(continuation)
KICKBACKS: MORTUARY CORRUPTION AT UCH
We exit the morgue and it’s time to discuss the costs. It’s also time to discover why the attendant had been overzealous, ripping open the covering of corpses and sneaking in an unknown potential customer through the backdoor.
Depositing a corpse at the UCH morgue costs N1200/day throughout the first week, N1,800/day in the second week, N3,600/day from the third week onwards, and a one-off N18,000 payment at the point of collection. These are the confirmed official rates. The attendant, though, has an interesting bargaining proposition.
“There is a way we can assist you,” he says. “But I cannot do it alone; I must get the go-ahead of my boss. We will calculate the number of days your corpse will spend here, then we will find a way of reducing it for you.”
Does this then mean the corpse’s family will just give the attendant and his boss a token in appreciation, as led by the spirit?
“No,” he cuts in sharply. “There will be an agreement, but it is not something we can say in public. Just be sure that we will do it in such a way that you will not be hurt, and we too will not be hurt.”
The last line is a statement reminiscent of corruption at the Apapa port, when an official of the Nigeria Customs Service told the journalist in December 2015: “See that man? He is the deputy comptroller-general in charge of cars here in Lagos.
“So, if you’re bringing in cars and you are to pay N20, you may decide to pay me N15. I will then go to him to say, ‘Oga, this man here has paid me N15, how will we help him clear his goods so that he can survive, you can survive and I can also survive; because all of us must survive?’”
The morgue attendant suddenly gets jittery — suspicious, in fact.
“I don’t even know who you are; maybe you’re a policeman, I don’t know,” he says with a giggle, almost throwing the journalist off balance. This he follows up with a Yoruba adage roughly translated to mean: “Rather than watch the child of a Samaritan sink into a canal, the man of light will continue the work of light.”
“We once helped someone like that, and he went upstairs to report,” he adds. “It became a matter of query and panel; one of us was sacked as a result — just because of N1,000.”
The attendant claims to be helping people, but he is indeed helping his own pocket. Eager to get this deal tidied and move to the next, he says quickly: “Take my number; call me when you’re ready.”
UCH PRO GOOFS, SAYS ‘WE DON’T TAKE CORPSES FROM OUTSIDE’
When the findings at the morgue were brought to his notice during a telephone conversation, Deji Bobade, the public relations officer of UCH gave a two-sentence reply before abruptly ending the call even though he was only the recipient, not the caller.
When told that mortuary attendants were demanding cuts from people wanting to deposit corpses at the UCH morgue, he said: “What money? We don’t take corpses from outside.”
What he didn’t know was that an attendant at the same morgue had expressed readiness to accept a corpse that supposedly died in Bodija, and was even planning to involve his “boss”.
AT IKORODU GENERAL HOSPITAL, CARE FOR CORPSES IS DETERMINED BY SIZE OF BRIBES
The body-preserving facilities at the morgue of Ikorodu General Hospital must rank as highly as is obtainable in any part of the country, but the managers of the place are unmistakably cold-blooded.
Confronted by the mournful sight of a man who had presumably just lost his uncle that Sunday morning, the morgue attendant is in no mood to offer words of consolation. A stern, tough-looking man, his words are piercing and his eye contacts scorching. He is the type of man no one should bump into in the early moments of bereavement. He takes forever after the doorbell was pressed before showing up, refuses to let his ‘bereaved’ visitor in to at least have an idea of the state of the morgue, declines to discuss the official corpse deposition fees, and does little to hide his irritation with the visitor’s enquiries.
“Bring your corpse first, we will explain everything to you then,” he snaps at some point, attempting to bring the conversation to an abrupt end. “Even a private hospital can’t beat what we have here.”
But when reminded that it is important to have an idea of the expense so that the relatives of the corpse would not default, he suddenly finds his voice.
“When coming, bring something along for those who will help you take care of the corpse,” he says very coldly as he settles his bum on the three-stair pavement outside the morgue.
Is this “something” a part of the official fees?
“No,” he replies. “Whether you pay the official fees or you don’t, you will need to take care of those who will take care of your corpse.”
How much, then, is this unofficial payment? “It depends on how you want it,” he says, getting up and walking towards the door in a clear display of irritation. “The amount of money you will give to those taking care of the corpse will depend on how dear the deceased is to you.”
The ‘bereaved’ makes it clear he will try “one or two other mortuaries” unless he is allowed to see the state of this particular morgue. At this point, the attendant softens. He reluctantly opens the door of the morgue, allowing the visitor to peep in. “This is just the first room,” he says. “Can you see?”
Within five seconds, he slams the door. End of discussion.
EXTORTING THE BEREAVED
Extortion of the bereaved at Ikorodu General Hospital is a long-running practice. So says Susaine Olabiyi (not real names) who lost her mother in 2012 and was stunned by the number of unofficial payments she was asked to make.
“There is a lot of extortion that goes with losing a loved one in Nigeria. You get to the morgue, you pay the normal fees. The people attending to you want you to pay extra; at every point you get to, someone is literally waiting to extort you,” she says.
In Dubai, where her sister died in 2015, the experience was different.
