The Unmeasured Gamble of Traditional Medicine
Woke up with a sore throat today. It must be the dust and dry air that January seems to bring along. It’s one of those small but persistent discomforts that make you appreciate your body when it’s running smoothly. Naturally, I sought medical advice, and soon enough, I was armed with three different capsules to combat the irritation. But as I examined the medicines, something struck me: none of the capsules were the same size. I was instructed to take varying doses at specific intervals throughout the day.
That’s science for you. It’s all about precision. The same principle applies whether we’re talking about medicines or poisons. The right dose can heal; the wrong dose can harm. There’s a meticulous method behind it; tested, reproduced, and refined in controlled environments over decades. It’s this precision and standardization that makes modern medicine trustworthy.
Now, contrast that with traditional medicine — particularly the roadside “agbo” vendors and their bottles of murky herbal concoctions. These sellers will hand you a cup of their brew and boast about how it “cleanses your system” or “fixes your back pain.” They’ll rattle off names like agbo jedi or opa eyin, often with an air of mysticism, as if the sheer tradition of the brew is proof enough of its efficacy.
But here’s the thing: where was it tested? Who certified it for use? Was the dosage optimized, or is it just guesswork passed down generations? When you ask these questions, you’re met with defensiveness. “It’s only Africans who don’t appreciate their herbs,” they retort, claiming that the Chinese revere their traditional medicine.
True, traditional Chinese medicine has gained global recognition, but not without adapting to the scrutiny of modern science. Many Chinese herbal remedies are subjected to rigorous clinical trials, standardized production, and thorough testing before hitting the global market. They’re not just scooped into a bottle and sold on the street corner with vague promises of miracles. How did you think Youyou Tu won the 2015 Nobel Prize in Medicine for her discovery of artemisinin?
Yet, when medical experts warn about the dangers of indiscriminate herbal use, especially over time, these warnings often fall on deaf ears. Agbo drinkers will point to their grandparents, claiming long life as evidence of its efficacy. “My forefathers used it, and they lived to 100,” they argue. But anecdotes aren’t data, and nostalgia isn’t proof. Where’s the evidence that their longevity was tied to agbo and not, say, a simpler diet or a less stressful lifestyle? Where is even the proof that your ancestors lived passed 100? An aged body, especially for a set of people heavily involved in farming, is no proof.
Many of these concoctions are mixed with substances like local gin or soaked in alcohol or palm wine, which might improve taste but can introduce toxic compounds. Without processing or proper testing, the herbal materials may retain harmful substances. And then there’s the question of expiration dates. Ask an agbo seller when their mixture expires, and you’ll likely get a shrug or a dismissive laugh. They don’t seem to grasp that medicine is as much about proper handling and storage as it is about ingredients.
The consequences? People damage their livers and kidneys, sometimes irreparably, through indiscriminate use. Sure, some might get lucky and experience relief, but for many, the long-term effects can be devastating — chronic conditions that hospitals may be powerless to reverse.
It’s not that traditional medicine is inherently bad. Many of today’s drugs are derived from plants once used in folk medicine. Aspirin, for example, has its roots in willow bark, and quinine, used to treat malaria, comes from the cinchona tree. But what sets these medicines apart is the science. They’ve been studied, refined, and standardized, ensuring safety and effectiveness.
If we want to preserve our traditional medicine, let’s subject it to the same rigorous standards. Let’s take the knowledge of our ancestors and marry it with modern science. Only then can we create a system where tradition and progress work hand in hand, ensuring safety and efficacy for generations to come.
Only then can the world accept our herbs. Only then can one of us win the Nobel in medicine for a discovery based on the ways of our ancestors.
Until then, I’ll stick to my capsules; different sizes and all. At least I know what’s in them.
