Notice: Function _load_textdomain_just_in_time was called incorrectly. Translation loading for the wordpress-seo domain was triggered too early. This is usually an indicator for some code in the plugin or theme running too early. Translations should be loaded at the init action or later. Please see Debugging in WordPress for more information. (This message was added in version 6.7.0.) in /home/bcm/src/dev/www/wp-includes/functions.php on line 6121 cancer | Zikoko!
If you love instant noodles, now might be a good time to pause and look at what you’re ingesting. The National Agency for Food and Drug Administration and Control (NAFDAC), on May 2, 2023, issued a press release concerning the recall of a flavour of the Nigerian staple, Indomie.
PRESS RELEASE
Recall of Indomie Instant Noodles 'Special Chicken Flavour' by Health Officials in Malaysia and Taiwan Over Alleged Detection of Ethylene Oxide, a Carcinogenic Compound.#NafdacReleasepic.twitter.com/KAeFAKMUqx
The Indomie “Special Chicken Flavour” is being recalled due to health concerns. Here’s the gist.
Why is NAFDAC issuing a recall of the “Special Chicken Flavour”?
[Banned Indomie / Premium Times]
In the statement signed by the director general of NAFDAC, Prof Mojisola Adeyeye, she said NAFDAC has begun sampling and analysing other Indomie noodles flavours. This also includes their seasonings, as they’re testing for the presence of ethylene oxide.
Why’s ethylene oxide bad? Ethylene oxide is a colourless and odourless gas. According to the National Cancer Institute, “In smaller amounts, ethylene oxide is used as a pesticide and a sterilising agent. The ability of ethylene oxide to damage DNA makes it an effective sterilising agent but also accounts for its cancer-causing activity.”
The statement from NAFDAC read, “The Management of the National Agency for Food and Drug Administration and Control, NAFDAC is aware of the recall of Indomie Instant Noodles ‘Special Chicken Flavour’ by the Ministries of Health in Malaysia and Taiwan on account of the alleged presence of ethylene oxide, a compound associated with an increased risk of cancer.
“NAFDAC, as a responsible and responsive regulator, is taking swift actions to carry out random sampling and analysis of Indomie noodles (including the seasoning) for the presence of ethylene oxide, as well as extending the investigation to other brands of instant noodles offered for sale to Nigerians.
“We use this medium to assure the public that a thorough investigation of the products will be conducted both at the factory and market levels, and our findings will be communicated.“
Adeyeye also noted via Twitter that noodles are on the import prohibition list. They’re not allowed to be imported into the country.
The ban only affects noodles imported into the country, not those produced in Nigeria.
What can I do?
You can help spread the word so people don’t consume harmful food. Also, look out for where the noodles are made. If it shows that it’s an exported product, there’s a good chance it’s illegal. Worse, it might be carcinogenic — which could spell double trouble.
In February, I made a call for Nigerian women to share stories about their best ex. Annabelle was one of the women who sent in a story. When I shared the article on Twitter, a lot of people were curious about Annabelle’s story and she was willing to share. Here’s what she told me:
When I was 18, I got diagnosed with bone cancer. It was tough to deal with because I was in my first year of university. I struggled with pain and nausea at random points in the day. My friends were great. They would help me write my name on the attendance when I had to miss classes. A lot of money went into making sure I survived. Although my mum kept telling me that all I had to do was eat well and rest, I believed my doctors had told her how long I had to live. In the meantime, I wanted my own money. I started looking for jobs that paid students.
I was on the lookout for ushering jobs or gigs as a movie extra when I saw the opening for the role of a talk show host. I rehearsed my lines and anticipated the audition. On the day, however, nothing went the way I planned. I forgot my lines and stammered through the audition. I kept looking at the camera when I wasn’t supposed to. When the crew tried to correct me, I started crying. It was very embarrassing. At the end of it, a man walked up to me as I was arranging to leave. He asked if I knew who he was. I said, “No,” but I was curious about why he’d think I knew him. He didn’t explain himself, instead, he told me his name was Tobi Afolabi* and asked me to Google him. I was running late, so we exchanged numbers, but I kept thinking, “What the fuck is this one feeling like?” At home, I found out that he was a popular media personality in the north, and he was also the producer of the show I was auditioning for.
