Tag: health

In Nigeria, festive seasons are moments of joy, generosity and excess. But beneath the music, meals and merriment lies a growing public-health concern. As sugary drinks and ultra-processed foods dominate celebrations, health experts warn that the country’s rising burden of non-communicable diseases is being quietly accelerated, report ADEKUNLE YUSUF and OLABISI AZEEZ

By the time Christmas lights flicker on across Nigerian cities, something else is already in motion. Long before the first carol is sung or the first pot of rice is stirred, an invisible infrastructure has been activated—one that does not serve celebration so much as consumption, not community but chemistry.

Festive seasons in Nigeria have always been generous. They stretch tables, loosen purses, and soften the year’s hard edges. But in recent years, public health experts warn, something has shifted. Celebration itself has become a delivery system for disease. This was the central concern raised on February 4, 2026, in Lagos, when Corporate Accountability and Public Participation Africa (CAPPA) presented findings from its report, Unhealthy Food Hijack of Festive Periods in Nigeria. Speaking to journalists, CAPPA’s Executive Director, Akinbode Oluwafemi, framed the issue starkly. “What we are dealing with is not festive excess,” he said. “It is a systematic reshaping of Nigeria’s food environment at the most vulnerable moments of the year.”

Between November 25, 2025, and January 5, 2026, CAPPA documented how the food and beverage industry used Christmas and New Year as high-risk windows to flood Nigerian spaces—physical and digital—with marketing for sugary drinks and ultra-processed foods. The result, public-health advocates argue, is not just seasonal indulgence but the reinforcement of dietary patterns driving Nigeria’s accelerating crisis of non-communicable diseases (NCDs).

Nigeria’s burden of non-communicable diseases has been rising quietly but relentlessly. Hypertension, type 2 diabetes, stroke, and cardiovascular disease are no longer conditions of affluence or old age. They are increasingly diagnosed in working-age adults and, disturbingly, in younger populations. Yet festive periods—already associated with higher food intake—have become moments when the country’s weakest dietary defences are deliberately breached. “Festive marketing acts as a health risk amplifier,” Oluwafemi warned. “It intervenes precisely when consumption is already elevated and restraint is lowest.”

CAPPA’s monitoring revealed a level of saturation that public-health researchers describe as environmental exposure. From malls and transport hubs to churches and parks, Nigerians encountered repeated cues nudging them toward high-sugar, high-salt, and high-fat products. This was not accidental visibility. It was coordinated behavioural nudging. Examples were everywhere: Coca-Cola’s revived Holidays Are Coming truck tour; Nigerian Breweries’ Legendary Christmas light installations; Gino’s Christmas Village in Gbagada Park. These were not just promotions. They were immersive environments in which unhealthy products were positioned as essential companions to joy, generosity, and national identity. “When unhealthy foods are presented as cultural symbols,” a CAPPA researcher noted, “they stop being seen as dietary risks. They become emotional necessities.”

From a health perspective, the most alarming findings involved children. Festive marketing targeted young people with a precision that bypassed parental control. Cartoon characters, Santa figures, free samples, school donations, and “gifts” embedded unhealthy foods into childhood memory and habit formation. Indomie’s Season to Show Some Love campaign placed branded Santas in malls. Viju Milk’s school donations arrived wrapped in Christmas messaging. Peak’s Enjoy Christmas at Its Peak breakfast events normalised sweetened milk as a daily staple. “These are not neutral gestures,” Oluwafemi said. “They are early dietary interventions—only conducted by corporations rather than health professionals.”

Public-health evidence is unequivocal: taste preferences and consumption habits formed in childhood persist into adulthood. Early exposure to sugar and salt increases lifelong risk of obesity, hypertension, and diabetes. Teenagers and young adults were targeted differently but just as deliberately. Music festivals, influencer challenges, and scan-to-win games linked sugary drinks to entertainment, social status, and aspiration. Coca-Cola’s Flytime Fest promotions blurred consumption with access—drink more, attend more. Maggi’s influencer-driven Taste of Christmas campaign reframed seasoning cubes as lifestyle choices rather than sodium-dense additives. “Dietary risk was disguised as lifestyle content,” the report observed.

