The sky was a little bright. It was in November. My son had malaria, so I decided to take him to Ilorin General Hospital for medical treatment. It was akin to a marketplace, with people seated, patiently awaiting their turn to be called. When it was our turn, a tall, fair-skinned woman called us forward. As we entered the doctor's office, the assistant, accompanied by a staff member, requested a medical certificate for someone in Cotonou, Benin Republic. However, the doctor declined the request.