective equipment or education about prevention,” she said. “This outbreak is a wake-up call—we need targeted support for these women, from gloves and masks to awareness campaigns in local languages.”
The NCDC has deployed rapid response teams to 10 high-burden states, including Kano, and activated a national emergency operations center to coordinate efforts. Yet, challenges persist: delayed case detection, manpower shortages, and late hospital visits—often due to reliance on traditional remedies—continue to hamper containment. Of the 20 healthcare workers infected nationwide, many are women, underscoring the frontline risks they face.
In Kano’s markets and cramped homes, women like Amina are calling for change. “We need more help—more doctors, more supplies, and someone to tell us how to stop this,” she pleaded. Community leaders have echoed her plea, urging the government and private sector to bolster medical infrastructure and launch door-to-door education drives.