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When charity becomes a health hazard

Perhaps the most ethically troubling finding from a health standpoint was the use of corporate social responsibility as a vehicle for dietary harm. Donations to schools, churches, markets, and NGOs—often involving malt drinks, sweetened beverages, or ultra-processed foods—were presented as acts of compassion. In reality, CAPPA argues, they functioned as brand implantation in trusted spaces. “Nigerian Breweries’ Beer Villages promoted malt drinks as family-friendly,” the report notes, “while alcohol brands remained visible in the same environments.” Knorr’s Share the Good Jollof cook-offs, staged in dozens of communities, normalised heavy seasoning use under the banner of love and togetherness. “These activities generate goodwill that shields companies from scrutiny,” Oluwafemi said. “But from a health perspective, they embed risk where trust is highest.” The parallels with tobacco industry tactics are deliberate. Public-health scholars have long documented how harmful industries use philanthropy to soften resistance and delay regulation. The festive season, CAPPA found, has become a prime opportunity for this playbook.

If physical spaces were saturated, digital platforms were infiltrated. CAPPA’s volunteers tracked festive campaigns across Facebook, Instagram, TikTok, YouTube, and X, capturing how unhealthy food marketing merged seamlessly with entertainment. AI-generated videos, influencer partnerships, hashtag challenges, and promotional lotteries blurred the line between advertising and personal expression.

Coca-Cola’s personalised Share a Coke campaign tied identity to sugar consumption. Bigi’s New Year messages used religious language, aligning sugary drinks with faith and hope. Maggi’s youth-focused digital content embedded seasoning products into aspirational narratives. “For regulators, this is a nightmare,” a CAPPA analyst explained. “These are not adverts you can easily label or ban. They are emotional cues hidden in culture.” From a health perspective, this represents a regulatory gap with measurable consequences. Exposure increases. Accountability disappears. Children and young people—already heavy digital users—receive the most intense messaging.

The health impacts of festive marketing are not evenly distributed. Urban, low-income communities experience the highest exposure. Parks, transport hubs, informal markets, schools, and churches—spaces heavily used by poorer families—were transformed into branded environments with no health warnings. “These are the same communities,” Oluwafemi noted, “that struggle most to access diagnosis and long-term care.”

As ultra-processed foods displace traditional diets, households are pushed into cycles of illness and out-of-pocket spending. Treatment for hypertension, diabetes, and stroke is expensive and lifelong. An underfunded health system absorbs the downstream costs of private marketing decisions. “Festive consumption today becomes hospital queues tomorrow,” Oluwafemi said.

Policy failure as a health risk

CAPPA’s report is explicit: voluntary self-regulation by industry has failed to protect public health. Advertising codes exist, but enforcement is weak. CSR guidelines are porous. Digital marketing remains largely ungoverned. From a health systems perspective, this leaves Nigeria exposed. CAPPA calls for comprehensive, legally binding restrictions on the marketing of unhealthy foods and beverages—particularly during festive periods when exposure and vulnerability peak. These must cover digital platforms, outdoor advertising, broadcast media, point-of-sale promotions, and influencer marketing.

Equally critical is banning branded CSR activities in schools, religious institutions, and community spaces. “Donations tied to brand visibility are not neutral,” Oluwafemi said. “They are public-health hazards disguised as kindness.” The organisation also reiterates the need to raise Nigeria’s sugar-sweetened beverage tax to at least 50 percent of retail price, in line with WHO recommendations, with revenues earmarked for NCD prevention, treatment, and health system strengthening. Mandatory front-of-pack warning labels would restore information asymmetry that festive marketing deliberately erodes.

But none of this matters without enforcement. “Health policy without enforcement is symbolism,” Oluwafemi warned. “And symbolism does not save lives.” CAPPA’s appeal to journalists is grounded firmly in health ethics. Festive campaigns, the organisation argues, should not be reported as harmless colour stories. Behind every branded concert or charity donation lies a public-health implication. “Journalists are gatekeepers of context,” Oluwafemi said. “The question is not whether a campaign looks generous, but what it does to population health.”

Festive seasons should strengthen social bonds and wellbeing. They should nourish bodies as well as spirits. Instead, CAPPA’s findings suggest, they are being engineered into moments of intensified health risk. The danger is not celebration itself, but its capture. What Nigeria faces, then, is a choice: whether festive joy remains a shared cultural resource—or becomes a recurring trigger for preventable illness. “Public health must be placed above corporate profit,” Oluwafemi concluded. “Because the cost of doing nothing is written not in balance sheets, but in blood pressure readings, insulin prescriptions, and premature deaths.” Until that choice is made, Nigeria’s festivities will continue to arrive with hidden costs—paid quietly, long after the decorations are gone.

