St Benedict's leprosy and tb Hospital, ogoja
Part of SFLG's work is to dispel common misconceptions about leprosy. The St Benedict's Leprosy and TB Hospital and others like it care for people with leprosy when they have nowhere else to go and have often been abandoned by those whom they love.
Chief Maurice aged 60: I thank God I have been healed
Chief Maurice first realised something was wrong when he began losing his shoes without noticing, a small but frightening sign of nerve damage.
In 2002, while farming, an ulcer appeared on his foot. With no understanding of leprosy and no access to specialist care, he turned to a native doctor. Herbal pastes were applied for months, but the wound worsened, and the cost, 40,000 naira, drained the family’s savings.
When he finally reached the General Hospital, he was referred to St Benedict’s, where he received his diagnosis in 2003. “I felt bad. I knew of leprosy. I thought, why is this happening to me?” he recalls. Treatment began immediately, and he learned self‑care techniques that he still follows daily: soaking, rubbing, and protecting his feet.
Today, Maurice lives with drop foot, which limits his ability to farm, but he has avoided new ulcers thanks to his discipline. He and his wife Theresa care for their six children, and he remains active in the self‑help group supported by SFLG. The group recently received gari‑processing equipment, which Maurice is safeguarding until installation.
“St Benedict’s have been helping us very well, money, food, and the group meetings,” he says. “I thank God that I’ve been healed. I just wonder how I can take care of my mother and my children. But right now, I thank God I’m feeling ok.”
Chief Maurice first realised something was wrong when he began losing his shoes without noticing, a small but frightening sign of nerve damage.
In 2002, while farming, an ulcer appeared on his foot. With no understanding of leprosy and no access to specialist care, he turned to a native doctor. Herbal pastes were applied for months, but the wound worsened, and the cost, 40,000 naira, drained the family’s savings.
When he finally reached the General Hospital, he was referred to St Benedict’s, where he received his diagnosis in 2003. “I felt bad. I knew of leprosy. I thought, why is this happening to me?” he recalls. Treatment began immediately, and he learned self‑care techniques that he still follows daily: soaking, rubbing, and protecting his feet.
Today, Maurice lives with drop foot, which limits his ability to farm, but he has avoided new ulcers thanks to his discipline. He and his wife Theresa care for their six children, and he remains active in the self‑help group supported by SFLG. The group recently received gari‑processing equipment, which Maurice is safeguarding until installation.
“St Benedict’s have been helping us very well, money, food, and the group meetings,” he says. “I thank God that I’ve been healed. I just wonder how I can take care of my mother and my children. But right now, I thank God I’m feeling ok.”
Maurice with this family,
Joseph aged 24: The generations that follow
At 24, Joseph is one of the youngest adults living in ‘Camp’, the small settlement beside St Benedict’s where people severely affected by leprosy, and their families, have lived for generations.
Life here is shaped by resilience: simple rooms, shared outdoor spaces, and a community bound together by experience and necessity. Joseph grew up watching older residents, like his father Pius, manage disability with dignity. Many, like his own family and neighbours, have lived with leprosy for decades.
For younger people like Joseph, this creates a complex inheritance, life cast by the long shadow of a disease he did not choose, but one that has shaped his family’s opportunities.
Despite this, Joseph is hopeful. He helps older residents with daily tasks, joins community meetings, and has trained to be a plumber, a trade that would allow him to support his family. The presence of St Benedict’s remains a lifeline for his family: dressings, physiotherapy, and the reassurance of staff who know every resident by name.
Joseph represents a new generation living with the consequences of leprosy, not as patients, but as children and grandchildren of those affected. His story brings a vital younger voice to the Nigeria section, showing how SFLG’s support strengthens not only individuals but entire families and communities.
At 24, Joseph is one of the youngest adults living in ‘Camp’, the small settlement beside St Benedict’s where people severely affected by leprosy, and their families, have lived for generations.
Life here is shaped by resilience: simple rooms, shared outdoor spaces, and a community bound together by experience and necessity. Joseph grew up watching older residents, like his father Pius, manage disability with dignity. Many, like his own family and neighbours, have lived with leprosy for decades.
For younger people like Joseph, this creates a complex inheritance, life cast by the long shadow of a disease he did not choose, but one that has shaped his family’s opportunities.