That night, he called, and we talked. I didn’t like him at first. I thought he was too old — he was 27, I was 19. I imagined that he would be boring, so I aired his texts a lot. Also, I was sick — I didn’t see the need to pursue any romantic relationship knowing it could end in pain for both parties. I had no hair and lost weight every day, so when he texted me things like, “You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” I was sure he was lying.
When he was done with the show, he came back to town and asked to meet up. One afternoon in June, I went over to his place. He made us lunch and officially asked me to be his girlfriend. I told him I was dying and it would be unfair to date him. At some point, I started crying. He didn’t say much while I spoke. He listened and didn’t interrupt. He looked bored. I started feeling weird — how could he not be moved by my plight?
I went home late that day. My mum started yelling the minute she saw me. She was always shouting at me. I expected she would be nicer to me since I was sick but it was like she became worse. She would tell me, “It’s like you like being sick. You must enjoy the attention that it brings because you’re not even trying to fight it.”
That night Tobi called to ask if I had gotten home safely, and I started crying. I told him about my mother being mean to me and how my sister picks on me. He said nothing about it after I finished talking. He just asked if we could see the next day.
I went to his place the next day and after chilling for a while, I asked why he didn’t say anything about everything I had told him the previous day. He asked what I wanted him to say. I started crying again. He asked why I was crying, and when I told him he had hurt my feelings, he responded with, “Has crying fixed your feelings now?” He then told me that I loved to play the victim and that I think I have monopoly on grief. He said, “So what if you’re dying? At least you know it’s coming. Everyone is going to die eventually. You should take advantage of it and make each day count, instead of crying and whining all the time.”
I was too shocked to say anything to him. I carried myself home to cry. I don’t know how, but the next day, I went to see him again. I told him he hurt my feelings. He apologised, but he insisted that he wouldn’t take his words back. He said I had a rare opportunity to try everything I wanted to do before my time was up. He made me write a list of all the things I would like to do. My diet was quite strict so on my list, I wrote things like “I want to eat 20 bars of chocolate” and “I want to get drunk until I pass out”.
I was scared to travel because I didn’t want to have a seizure or blackout on the way, but Tobi made me travel with him a lot. Whenever he had a movie or wedding to shoot, he took me with him. He got used to my episodes — he could tell when one was coming even before I knew. He would talk to his doctor friend to get me new medication. If I complained of one discomfort, he would throw the drugs out and look for another one. My mum wasn’t like that — she gave me whatever the doctor gave me and didn’t care if they made me puke my brains out or lose my appetite. Tobi wanted to know everything. “Does this make your migraines better? Does your throat itch? Your tongue is a weird colour, let me have a closer look at it.” Soon he found a combination that I was fine with, then I had more energy to do things with him. We went hiking, we had picnics, we went to the cinema to see movies. Whenever someone was rude to me, he would insist I have my say. He told me it wasn’t healthy to hide my dissatisfaction. At first, it was hard for me to do that, but soon enough, when people stared at my hair for too long, I would ask if there was a problem. He made me feel like a different person — a normal, beautiful and happy person.
He introduced me to his family and they were nice to me. It was different because, in my family, we didn’t send each other like that.
He bought me things to help my moods like scented candles, chocolates and ointments. At this point, I was always wearing wigs because I was self-conscious about how I looked, so he bought me a lot of wigs, along with scarfs and hats.
He laced my drinks with painkillers. He introduced me to weed and it helped me feel better. I was in love with him, so I would have tried anything. One time in school, we were asked to read The Lion and The Jewel, but I was too weak to complete the task. It was one of my bad days. I kept throwing up and my body hurt when I moved. I was worried I was going to fail the course.
He came to my house that night with a new hard drive. I was like, “What the fuck kind of gift is this?” But when I plugged it into my system, I found that he made me an animation of The Lion and The Jewel. It’s still the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever received in my entire life. Of course, I passed the course.
The sex was the best thing ever. Before him, I was too shy to have sex completely naked. I would keep my shirt on and cover myself with a blanket, but he wasn’t having any of that. He kept emphasizing how beautiful I was. He said my dark skin was flawless, and he loved it.
Being with him made me feel powerful. I found myself trying to be like him — doing things the way he did them or talking like him. I noticed I stopped crying as often. I started going out without my wigs. One night, I returned home late and my mum started yelling at me. I told her, “Look, I have a lot of shit going on so maybe try asking what’s wrong with me and we can talk about it like adults.” As I was talking, my heart was beating. I was expecting one dirty slap, but she apologized. Our relationship improved after that. My sister stopped picking on me when she realised it wasn’t getting to me anymore — she would make a mean comment about my hair and I would laugh or agree with her. Eventually, I brought Tobi home to meet my family and everyone loved him. At this point, we had been dating for 3 years. When I graduated from university and got a job offer that required me to move. The first thing my mum said was, “How will Tobi feel about this?”