“We paid just the regular fees but here in Nigeria, they tell you, if you want something to be treated well or quick, you have to give something; if you want this, you have to give somebody that. It’s all about extortion, not about helping out anyone who is in grief.
“Of course, there is a business in burying people; it is legitimate and people will always die. But, you see, even just to dig the grave, there are people who collect this and that, even after paying the regular fees. All these don’t help the person that is grieving; it’s like heaping more burden on the bereaved.”
Beyond extortion, Olabiyi has been on the wrong end of grief-worsening handling of corpses.
“When my sister died in Dubai, there was some succour in seeing that even in death she was treated specially,” she says.
“You needed to see the way the wounds on her dead body were treated and padded. I’m talking about someone who was already dead. The way they went ahead to do everything gave me some succour. And we were not even citizens. Compare to Nigeria, your own country, where everything was shoddy.
“My sister died on the 14th day of September and we brought her into the country on the 21st, meaning she spent seven days at a Dubai morgue. She stayed at the LASUTH morgue for just two days and by the time we were burying her, her colour had changed. She had turned black. Chemicals!”
To be continued
Source: International Centre For Investigative Reporting
When the findings at the morgue were brought to his notice during a telephone conversation, Deji Bobade, the public relations officer of UCH gave a two-sentence reply before abruptly ending the call even though he was only the recipient, not the caller.
When told that mortuary attendants were demanding cuts from people wanting to deposit corpses at the UCH morgue, he said: “What money? We don’t take corpses from outside.”
What he didn’t know was that an attendant at the same morgue had expressed readiness to accept a corpse that supposedly died in Bodija, and was even planning to involve his “boss”.
AT IKORODU GENERAL HOSPITAL, CARE FOR CORPSES IS DETERMINED BY SIZE OF BRIBES
The body-preserving facilities at the morgue of Ikorodu General Hospital must rank as highly as is obtainable in any part of the country, but the managers of the place are unmistakably cold-blooded.
Confronted by the mournful sight of a man who had presumably just lost his uncle that Sunday morning, the morgue attendant is in no mood to offer words of consolation. A stern, tough-looking man, his words are piercing and his eye contacts scorching. He is the type of man no one should bump into in the early moments of bereavement. He takes forever after the doorbell was pressed before showing up, refuses to let his ‘bereaved’ visitor in to at least have an idea of the state of the morgue, declines to discuss the official corpse deposition fees, and does little to hide his irritation with the visitor’s enquiries.
“Bring your corpse first, we will explain everything to you then,” he snaps at some point, attempting to bring the conversation to an abrupt end. “Even a private hospital can’t beat what we have here.”
But when reminded that it is important to have an idea of the expense so that the relatives of the corpse would not default, he suddenly finds his voice.
“When coming, bring something along for those who will help you take care of the corpse,” he says very coldly as he settles his bum on the three-stair pavement outside the morgue.
Is this “something” a part of the official fees?
“No,” he replies. “Whether you pay the official fees or you don’t, you will need to take care of those who will take care of your corpse.”
How much, then, is this unofficial payment? “It depends on how you want it,” he says, getting up and walking towards the door in a clear display of irritation. “The amount of money you will give to those taking care of the corpse will depend on how dear the deceased is to you.”
The ‘bereaved’ makes it clear he will try “one or two other mortuaries” unless he is allowed to see the state of this particular morgue. At this point, the attendant softens. He reluctantly opens the door of the morgue, allowing the visitor to peep in. “This is just the first room,” he says. “Can you see?”
Within five seconds, he slams the door. End of discussion.
EXTORTING THE BEREAVED
Extortion of the bereaved at Ikorodu General Hospital is a long-running practice. So says Susaine Olabiyi (not real names) who lost her mother in 2012 and was stunned by the number of unofficial payments she was asked to make.
“There is a lot of extortion that goes with losing a loved one in Nigeria. You get to the morgue, you pay the normal fees. The people attending to you want you to pay extra; at every point you get to, someone is literally waiting to extort you,” she says.
In Dubai, where her sister died in 2015, the experience was different.
“We paid just the regular fees but here in Nigeria, they tell you, if you want something to be treated well or quick, you have to give something; if you want this, you have to give somebody that. It’s all about extortion, not about helping out anyone who is in grief.
“Of course, there is a business in burying people; it is legitimate and people will always die. But, you see, even just to dig the grave, there are people who collect this and that, even after paying the regular fees. All these don’t help the person that is grieving; it’s like heaping more burden on the bereaved.”
Beyond extortion, Olabiyi has been on the wrong end of grief-worsening handling of corpses.
“When my sister died in Dubai, there was some succour in seeing that even in death she was treated specially,” she says.
“You needed to see the way the wounds on her dead body were treated and padded. I’m talking about someone who was already dead. The way they went ahead to do everything gave me some succour. And we were not even citizens. Compare to Nigeria, your own country, where everything was shoddy.
“My sister died on the 14th day of September and we brought her into the country on the 21st, meaning she spent seven days at a Dubai morgue. She stayed at the LASUTH morgue for just two days and by the time we were burying her, her colour had changed. She had turned black. Chemicals!”
To be continued
Source: International Centre For Investigative Reporting
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