Despite this, Joseph is hopeful. He helps older residents with daily tasks, joins community meetings, and has trained to be a plumber, a trade that would allow him to support his family. The presence of St Benedict’s remains a lifeline for his family: dressings, physiotherapy, and the reassurance of staff who know every resident by name.
Joseph represents a new generation living with the consequences of leprosy, not as patients, but as children and grandchildren of those affected. His story brings a vital younger voice to the Nigeria section, showing how SFLG’s support strengthens not only individuals but entire families and communities.
Joseph, a young man whose life has been affected by leprosy.
Simon aged 56: Hoping for a family reunion
When Simon first felt a sudden heat in his leg while working on a cocoa farm five years ago, he assumed it was a minor injury. But within days the leg swelled, and over the years the pain and disability grew worse.
With no diagnosis and no specialist care near his home, he moved from pharmacy to pharmacy, spending more than 700,000 naira on drugs that offered no relief. “I didn’t know what else to do,” he says. “My leg kept getting worse.”
As his condition deteriorated, Simon could no longer farm. The loss of income meant some of his children had to leave school, and the strain on the family deepened. Three years ago, his wife moved out, taking their eldest child with her. “I felt so bad,” he says quietly. “I was trying my best.”
In June 2024, his father’s wife urged him to travel to St Benedict’s. He arrived alone and has now been on MDT for four months. He is currently the only leprosy patient on the ward. With stiffening in his left hand, no sensation, and a severe ulcer on his foot, daily life is challenging.
Yet Simon is determined to rebuild. He has lost his cocoa‑farm rental contract, but he hopes to start a small business once he is well enough. He still speaks with hope about his family from whom he has been separated for more than four months. Living with leprosy can devastate not just health but family life
When Simon first felt a sudden heat in his leg while working on a cocoa farm five years ago, he assumed it was a minor injury. But within days the leg swelled, and over the years the pain and disability grew worse.
With no diagnosis and no specialist care near his home, he moved from pharmacy to pharmacy, spending more than 700,000 naira on drugs that offered no relief. “I didn’t know what else to do,” he says. “My leg kept getting worse.”
As his condition deteriorated, Simon could no longer farm. The loss of income meant some of his children had to leave school, and the strain on the family deepened. Three years ago, his wife moved out, taking their eldest child with her. “I felt so bad,” he says quietly. “I was trying my best.”
In June 2024, his father’s wife urged him to travel to St Benedict’s. He arrived alone and has now been on MDT for four months. He is currently the only leprosy patient on the ward. With stiffening in his left hand, no sensation, and a severe ulcer on his foot, daily life is challenging.
Yet Simon is determined to rebuild. He has lost his cocoa‑farm rental contract, but he hopes to start a small business once he is well enough. He still speaks with hope about his family from whom he has been separated for more than four months. Living with leprosy can devastate not just health but family life
Simon, being cared for at Ogoja, away from his family.
Donatus Araki – General Nurse, Bishop Ayah Ward
As a General Nurse in charge of Bishop Ayah Ward, Donatus has spent years caring for people affected by leprosy, many of whom arrive frightened, in pain, or unsure of what their diagnosis means. His role is both clinical and deeply human: dressing wounds, monitoring reactions, teaching self‑care, and offering reassurance to patients who often feel isolated.
Donatus understands the challenges his patients face. Many arrive late, after months of traditional treatment that has worsened their condition. Others struggle with disability, stigma, or the financial strain of long-term care. He sees the difference early diagnosis makes, and the consequences when it comes too late.
He also sees the impact of SFLG’s support every day. Funds for food, dressings, and transport help patients stay in treatment. Self‑help groups give people confidence and community. Equipment and training strengthen the hospital’s ability to provide long-term rehabilitation.
For Donatus, the work is a calling. He speaks with pride about patients who regain mobility, avoid new ulcers, or return to their families with renewed confidence. His perspective anchors the Nigeria section in the lived reality of frontline care, the skill, patience, and compassion required to support people affected by leprosy.
As a General Nurse in charge of Bishop Ayah Ward, Donatus has spent years caring for people affected by leprosy, many of whom arrive frightened, in pain, or unsure of what their diagnosis means. His role is both clinical and deeply human: dressing wounds, monitoring reactions, teaching self‑care, and offering reassurance to patients who often feel isolated.
Donatus understands the challenges his patients face. Many arrive late, after months of traditional treatment that has worsened their condition. Others struggle with disability, stigma, or the financial strain of long-term care. He sees the difference early diagnosis makes, and the consequences when it comes too late.