Being his girlfriend became my identity. People would send us invites to their events tagged Annabelle and Tobi. He gave me the key to his apartment. I could come over at any time and do whatever I wanted. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him, so when I saw a ring in his wardrobe one day, I was overjoyed. I was so excited I called my friends and started screaming. I asked them if they knew about it, they said no. I decided to wait for him to ask me to marry him. I waited and waited but the question never came.
We would be having a nice moment and I would be expecting him to whip out the ring but it never happened. I got frustrated, but I couldn’t tell him what was wrong with me. After a while, I couldn’t find the ring in the wardrobe. I assumed he might have kept it for his friend or one of his clients. I went through his social media accounts, trying to see if any of his friends recently proposed, but I found nothing.
One day, we were arguing, about something so small I can’t remember, and he said, “It doesn’t matter — I’m marrying someone next month anyway.” I was shocked. We weren’t casually dating — we were planted deeply in each other’s lives. I would hear a joke or watch a movie and my first thought would be, “I can’t wait to tell Tobi about this.” So when he told me he was marrying someone else, I didn’t ask who, I asked how. “How did you have time to have a relationship with someone else when I’m with you all the time? Did she not see my fucking pictures everywhere? Did she not care that you’re in love with someone else?” I didn’t cry. . I just said, “Cool.” I didn’t want to play the victim, so I was supportive. He possibly expected a tantrum and when I didn’t give it to him, he didn’t know how to handle it.
I went to his house while he was at work to pack my things. When I was done, I gave the key to his security guard. When he got home and saw that my stuff was gone, he called me. I was casual like nothing happened, “Hey babe, how was your day?” I was having a mental breakdown but at least I was poised and sweet the entire time. When I saw that his wife was light-skinned, I cried. It felt like everything he said to me was a lie. I never asked him why he chose someone else or if I did anything wrong. He is married with four kids now. We still talk. He calls me now and then, but I don’t think I ever forgave him.
A couple of weeks ago, I overheard a doctor talking to an ex-patient. The tenderness in the doctor’s voice piqued my curiosity. During the course of the conversation, he sounded incredulous because someone had died. For someone so used to death and dying, the doctor was visibly shaken. A few prodding questions, a couple of phone calls and consent later, I had the story that led to this article.
My sister died at 11.47 p.m. on Friday. I’m not sure what her last words were, but she must have probably called out for me, saying, “Mummy, don’t leave me.”
Mummy? I can tell that you’re a little confused. To understand why she used to call me mummy, we need to go back to the beginning.
***
4 years ago:
My sister was a vibrant, playful, four-year-old child. At least until the pain came. Young children in pain can’t fully express themselves with words because of their limited vocabulary. However, they show discomfort by either writhing in pain or becoming dull and withdrawn. In my sister’s case, it was the latter. She quickly became a shadow of herself; solemn and reclusive. Her withdrawal worsened so much that her dad, who’s actually my brother, had to beg me to take her to the hospital.
My first question was, “Where’s her mother?” to which he replied, “She abandoned me and ran off with another man.” — we’ll get to her uselessness later.
So, thus began our journey of doctors, syringes and repeated rounds of diagnostic tests.
***
Everyone who saw us at the hospital always asked: “Is she sick?” or “Is she visiting someone?” To which I smiled and responded, “She’s sick.” The next thing was for them to say: “How can a child this active and pain-free be sick. What’s wrong with her?” With a tight smile, I’d say: “Nephroblastoma“, pause, and add “a cancer of the kidneys.” The response would be a characteristic “Oh…”
Another question I always got was “Who’s she to you?” To which I’d reply, “my sister.” Since we were related by blood [her dad, my brother], I preferred calling her sister rather than my niece.
It took us six months before we got her diagnosis. In that period we had gone from one general hospital to another in Lagos before finally landing at the University of Ilorin Teaching Hospital. This change had required leaving my job in Lagos to take of her for six months in Ilorin. In that time frame, we experienced one major surgery, numerous rounds of chemotherapy, multiple blood transfusions, and various forms of brokeness.
