On the 4th of September, 2025, an unplanned event unfolded at the University of Benin Teaching Hospital (UBTH). What began as yet another of Professor Idia Nibokun Ize-Iyamu’s routine inspections turned into a revelation of her heart—the heart of an Amazon that beats not only with strength and discipline, but also with tenderness and compassion.
Behind the agile frame of this remarkable woman—renowned for her intolerance of mediocrity, insistence on due process, and relentless pursuit of excellence—emerged a different portrait: a portrait painted in the hues of empathy, kindness, and the eternal philosophy of the Good Samaritan.
That evening, I was called upon by the CMD’s Personal Assistant, Uyi, to Ward A1. I anticipated, with near certainty, that the CMD was on another of her spontaneous rounds. Indeed, she was—inspecting light fittings, reviewing side rooms for conversion into premium wards, and issuing instructions for immediate and long-term improvements. Since assuming duty, she has taken it upon herself to tread every corridor, examine every corner, and wrestle with the scars of eight years of infrastructural neglect.
Yet, this was not the climax of the day.
As I approached her, my eyes caught a man leaning wearily against the protective barricade at the back entrance of the ward. His stance was one of quiet despair—a soliloquy in flesh and blood. He seemed like a man awaiting a deus ex machina, a divine intervention.
The CMD, having finished inspecting the ward toilets nearby, noticed him. With her characteristic smile, she asked softly, “I hope you are fine?” His reply was a dagger wrapped in humility: “Yes ma, I dey fine… but dem discharge me o, I no fit pay.”
Irony danced in the air: a hospital designed for healing had become, for him, a prison. But in that moment, heaven answered. Professor Ize-Iyamu, shifting from her polished Queen’s English to the simplicity of Pidgin, spoke words that sounded like prophecy: “No worry. Pack your load, make you dey go house. The revenue office go send your bill to my table on Monday—I go pay.”
It was a command clothed in grace. The man, later identified as S. Imariagbe, trembled in disbelief. Tears broke through his defenses as he asked, almost stammering, “Make I go?” The CMD’s reply was firm yet merciful: “Yes, go. And take this transport fare to your home.” (She beckoned on one of her officers to give him money).
What unfolded was more than an act of charity—it was destiny manifesting. Mr. Imariagbe left not just as a discharged patient, but as a testimony that compassion remains the most potent medicine.
This encounter was symbolic, almost biblical. It echoed the parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25–37), where mercy triumphed over ritual, and love proved greater than law. Like the Samaritan who paid the innkeeper for the care of the wounded man, Professor Ize-Iyamu bore the burden of Imariagbe’s debt. In that moment, theology and administration, pulpit and hospital ward, merged into one act of divine humanity.
Her actions remind us of history’s great women who shattered ceilings and rewrote legacies: Queen Amina of Zaria, the warrior who expanded her kingdom with courage; Funmilayo Ransome-Kuti, who stood against colonial injustice; Florence Nightingale, who redefined modern nursing; Mother Teresa, who embodied mercy for the poorest of the poor; Michelle Obama, who continues to inspire women globally with her grace and leadership; Wangari Maathai, who healed both land and people with her Green Belt Movement.
In their ranks now stands Professor Idia Nibokun Ize-Iyamu—Benin’s own Amazon, whose name, Idia, fittingly evokes the beauty of a home-made jewel and the strength of a warrior. Her kindness is not weakness, but power restrained by love. Her strict work ethic and zero tolerance for indiscipline coexist harmoniously with a heart that bleeds for humanity.
This singular act negates the age-old perception that men are superior to women. Indeed, it affirms the words of Proverbs 31: “Strength and honour are her clothing; and in her tongue is the law of kindness.” The irony of her leadership is this: the same hand that signs policies with firmness also wipes the tears of the afflicted with tenderness.
In UBTH, a new dawn has come. And like the popular refrain of Kabaka Adun in his skits: “Them go learn new things.” Truly, we are all learning new things under her Amazonian watch.
Professor Ize-Iyamu has come not just as a CMD, but as a Messiah in a time UBTH desperately needed one. In her, the hospital finds both the iron of discipline and the balm of mercy.
She is not only a professor, a pastor, and an administrator. She is a symbol of manifest destiny, a goddess in mortal frame, an Amazon of Africa, and above all, a Good Samaritan in UBTH’s own Jerusalem.
Written by
ABURE, P. A.
Manager, Corporate Services and Partnership Unit, UBTH
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