Across Nigeria’s crowded pharmacies and drug stalls, millions reach for “strong medicine” to treat coughs, malaria, and pain, often without understanding what they are taking. Behind this habit lies a deep communication gap. As antibiotics are misused and misunderstood, bacteria are growing resistant, fuelling a silent epidemic that language itself must help to cure.
In Waru, Abuja, 32-year-old Hadiza Bello bought antibiotics for her son’s cough, unaware it was for a different illness. “The man said it would work for cough,” she recalls. A week later, the fever worsened. Stories like hers reflect a national crisis of antimicrobial resistance (AMR), worsened by language barriers between health workers and patients who think in Hausa, Igbo, Yoruba, or Pidgin. Prescriptions are often written in English, leading to wrong dosages, unfinished treatments, and self-medication.
“Think of bacteria as students,” says Dr. Tochi Okwor, Head of Disease Prevention and Control at the Nigeria Centre for Disease Control and Prevention (NCDC). “Every time we use the wrong drug, we teach them how to fight back.” Nigeria ranks among countries with the highest resistance rates. Between 2019 and 2023, resistance to antibiotics such as Ciprofloxacin and Ceftriaxone surged. In 2019, more than 263,000 Nigerians died from drug-resistant infections, more than deaths from malaria or respiratory diseases combined.
The crisis is poorly understood at the community level, where access to healthcare is limited and many depend on patent medicine vendors. For most, “antimicrobial resistance” means nothing, and antibiotics are simply “strong medicine.” “Patients stop taking their medicine too early because they think it’s too strong,” says community health worker Rasheed Olawale.
To bridge this gap, DRASA Health Trust, in partnership with the NCDC, launched the SayAMR Language Hackathon under its Strategic Action on Youth and Antimicrobial Resistance programme. The initiative brings linguists, youth, and scientists together to translate medical concepts into Hausa, Igbo, Yoruba, and Pidgin English. DRASA’s Managing Director, Niniola Williams, says the effort could transform community understanding. “If we fail to act, the drugs we depend on today could become useless tomorrow,” she warns.
Prof. Haruna Andrew, Secretary-General of the Committee of Vice-Chancellors, notes that “if a nation does not have science in its own language, it may never fully understand it.” For linguistics graduate Kate Bature, the mission is personal. “My mother once gave me the wrong drug because she couldn’t read the label,” she says.
Nigeria’s youthful, tech-savvy population offers a chance to reshape public attitudes. “If we empower them, they will transform how people think about medicines,” says Dr. Okwor.
NCDC Director-General, Dr. Jide Idris, says the hackathon’s value extends beyond AMR. “These ideas can be applied to outbreaks like cholera, Mpox, and pandemics. When language meets science, understanding spreads faster than infection.”
Experts warn that resistance affects humans, animals, and the environment. Antibiotics used in livestock and hospital waste pollute rivers and soil. “People should avoid antibiotics without prescriptions and complete the full course,” advises Dr. Nafiu Lawal of Usmanu Danfodiyo University.
As Nigeria develops its second National Action Plan on resistance, initiatives like SayAMR could be decisive. By translating science into everyday language, they empower citizens to act before infections become untreatable.
For Bello, awareness came too late, but she hopes others will learn. “If I had known better words to ask, maybe things would be different,” she says. “Health is about how people understand and act. When communities speak the language of science, it becomes everyone’s responsibility.”
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