By Dr. Sani Sa’idu Baba
It was one of those calm, bright mornings in Sallari, a town in Tarauni Local Government Area of Kano State. I had gone to visit my longtime friend and colleague, Dr. Muhammad Umar Abdullahi, at his private facility, Rauda Clinic and Maternity. We were in his office discussing research, the usual challenges of medical practice, and other issues when the sound of hurried footsteps and anxious voices broke the calm. A young man rushed in, calling for the doctor.
Without hesitation, Dr. Muhammad sprang into action. I followed him instinctively. Within moments, two people burst through the gate, one man carrying a weak, heavily pregnant woman in his arms. Her breathing was shallow and wheezy, her face pale, and her body trembling between labor contractions and an asthma crisis. The scene was intense, we both knew that every second counted.
The team quickly moved her to the emergency bed. The Chief Medical Director Dr. Muhammad and his nurses worked swiftly to stabilize her breathing and monitor the baby. Oxygen was connected, IV lines were set, and within minutes, her breathing began to steady. The baby’s heartbeat was strong. After a short but tense period, she delivered a healthy baby girl. Relief filled the room like a gentle wind.
At that moment, I couldn’t help but admire the efficiency and dedication of Rauda Clinic and Maternity. The facility operated with the precision and compassion of a modern hospital. Every member of the team knew their role, every piece of equipment was in place, and the environment radiated calm professionalism. It reminded me that quality healthcare is not only about infrastructure, but about commitment and readiness when it truly matters. Rauda Clinic stood out that day as a quiet pillar of excellence and hope for patients and families alike.[tps_title][/tps_title]
The following day, I placed a call to Dr. Muhammad to ask about the condition of the woman who had been brought in the previous morning. He sounded cheerful and relieved. “Both mother and baby are fine now,” he said. Then, with deep reflection in his voice, he narrated the extraordinary story behind their survival, a story that showed how a single phone call, made at the right moment, became the bridge between life and death. As I listened to him recount the events, I couldn’t help but marvel at how sometimes, survival depends not only on medicine but also on connection.
Her name was Amina, a mother of three. That morning, she was alone at home, her husband was in Dutse, the capital of Jigawa state where he works, and her children had already gone to school. The first wave of pain came suddenly, followed by a tightening in her chest. Within minutes, she was gasping for air, her asthma worsening with every breath. She reached for her phone to call her husband, but the call wouldn’t go through. She tried again and again, each time, “Network error.”
Her strength was fading fast. She tried to reach her neighbors, but again, no connection. Alone, frightened, and struggling to breathe, she said she felt her end was near. Then, a thought crossed her mind, her maid had left her phone in the sitting room that morning. Gathering the last of her strength, Amina crawled toward the television stand where the phone lay.
When she reached it, she noticed the green SIM icon, it was a Glo line. Hope flickered. But when she tried to make a call, she saw there was no airtime. That could have been the end until she remembered Glo’s Borrow Me Credit service. With trembling fingers, she dialed the Glo borrow me code and she got the credit instantly, and that small credit became her lifeline.
Her first attempt to reach her husband failed. Then she dialed her younger brother, Umar. This time, the call went through immediately. Interestingly, Umar is a Glo user too. Without delay, Umar and his wife rushed to her house, found her collapsed on the floor, and carried her into their car.
On their way, Umar called ahead to alert the doctor, and again, the call went through clearly. By a remarkable coincidence, Dr. Muhammad was also using a Glo line. That seamless connection meant the hospital team was fully prepared by the time they arrived. Within minutes, Amina was stabilized, and both she and her baby were safe.
The next morning, Dr. Muhammad told me that Amina had smiled faintly and said to him, “Doctor, when every other network failed me, Glo answered. If that call hadn’t gone through, I wouldn’t be here today.”
Her words carried a truth that stayed with me. It wasn’t just a patient’s gratitude, it was a testimony about the power of reliable connection. At that moment, Glo wasn’t just a telecommunications network, it was the bridge between life and death, between despair and hope.
In today’s world, a simple phone call can determine whether someone lives or dies. That day reminded me that technology, when dependable, is not just about data speed, it’s about human connection at its most critical. Glo proved to be that connection: steady, available, and trustworthy when it mattered most.
Before she was discharged, she laughed and told the doctor she had already chosen a nickname for her baby “Amira Glo.” They both laughed, but deep down, Dr. Muhammad understood the meaning behind that name. It symbolized gratitude, faith, and survival.
As I ended the call with Dr. Muhammad that day, I felt a quiet pride. I had witnessed not just the miracle of life, but the harmony of medicine, compassion, and reliable technology. Through Rauda Clinic and Maternity, I saw what true service means, dedication without boundaries, and connection that saves.
Amina’s story isn’t an advert, but living proof that sometimes, when every other signal fades, Glo stands firm, and when every other facility seems far away, Rauda Clinic and Maternity remains a beacon of care and excellence.
For patients, families, and health workers alike, Glo is proven to be a network of necessity. It connects life to hope, when every second truly counts…
Dr. Sani Sa’idu Baba writes from Kano, and can be reached via drssbaba@yahoo.com
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