For many of us, health arrives in bursts. A New Year’s resolution sparks a sudden diet. A doctor’s warning prompts a gym subscription. A trending detox plan beckons with promises of instant transformation. We treat health like an event—something to start, fix, or restart. But health does not live in bursts. It lives in patterns, in the small, almost invisible choices we make when no one is watching.

Imagine your life as a river. The water never stops moving. It is never stagnant, never static. Health is the same. It is continuous, evolving, and shaped not only by the obvious choices—what we eat, how we exercise—but also by the rhythms of our work, our sleep, our relationships, and even our stress. Health is not a destination. It is a lifelong practice, a way of being that grows from small, repeated acts over years, not sudden leaps.

Think about the simple act of brushing your teeth. You do it every day, not because of a resolution, but because you know the consequences of neglect accumulate quietly. Decay does not happen overnight; it builds in silence. Chronic illness works the same way. High blood pressure, diabetes, burnout, fatigue—these conditions rarely arrive in a single, dramatic moment. They build, layer upon layer, through repeated neglect or through habits we barely notice. And yet, just as slowly, small, consistent acts of care—choosing water over soda, taking a brief walk, resting a little earlier, checking in with a friend—accumulate in the other direction. They create resilience, stability, and wellness over time.

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To embrace health as a lifelong practice is to shift from guilt and panic to curiosity and awareness. Ask yourself: when did I last feel genuinely well? How often do I rest, nourish myself, and pause from the rush of life? What habits quietly chip away at my body, my mind, or my spirit? These questions are not meant to shame you; they are meant to illuminate. Awareness is the first step in building a sustainable health practice. Without it, we stumble blindly from one “fix” to another, always chasing an ideal that is often unrealistic.

Living in Nigeria adds another layer to this conversation. Life here moves fast, and the systems we rely on are imperfect. Traffic, long work hours, irregular power supply, financial pressures, and crowded spaces shape the realities of daily life. Health cannot exist in isolation from these pressures. Any lifelong health practice must be rooted in context. It must be flexible enough to fit around real challenges while still providing genuine care for the body and mind. You may not have time for a gym session, but the daily walk to the bus stop counts. You may not afford imported “superfoods,” but local vegetables, legumes, and fish are rich in nutrients when eaten mindfully. Health is not about perfection; it is about sustained, realistic engagement with your life.

This practice goes beyond food and exercise. It encompasses mental and emotional wellness. Chronic stress can raise blood pressure. Loneliness can worsen heart disease. Poor sleep can impair immunity. Trauma can live in the body, shaping posture, breathing, and energy. The way we treat our minds, relationships, and emotions is inseparable from the way we treat our bodies. Health is not just about the absence of illness; it is about presence—the presence of balance, resilience, and connection.

Preventive health is one of the most powerful expressions of a lifelong practice, though it is rarely glamorous. Checking your blood pressure, monitoring blood sugar, attending regular screenings, and managing stress before it becomes overwhelming are not newsworthy acts. Yet, they quietly prevent crises, catching small problems before they grow. In Nigeria, many people encounter the healthcare system only after illness becomes urgent. Lifelong health shifts the focus from emergency response to early, deliberate care. Hospitals are not where health begins; they are where neglected health ends.

Health also evolves with life’s seasons. The body and mind at 25 are different from those at 45 or 65. What worked in youth may no longer suffice in midlife; what sustained wellness in adulthood may need adjustment in older age. Embracing health as a lifelong practice means adapting without shame. It means accepting that what counts as self-care will change over time, and that every stage of life demands new attention, new habits, new awareness.

For many, guilt sabotages the journey. We miss workouts, indulge in sugary foods, or fail to rest, then berate ourselves and give up entirely. Lifelong health does not reward guilt; it encourages curiosity. Instead of asking, “Why did I fail?” we can ask, “What made this hard? What small adjustment can I make today? What is realistic now?” Health thrives not on perfection but on persistence—the willingness to return, to adjust, and to continue. Missing a day, a week, or even a month is not the end. It is a point of reflection, a chance to resume with renewed awareness.

The questions we ask ourselves are small but transformative. Did I move my body this week? Did I eat a meal that nourished me? Did I rest without guilt? Did I speak honestly about my stress, seek help, or nurture relationships? Did I listen to my body and respond kindly? These micro-questions build awareness, and awareness builds choice. Choice builds health.

Community, too, is part of this lifelong practice. Health thrives when it is social. Walking with a neighbour, sharing meals mindfully, exchanging honest conversations about stress and fatigue—these interactions strengthen individual wellness while reinforcing collective resilience. In Nigeria, where communal life is culturally central, harnessing this social connection for health can be transformative. Imagine if discussions about blood pressure and mental wellbeing were as common as debates about football or fuel prices. Imagine a culture where rest and recovery were valued, not stigmatised.

