It was an ordinary clinic day when a young girl was brought in, her face pale, her relatives anxious and whispering among themselves. Her u...
It was an ordinary clinic day when a young girl was brought in, her face pale, her relatives anxious and whispering among themselves. Her upper arms bore fresh bruises and lacerations. The story, as told by her family, was both unsettling and surreal: a strange woman had entered their house unannounced, and shortly after, these injuries appeared on the girl's body. More chilling still, the girl insisted she had not urinated or passed stool for forty days. Her family members believed her without question.
An ultrasound told a more grounded story: the girl's bladder was dangerously distended, but the simple act of catheterisation brought her immediate relief. Why did she not simply enter the toilet and empty her bladder? How can a person not go to the convenience for 40 days and then stroll to clinic hale and hearty?
Later, a psychiatrist confirmed this as case of mass hysteria, or what medical textbooks prefer to call 'conversion disorder' or 'mass psychogenic illness.'
For those unfamiliar, the phrase mass hysteria may sound antiquated, like something out of a medieval chronicle. But its manifestations are painfully real, and they continue to surface in places where cultural anxieties, social pressures, and limited access to mental health care converge. In Kano, we have witnessed waves of such occurrences: from sudden collapses in classrooms to the more recent and bizarre reports of 'disappearing private parts' after a handshake. This latest episode, strangers entering homes and leaving behind symptoms that seem to defy biology, is simply a new chapter in an old story.
Mass hysteria is not about deceit. The young girl with the distended bladder was not 'faking it.' She was experiencing very real symptoms, though the root cause was psychological rather than physical. When fear takes hold in a community, the mind can shape the body's response in startling ways, from fainting spells to temporary paralysis, from rashes to gastrointestinal complaints. In close-knit communities, these experiences spread quickly. One person's symptoms become another's reality, reinforced by gossip, religious interpretations, and the absence of alternative explanations.
In societies where illness is often interpreted through spiritual or supernatural lenses, mass hysteria finds fertile ground. A stranger's presence becomes enough to trigger cascading symptoms; bruises that might have mundane causes are reinterpreted as sinister; a period of constipation or urinary retention is remembered as lasting 'forty days' because the story itself has gained symbolic weight. The human brain, ever vulnerable to suggestion, completes the picture.
Northern Nigeria is not unique in facing episodes of mass hysteria. The phenomenon has been documented globally: schoolgirls fainting en masse in rural Malawi, factory workers in Malaysia convinced that spirits had invaded their workplace, or young men in parts of West Africa fearing genital disappearance after a handshake.
In 1962, hundreds of schoolgirls in Tanzania were caught in a laughing epidemic that lasted months. In the 1980s, American factories reported 'mystery illnesses' linked to rumours of toxic leaks. Even in modern, industrialised societies, collective fear has led to sudden spikes in unexplained illness.
The difference lies in how societies respond. Where health systems are strong, and where communities trust science, episodes are short-lived. Where fear is allowed to dominate, hysteria lingers and resurfaces in new forms.
These diverse cases share are similar situations: poverty, insecurity, cultural scripts (shared beliefs in spiritual interference or witchcraft) and weak health systems due to lack of access to mental health care and trusted explanations.
In Nigeria, these factors are abundant. Families live under the weight of economic hardship, women and children carry the burden of limited agency, and rumours travel faster than our derailed Abuja-Kaduna train. Add to this the distrust of formal health systems, often seen as expensive, impersonal, or dismissive and you have a recipe for collective anxiety to erupt into collective illness.
It is tempting to dismiss these cases as mere curiosities, or worse, as fabrications. But the cost of silence is high. For the girl in our clinic, a distended bladder could have led to kidney damage if left untreated. For others, the consequences are social: young women stigmatised as 'possessed,' families torn apart by suspicion, or communities fractured by fear of invisible enemies.
There is also a deeper, more insidious cost: every time a case of mass hysteria is explained away as 'mysterious,' trust in science erodes further. When doctors fail to engage communities in meaningful dialogue, the narrative is quickly seized by rumour mongers, marabouts, pastors and my personal favourite 'Islamic chemists'. And in that vacuum, fear thrives.
I am tired.
Firstly, the first line of defence against mass hysteria is not the hospital but the community. People need spaces where fears can be aired and gently corrected. Religious and traditional leaders, who command trust, must be engaged as partners in disseminating accurate information. Explaining that the mind can cause real physical symptoms without dismissing the sufferer's experience is crucial.
Nigeria's mental health system is desperately underfunded. For every case that reaches a psychiatrist, you can be assured that dozens more languish in silence or are treated with suspicion. Training doctors, nurses and community health workers to recognise and manage conversion disorders is essential. Mental health must stop being the 'stepchild' of our health agenda.
Our Media also has a responsibility. Too often, sensational headlines fan the flames. Especially in this age where followers on social media is the new currency. Stories of 'mysterious strangers' and 'invisible injuries' are given front-page coverage without context. Journalists must learn to report responsibly, seeking expert opinions before amplifying fear. Media houses that profit from panic bear responsibility for the anxiety they spread.
Another important solution is using schools as safe havens. Young people are particularly vulnerable to mass hysteria. I remember when students used to fake lower abdominal pain just so that they could be sent home from boarding schools under the pretext of acute appendicitis. Schools can play a preventive role by incorporating health literacy into their curricula, teaching students not only about malaria and typhoid but also about the power of the mind and stress.
We must also train our doctors not just to diagnose but to listen. Too often we dismiss people with these claims as 'crazy' and wave them off. We must stop hiding under the guise of being overworked and underpaid. Let us all learn to do our jobs well.
Provided by SyndiGate Media Inc. (Syndigate.info).
COMMENTS