He also sees the impact of SFLG’s support every day. Funds for food, dressings, and transport help patients stay in treatment. Self‑help groups give people confidence and community. Equipment and training strengthen the hospital’s ability to provide long-term rehabilitation.
For Donatus, the work is a calling. He speaks with pride about patients who regain mobility, avoid new ulcers, or return to their families with renewed confidence. His perspective anchors the Nigeria section in the lived reality of frontline care, the skill, patience, and compassion required to support people affected by leprosy.
Kentigeron Ntana, aged 67: Chief Nursing Officer, St Benedict’s Leprosy and TB Hospital
For more than three decades, Kentigeron Ntana has been a constant presence at St Benedict’s Leprosy and TB Hospital, a place he first encountered as a student nurse in 1991. What drew him in then still drives him now: the example set by the Medical Missionaries of Mary, whose compassion and discipline shaped the hospital’s early leprosy work. “I admired what they were doing here,” he says. “It became my passion to help people affected by leprosy.”
Today, as Chief Nursing Officer, Kentigeron oversees the wards, leads complex dressing changes for leprosy and Buruli ulcer patients, and assists in theatre. His expertise is deep, built through years of hands‑on care and continuous training. “I’ve had lots of experience, especially with leprosy,” he says, an understatement for someone who has treated thousands of patients across three turbulent decades.
His commitment is anchored in realism as much as hope. “Leprosy has been around since the time of Jesus,” he reflects. “I can’t imagine eradicating it, but still I’m working towards that goal.” He has watched generations of patients arrive, some heartbreakingly young, and has seen how early detection can change the course of a life.
But the challenges are mounting. Some outreach programmes that enable active case‑finding have stalled; without money to maintain vehicles, staff cannot reach remote communities. As a result, fewer people come forward with early symptoms, and those who do often arrive with advanced disease. “We’ve only had seven new cases this year,” he explains, “but four already had severe problems - COVID‑19 disrupted the hospital’s skin camps too, widening the gap between need and access.
Despite the pressures, Kentigeron remains devoted to his work. Yet the personal cost is real. With seven children, the youngest now 18, he describes a life that has become “tougher and tougher,” especially as salaries fail to keep pace with rising living costs and job opportunities for young people shrink.
Still, he stays. His presence at St Benedict’s is a testament to endurance: a steady belief that every patient deserves skilled care, dignity, and someone who refuses to give up on them.
For more than three decades, Kentigeron Ntana has been a constant presence at St Benedict’s Leprosy and TB Hospital, a place he first encountered as a student nurse in 1991. What drew him in then still drives him now: the example set by the Medical Missionaries of Mary, whose compassion and discipline shaped the hospital’s early leprosy work. “I admired what they were doing here,” he says. “It became my passion to help people affected by leprosy.”
Today, as Chief Nursing Officer, Kentigeron oversees the wards, leads complex dressing changes for leprosy and Buruli ulcer patients, and assists in theatre. His expertise is deep, built through years of hands‑on care and continuous training. “I’ve had lots of experience, especially with leprosy,” he says, an understatement for someone who has treated thousands of patients across three turbulent decades.
His commitment is anchored in realism as much as hope. “Leprosy has been around since the time of Jesus,” he reflects. “I can’t imagine eradicating it, but still I’m working towards that goal.” He has watched generations of patients arrive, some heartbreakingly young, and has seen how early detection can change the course of a life.
But the challenges are mounting. Some outreach programmes that enable active case‑finding have stalled; without money to maintain vehicles, staff cannot reach remote communities. As a result, fewer people come forward with early symptoms, and those who do often arrive with advanced disease. “We’ve only had seven new cases this year,” he explains, “but four already had severe problems - COVID‑19 disrupted the hospital’s skin camps too, widening the gap between need and access.
Despite the pressures, Kentigeron remains devoted to his work. Yet the personal cost is real. With seven children, the youngest now 18, he describes a life that has become “tougher and tougher,” especially as salaries fail to keep pace with rising living costs and job opportunities for young people shrink.
Still, he stays. His presence at St Benedict’s is a testament to endurance: a steady belief that every patient deserves skilled care, dignity, and someone who refuses to give up on them.
Kentigeron Ntana, Chief Nursing Officer, Ogoja