Her dad would shuttle between Lagos and Ilorin and send money, grudgingly.
Her mother simply never showed up or called. The most effort she made was to send her sister to take a photo of the sick child.
My sister got tired of waiting for her mother to show up, and she started to say: “Iya Amirat [name of my sister’s immediate older sibling] didn’t come to see me, so she’s not my mummy. You’re my own mummy.”
This newfound bond made things tricky for me because she was always scared that I’d leave. She never let me out of her sight. She’d follow me if I had to go buy medicines, or even if I was going to the toilet. One time, she yanked off her drip because I was going to get medicine outside the hospital compound. She was definitely not letting her new mummy go so easily.
One thing that struck me about that period was that all the kids in the ward who had similar symptoms as my sister died. Some died while on admission, others, like my sister, died after a brief period of recovery. The doctors kept asking if we lived near a refuse or telecommunication mast or anything that might have predisposed her to the illness. To which I always answered, “No”. Then they’d scratch their head trying to figure out how best to help her.
The solution always came back to chemotherapy.
One round of treatment cost us ₦15,000. And she had to undergo treatment three times a week. This was minus treatment for some of the side effects of chemo, and minus the tests she had to take before starting chemo. Every treatment cycle involved her hair falling out, a bout of malaria, a lot of blood samples, and her dad complaining that he didn’t have money.
When her dad asked us to return to Lagos, I didn’t put up a fight. At that point, I was tired of his complaints and I was also tired from uprooting my life. That’s how we abandoned the treatment halfway to restart our lives in Lagos.
Things were going well until one year later when the illness returned. Before then, she had returned to her playful self. I had also been saving from my salary to finally attend University. Our fairy tale was shattered because the sickness came back with twice as much force. Her breathing was the first to struggle, then the pain came along.
Once again, we found ourselves back at the hospital from which we had run.
***
We had barely spent a week in the hospital when my sister gave up. I’ll never forget the time because at 11:30 p.m. on that day, I had rushed to the pharmacy to get some drugs for her. At that point, she was already gasping for air. The doctor met me on my way back from the pharmacy and pulled me aside. She told me, “Your sister has given up.” I replied, “Is she sleeping?” Then the doctor said, “She’s dead.” To which I replied, “Dead bawo?”
At that moment, I wanted to give up. I felt betrayed. After all we had gone through, she abandoned me. How could she be gone like that? I had just asked her a few minutes ago what she wanted to eat, and she had responded. What happened to our promise of beating this illness together? Did those words hold no meaning to her?
Looking back, the signs were there that it was her last week. She had to bend to breathe, she was always in pain, and had to lie in the foetal position to be comfortable. But we had passed through worse, so I thought this too would pass.
I take consolation in the fact that God knows best.
***
Pain ages people. It turns adults into wizened old people, and it makes adults out of children. Part of the reason I miss my sister a lot is that we related like age mates. Even though I was eighteen at the time and she was barely five, we found a lot of common ground in conversation. I found that I could talk to her about my struggles and she could also confide in me.
In addition to her precociousness, she was also smart. My sister knew the name of her favourite doctors, the name of tests like Full Blood Count, or medical jargon like PCV. She also quickly learned to associate hospital gates with a lot of pain.
There were also extreme mood swings where things got thrown at you. Or she could become so lively and animated that you had no choice but to participate in her joy.
I sometimes feel guilty that her father didn’t have enough money for us to stay back and finish the treatment. Then I also get angry that her mother never showed up. In her short life, my sister learned that pain could be both physical and emotional. For that reason alone, I can’t ever forgive her mother. There’s a part of me that still believes that if her mother was present she might have held on for longer.
I’m grateful for the experience. I’ve come to understand how precious the gift of life is. I’m grateful for the time I got to spend with my sister, however short. Most of all, I’m grateful for the privilege to be the mother she never had.
Editor’s Note:
Balikis, the subject of the story shared her story to spread awareness of Nephroblastoma and to also seek ways the Nigerian government can help in the early detection of the illness.
Breast cancer is the second leading cause of cancer in women after lung cancer. It not only affects the patient but their families as well. I spoke to some women who know people who have survived breast cancer and some who have lost people to breast cancer and this is their story.
