Lassa fever, a viral hemorrhagic illness endemic to Nigeria and parts of West Africa, continues to pose a serious public health threat. Despite being preventable and treatable when detected early, the disease resurfaces annually with devastating consequences. The recent spike in infections and fatalities underscores the need for Nigeria to reassess not only its healthcare priorities but also the economic and political frameworks that exacerbate the impact of such diseases. Beyond the obvious medical implications, Lassa fever is a litmus test of the country’s institutional resilience and political will.
The virus, which is primarily spread by contact with food or household items contaminated by the urine or faeces of infected Mastomys rats, thrives in environments of poor sanitation, overcrowding, and weak healthcare infrastructure. These conditions are alarmingly prevalent across many Nigerian communities. As of early 2025, Nigeria has recorded hundreds of confirmed cases and dozens of deaths, with states like Ondo, Edo, and Bauchi consistently bearing the highest burden.
Yet, Lassa fever is not just a health issue—it is a symptom of deeper economic and political dysfunction. Economically, the recurring outbreaks are a drain on an already overstretched public health system. The costs associated with outbreak management, including emergency response, surveillance, isolation, treatment, and public sensitization campaigns, place significant strain on government budgets. In rural communities where subsistence farming dominates, the disease also disrupts agricultural productivity. Infected individuals, caregivers, and even healthcare workers often become incapacitated, reducing the local labor force and compounding poverty cycles.
Moreover, the burden of the disease disproportionately affects the poor, who live in rodent-infested areas and lack access to clean water, proper waste disposal, or quality healthcare. For these citizens, early symptoms—fever, headache, vomiting—are often mistaken for malaria or typhoid. Delayed diagnosis not only worsens outcomes for patients but also increases the risk of community spread. In many cases, by the time a diagnosis is confirmed, it is already too late. The economic implication of these delayed responses is catastrophic: families are forced to sell property to pay for hospital bills, children drop out of school, and breadwinners are lost to a preventable disease.
On the political front, the response to Lassa fever is often reactive rather than proactive. Knee-jerk responses, limited funding, and poor coordination among relevant agencies frequently characterise government interventions. Nigeria’s Centre for Disease Control (NCDC), despite notable efforts, remains underfunded relative to the magnitude of public health threats in the country. Many state governments have failed to prioritise public health in their budgets and often lack the infrastructure to manage outbreaks effectively. This lack of preparedness reflects a broader political culture where health policy is viewed through a short-term lens, shaped more by the political cycle than by long-term development goals.
Politicians are quick to set up committees, release statements, and allocate emergency funds only when the crisis garners media attention. However, once the news cycle shifts, the urgency dissipates and structural reforms are shelved. There is an urgent need for a more sustainable and institutionalised approach to public health governance—one that treats recurrent diseases like Lassa fever with the seriousness they deserve, not just as public relations crises but as national security issues.
At the core of the political imperative is accountability. There is a dire need for transparency in how public health funds are allocated and spent. Corruption in the health sector continues to sabotage efforts to combat epidemics. From inflated procurement contracts to diversion of medical supplies, the mismanagement of resources undermines public trust and weakens the country’s capacity to fight not only Lassa fever but future pandemics.
There is also a need for stronger political advocacy around environmental sanitation and public health education. Lassa fever thrives in unsanitary environments, yet waste management in Nigerian cities and rural areas is abysmal. The failure to invest in public hygiene infrastructure, community sensitisation, and rodent control measures points to a lack of political will. Lawmakers and executives must go beyond rhetoric and implement policies that address the root causes of the disease—poverty, ignorance, and poor environmental planning.
From an economic perspective, Nigeria must understand that investing in health is not just a moral obligation but a strategic imperative. Every naira spent on preventing and controlling diseases like Lassa fever yields exponential returns by protecting the workforce, improving productivity, and safeguarding national development goals. As Africa’s most populous nation, Nigeria cannot afford to have its growth story continually undermined by preventable diseases.
In conclusion, Lassa fever in Nigeria is more than a public health challenge—it is an indictment of systemic governance failures. The solutions lie not just in medical interventions but in economic planning and political courage. The country must build a resilient health infrastructure, strengthen disease surveillance, and invest in public awareness. More importantly, it must treat healthcare as a cornerstone of national development, not an afterthought. Only then can the country break free from the annual cycle of preventable epidemics and move towards a healthier, more secure future.