Ultimately, health as a lifelong practice is neither dramatic nor glamorous. It is ordinary, flexible, and profoundly human. It is choosing to care for yourself even when life feels busy or chaotic. It is listening to your body without fear. It is seeking help early, not enduring silently. It is understanding that health is not a reward for discipline—it is a responsibility, to yourself and to those who depend on you. So let us rethink our approach. Let us stop chasing health in bursts and begin living it in patterns. Let us embrace curiosity over guilt, adaptation over rigid rules, and presence over perfection. Let us recognise that every small, repeated choice—every nourishing meal, every intentional rest, every moment of connection—shapes our bodies, minds, and lives over decades.

Public health advocates have renewed calls for stronger public education and decisive policy action to improve awareness, promote early detection, expand access to care, and ensure sustained blood availability for people living with sickle cell disorder.

They said the call is imperative as Nigeria continues to bear the world’s heaviest burden of the inherited condition, despite decades of medical knowledge, awareness campaigns, and advocacy efforts.

Speaking in Abuja on Monday at a blood donation and public advocacy event organised by the Jephthah Ohiomokhare Sickle Cell Foundation in collaboration with partner organisations, the advocates said sickle cell disorder remains both a public health and social challenge, fuelled by poor awareness, weak prevention practices, limited access to specialised care, and persistent stigma.

Executive Director of the Jephthah Ohiomokhare Sickle Cell Foundation, Senami Ohiomokhare, described Nigeria’s sickle cell burden as deeply troubling, noting that awareness has not translated into sufficient preventive behaviour.

She identified low uptake of genotype testing, delayed diagnosis, gaps in access to care, and irregular blood supply as persistent obstacles.

According to her, early testing and informed conversations about genotype compatibility remain critical, particularly among young people, to reduce the number of children born with the condition.

Beyond prevention, she said the foundation is focused on supporting people already living with sickle cell disorder by promoting access to accurate information, modern treatment options, and quality healthcare.

She clarified that while many Nigerians believe there is no cure, bone marrow transplant is a recognised curative option, and several medications can significantly reduce pain crises and improve quality of life when properly administered.

She added that through outreach programmes and essay competitions, the foundation has reached hundreds of students and young people, while continuing to advocate for policy reform, improved care pathways, and an end to stigma and discrimination.

Ohiomokhare said the foundation was created to transform personal loss into sustained advocacy and practical support for people living with sickle cell disorder, noting that although her late son’s life was cut short by the condition, his legacy continues to inspire compassion, responsibility, and action within the sickle cell community.

On her part, media mogul and Executive Director of the Tosin Abimbola Dokpesi Foundation, Tosin Dokpesi, called for stronger implementation of health policies and continuity in government programmes addressing sickle cell disorder.

She argued that policies must translate into measurable action rather than remain dormant in official documents, urging successive administrations to sustain impactful initiatives instead of abandoning them.

Dokpesi also highlighted the need for accurate and updated medical testing, noting that advances in diagnostics mean many Nigerians should reconfirm their genotype and blood group.

She emphasised the role of education and responsible use of social media, encouraging citizens to seek verified health information and take personal responsibility for preventive healthcare decisions.

On her part, sickle cell survivor Rabi Maidunama, founder of the Maidunama Sickle Cell Foundation, and President of the Pan Africa Sickle Cell Federation, urged Nigerians to replace fear and misinformation with compassion and informed decision-making.

Drawing from personal experience, she said she was diagnosed as a child at a time when genotype awareness and genetic counselling were limited, forcing her family to navigate the condition with little guidance.

Maidunama stressed that sickle cell should be described as a disorder rather than a disease, noting that the latter term wrongly suggests contagion and fuels stigma.

She described the condition as unpredictable and physically exhausting, explaining that pain crises can affect any part of the body and escalate rapidly.

She condemned discrimination, particularly against children and adolescents living with sickle cell, warning that harmful language and social exclusion worsen the emotional toll of the disorder.

The advocacy event also featured a creative collaboration with visual artists, including Etuk Oyinma, who said art offers an alternative platform for amplifying conversations around sickle cell disorder.

He explained that proceeds from the exhibition would support advocacy and care efforts, while also serving as a tribute to Jephthah Ohiomokhare.

According to him, sustained awareness, across both medical and cultural spaces, remains essential to improving outcomes for people living with sickle cell disorder in Nigeria.