Zara
When I was two years old, my aunt found a benign lump in her breast. The doctors advised her to take things easy so she stopped driving. About 7-8 years later, she was diagnosed with cancer. She only told me after she got a mastectomy All my years of watching Medical TV shows did not prepare me for how real the whole thing felt. With chemotherapy and treatment, my aunt got better.
Lola
My aunt, a retired nurse, found a lump in her breast and didn’t tell anyone. Someone took her to a traditional home where she was told it was a spiritual attack. When things got out of hand, she reached out to my mother, who took her for a mammogram. She moved in with us so mum could take care of her. I remember her losing all her hair and a lot of weight. Her skin, palms, and sole became very dark. She was in so much pain. My mother had to give her an injection from time to time to keep her blood count up. Unfortunately, she died 10 days after her surgery due to negligence. Her dressing wasn’t done properly and there were maggots too.
Nike
My mom wasn’t literate and none of us lived with her, so when she had breast cancer, she didn’t tell anyone. According to her, she felt pain in her breast, she went to a general hospital and they referred her to a teaching hospital. The staff wanted her to come with her kids, at this point, she ran away and didn’t tell us. She endured the pain until 2004 when it became unbearable. When she told us, we took her to a doctor, by then, it was a stage 4 metastatic cancer. She went through chemo hoping they would do surgery but they were just managing her pain. In November, the doctors finally told her no surgery was being planned. From there, she seemed to shut down her own system and moved to an end-stage. She died in the second week of December 2004. Her body ravaged by cancer.
Annie
Two women in my family have had it. My aunt who managed it for 15 years, she’s passed on now and my grandmother who’s currently battling it. My grandmother found a lump while having a shower in 2008. Hers started out as axillary lymphadenopathy – which essentially is enlarged lymph nodes on the armpit. We’re literally in the car on the way to her 8th chemo cycle. I’ve been at this for such a long time, that her oncologist asked me to come and intern with him.
Wunmi
December 2019, my mom found a lump in her breast. She was diagnosed with cancer in April 2020. She was puzzled because 10 years ago, she had a mastectomy and thought it was gone for good. After having a back and forth with the LUTH oncology department about her files, she was able to get a consultation session with a private oncologist who charged three times as much. They put her on chemotherapy and she is expected to do four cycles before she is eligible for surgery. Before and during chemotherapy, she had terrible skin reactions but now, she is doing better and living more intentionally.
Gift
My aunt who is an unemployed single mother of one was diagnosed with cancer. She has been very secretive and gets defensive when asked about it. After convincing her to see a doctor, she refused to tell anyone about her diagnosis, taking agbo – local medicine – instead and saying this is how God probably wants her to die. I had to speak to the doctor who advised she removes the whole breast to avoid the cancer spreading. She has refused to do this. Recently, she said she found a hospital willing to do 6 months of Chemo for 180k but I don’t believe her.
Shola
March 2019, a few months before my mother turned 52, she found a lump in her breast while dressing up for work. My mum went to the hospital where she was examined and scheduled for a lumpectomy. The results showed a malignant tumour in her breast which was spreading fast. She was diagnosed with stage 3 breast cancer and was told she needed an urgent mastectomy so she could begin chemotherapy.
Thing is, after her mastectomy, another examination was conducted on the breast removed and there were no traces of a malignant tumour. We had several tests done and the results were the same. By now, my mum has already done two rounds of chemo. The doctors advised she continue treatment so they don’t any chances. By August 2019, my mom had undergone 6 rounds of chemo. But this year August, she has been declared cancer-free.
For updates on all things HER, kindly subscribe to our HER newsletter.
According to the Paediatric Society Of Ghana, 70% of the children diagnosed at their center are left to die by their parents due to the whooping sum of money needed for chemotherapy and other treatments.
Photos of this young Ghanaian boy went viral after he requested to see the interior of an airplane for the first time in his life.
Due to lack of funds and and consequently insufficient medical care, he was recently informed by doctors that he has a very limited time to live.
Upon learning his fate, he simply requested for something he had always wished for all his life.
His wish was granted by Delta airlines and he was driven in an ambulance to the airport accompanied by the nurses of the hospital.
After his story went viral, people on social media called out to willing donors to assist his cause.
Unfortunately, his parents have given up all hope and are refusing monetary donations from willing volunteers.
In a society where poverty and illiteracy thrives, many more children like this unnamed little boy have lost their lives to ailments that could have been managed under normal conditions. We hope steps are taken to help children like this boy in the future.
What do you think about this little boy’s heart breaking story?
