By Betty Abah
 |
|
Late
Dr. Edwin Idoko Obe
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March 5 was the day the world stopped
short in its hasty track at the news of the passing of the strongman of
Venezuela, Hugo Chavez. While the majority of his compatriots mourned the
dimming of what they deemed their bright star and the activist world paid defiant
tributes, a large part of the Western world whose imperialist jugulars he held
in a tight grip, sighed in relief.
The same day, at the National Hospital,
Abuja, a great Nigerian passed, relatively quietly. But unlike the
fire-spitting Chavez, all who knew the latter were united in their impression
of this great soul: a gentleman-philanthropist and a doctor who had the magic
touch. He was Dr. Edwin Idoko Obe.
I have heard the maxim that ‘doctors
are our next link to God’. Doubtless, millions of patients across Benue State
and from neighbouring states and Otukpo Town in particular, where he
plied his unique medical calling for over four decades, saw Dr. Obe, the first
indigenous doctor from the state and eminent son of the soil, in that light. To
some, he was even a mini-god.
Salem Hospital, Otukpo, founded in
March 1968 by Dr. Obe, a 1963 graduate of the University of Ibadan’s medical
school and product of British medical institutions, was the centre of
qualitative healthcare in the 1970’s and 80’s. It was the alternative to the
shoddily run General Hospitals where the doctors (who run their private
hospitals by the sides) talked down on patients and the nurses ‘famously’
taunted women in the labour rooms—public health institutions typically run as
‘government-business-is-no-man’s-business’.
Salem Hospital smelt of antiseptic
and drugs characteristic of health centres, but also of aromatic care. It lays
claim to delivering thousands of the 1970’s and 80’s ‘boys and girls’ of Otukpo
and environs. I and almost all my siblings are ‘Salem Babies’.
Salem saved many
a child from untimely death in the hands of mosquitoes-induced malaria, men
from bad-water-facilitated typhoid and diarrhea, and women from preventable
maternal mortality.
Salem was the place where I, and many other kids
first sighted ‘white people’ (bekes) for expatriate doctors and nurses were in
abundance delivering excellent heath care then. The most famous, I guess, was
Dr. Matthew, an Indian.
Yet the highest selling point for Salem
Hospital was its owner, Dr. Obe, a handsome, tall and gangling man who walked
with an elegant stoop, and whose gentle smiles and touches famously drove away
infirmities.
Born in Otukpo on April 3, 1934, he was the quintessential doctor
noted for his famous expression ‘Ikp’ere ne’, meaning, in Idoma, ‘It’s just a
minor ailment’. It was the expression with which he always tenderly reassured
his patients, no matter the gravity of the illnesses. And that often worked
wonders!
Dr. Obe’s benevolence knew no bounds.
On the day he died, I spoke with his niece and my secondary school
classmate, Mary Steno, a New York resident and she spoke of growing up and
seeing multitudes of people in ‘Ada (Father)’s house’.
Those constituted
relatives, non-relatives, in-laws and distant in-laws, foster children,
throngs from his Owukpa community among others. But, what she did not know was
that there were many more multitudes whom the doctor with the large heart
helped and whom she may never even meet.
Among them were my two senior
cousins whom he had helped through university. He was dedicated to the
education of the girl child and extended a helping hand towards ensuring that those
from indigent homes realised their dreams. Today, my two cousins, beneficiaries
of that legendary generosity are both successful women resident in Canada and
the United Kingdom respectively.
Besides, there are countless others
whom the late doctor rescued from the jaws of poverty-induced deaths. He gave
out his treatments free of charge in cases where the patients could not pay,
which was why perhaps, though hugely successful in his days, he might not lay
claim to being a billionaire.
But then, of what use are riches that can
not impact positively on your next door neighbour? Of what use is a talent when
the memory of its owner does not invoke a simple smile? Dr. Obe’s commitment to
the Hippocratic Oath was well-known and so was his Christianly devotion, a
sharp contrast to what obtains today where a diabolic mix of ethics’ dearth and
materialism has seeped deeply into the medical profession.
For him, it
was the person that counted before the pocket. In fact, though his name ‘Obe’
translates to mean ‘enterprise’, his was a life dedicated to humanity’s
well-being and not necessarily to gold. Gladly too, the Federal Government
recognised his contributions and awarded him the national award of the Order of
the Niger (OON) during his eventful lifetime.
The trail-blazing professional also
notably trained a generation of younger doctors to carry on his
humanity-flavoured work while economically empowering thousands of both skilled
and unskilled hospital workers in a state where industries exist like grasses on
the moon, and whose sole claim to oil wealth are pipelines hurriedly buried and
leaking their way from the Niger Delta all the way up to the Kaduna refinery.
Dr. Obe, who was given the title of
‘Ohonyeta’ (‘The Deliverer’) of Idomaland by the late Ochi’Idoma, HRH Abraham
Ajene Okpabi, also extended his humanitarian streak beyond the realms of the
stethoscope and the surgical blades.
In finding ways of providing social
services and a sense of governance to his people, he ventured into politics and
was the deputy-gubernatorial candidate of the Nigerian People’s Party (NPP) in
the boisterous 1983 general elections in Benue State.
That dream was however
truncated by the unsmiling duo of Major-General Muhammadu Buhari and Brigadier-General
Tunde Idiagbon in the now famous coup, but not without enlightening and
entertaining us kids around the Ojira, Otukpo area on electioneering
razzmatazz!
But in all, Dr. Obe remains an icon who walked in the highest
political circles of his days but Mahatma Ghandi-like, never shying away from
stooping down to curing and uplifting the lowliest of the land.
And now, exits a beloved, iconic
philanthropist and a doctor whose words healed the sick!
Certainly, the ache arising from the
passage of this great physician, though at the ripe age of 79, cannot be said
to be ‘Ikp’ere’. No, not until we are reassured we can get, in Nigeria and
beyond, his exact replicas in millions, amidst a most materialistic and
progressively detached world.
Betty Abah is a Lagos-based
journalist, poet and environmental advocate.
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