Breathing through grace: Bavoshiya’s life of survival, service and unshaken faith

Strength is often measured by how much a person can endure, but for Bavoshiya Gloria Nyan, it is measured by how much she has refused to let go. On any given day, she moves through life with quiet determination—oxygen tank beside her, faith steady within her, purpose intact. For nearly two decades, her body has […]

Strength is often measured by how much a person can endure, but for Bavoshiya Gloria Nyan, it is measured by how much she has refused to let go. On any given day, she moves through life with quiet determination—oxygen tank beside her, faith steady within her, purpose intact.

For nearly two decades, her body has been a battlefield where multiple cancers, a brain tumor, and failing lungs have tried to rewrite her story. Yet, to look at her is not to see a patient, but a pioneer. She moves with a quiet, regal determination, proving that while she may breathe differently than the rest of the world, her purpose remains as effortless and essential as the air she fights for.

Long before she became a patient, she was an advocate. Before she needed help, she was raising it for others. In 2005, Bavoshiya began what would later become the Kuna Foundation. At the time, she could not have known that the seeds of compassion she sowed would one day become the harvest that sustained her life. The advocate who spent her life lifting others is now carried by the very community she helped build.

The diagnosis that changed everything (2008)

Bavoshiya, a 54-year-old single mother from Southern Kaduna, had sat in a consulting room at the Ahmadu Bello University Teaching Hospital ABUTH, Shika, in February 2008—just four months after giving birth to her only daughter—confronting words no new mother expected to hear.

• Equity, not just equality, is what women need in politics — Hon. Nnenna Elendu-Ukeje
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“It all began as breast complications while breastfeeding,” she recalls. “A biopsy was done. The first result was benign. Three months later, the diagnosis changed to malignant.”

There was no family history of cancer—none on either side. The shock was not only medical; it was existential. A second opinion at the National Hospital in Abuja initially reported the tumor as benign again, prolonging uncertainty. But the eventual confirmation marked the beginning of a journey that would span nearly two decades and multiple life-threatening battles.

“The hardest part wasn’t just the physical pain,” she reflects. “It was the mental torture—the anxiety, the depression, and the memory loss.”

Illness reshaped not only her body but her awareness. Now, she reads her body like a language—subtle darkening of her lips, changes in her eyes, small signals that warn her when something is wrong. Survival demanded attentiveness.

 

The battle that nearly ended it

Over the years, more diagnoses followed. “I survived breast, intestinal, liver and stomach cancers, along with numerous complications,” she recounts.

By 2020, Bavoshiya was no stranger to hospitals. But stomach cancer brought her closest to death. She spent months managing ulcers, infection, and relentless pain. The crisis was physically devastating and financially crippling: she needed N17.5 million for treatment at a hospital in Ajman, but had only N3.5 million.

“For twenty years, I had raised funds for others. I never imagined becoming the beneficiary of a public campaign. When my longtime friend, Mommy Dudu, insisted on organizing one, I resisted. It felt like a betrayal of my role as a giver,” she says.

But compassion returned to her in the form she had given it. Friends organized. Classmates mobilized. Lawyers, colleagues, family members—and even strangers—contributed. Meanwhile, her lungs deteriorated, requiring a battery-powered oxygen concentrator before she could travel. After months of being stranded, a friend provided the correct device with extra batteries, making the journey possible.

The surgery was successful. Being told she might depend on oxygen for life felt, in her words, “like something inside me died.” Temporary support is one thing; permanence is another.

For years, she relied on oxygen for up to 18 hours daily. Today, after nine years, her condition has improved, but oxygen remains a constant requirement. She also takes two daily injections—one costing $168 and the other $35 monthly. Concentrators are placed in her bedroom, office, and car, and a portable device accompanies her everywhere.

Illness has repeatedly tested her faith. She asked the question whispered by many believers: Why me? Yet doubt never eclipsed devotion. Gratitude anchors her perspective. Oxygen, limitation, even pain—she frames them as evidence of mercy rather than abandonment.

Her daughter remains her most tangible reason to keep fighting. “She is my reason,” she says without hesitation. Strength, as she defines it now, is not physical endurance—it is waking each day and choosing to continue.

 

The community that carried her

According to Bavoshiya, doctors across Nigeria and the UAE became extended family—specialists who managed her surgeries, lungs, heart and brain tumor.

Bavoshiya says she cannot speak of her survival without honouring Dr. Musiliu Kola Odunola of Al-Mansur Specialist Hospital, Kaduna, who stood by her through multiple life-threatening battles. Sadly, he passed away in December 2025, leaving behind a legacy woven into the lives he helped save—including hers.

“I am saddened by the loss of the physician who delivered my daughter and treated me for decades. Before his passing, he ensured that my care was properly transitioned,” she said.

Nearly two decades after her first diagnosis, her life is structured around medical routines, oxygen tubes, medication schedules, and energy limits. Yet, it is equally structured around service, gratitude, and determination. Through the Kuna Foundation, she continues to raise funds for cancer fighters and restore dignity to widows. She understands the statistics. She understands the fear. And she understands the power of compassion.

“I remain grateful,” she says. “My life may look different, but it is still purposeful.”

Every morning, she wakes up and pushes forward—breathing differently, perhaps, but breathing nonetheless.

In a conversation with her daughter Maya, a 19-year-old university final-year student of international relations, she said, “For as long as I can remember, hospitals were part of my childhood landscape.”

According to Maya, she does not recall a moment when someone sat her down to explain the word cancer. Instead, it revealed itself slowly—through surgeries, whispered conversations, long absences, and the sterile smell of hospital corridors. “By the time I was in secondary school, I understood. My mother was not just sick. She had cancer.”

While other children chatted easily about their mothers—school runs, shopping trips, shared laughter—Maya often felt like a quiet observer in those conversations. Much of her own experience was different. “My mother was frequently in and out of hospitals. There were long stretches when I stayed with family friends, caregivers, or relatives. Boarding school added another layer of separation. Distance became normal. Absence became familiar.”

Even as a teenager, she understood one thing clearly: cancer was not a small matter. But somewhere between fear and maturity, Maya stepped into responsibility.

“As my mother’s treatments intensified, so did my own role. I learned the names of her medications. I memorized schedules. I knew which pill to give and at what hour. When reminders were needed, I gave them gently but firmly.”

Emotionally, she did what she could. Encouragement, she admits, is not always easy when the person you love is fighting for breath.

“Over the years, the diagnoses multiplied—multiple cancers, a brain tumor, and failing lungs that eventually required lifelong oxygen support. Watching my mother navigate this reality has been exhausting and painful,” there were seasons of intense fear, she added.

But time, experience, and improved medical structure have changed the rhythm of fear.

“My consolation is in the fact that my mom’s life has taught me to be kind and to be there for people no matter the situation, because even in her lack, she never stopped supporting people in need.”

Through it all, Maya has drawn strength from family and friends who have stood beside them. Yet the person who inspires her most remains the woman whose body has endured so much—her mother.

Speaking with others whom Bavoshiya speaks highly of regarding her cancer survival journey, Rev. Dr. Yunusa Nmadu shared his first encounter with her, which occurred on Facebook during a political discussion where they held opposing views.

“The exchange became heated, but over time, through mutual friends and shared spaces, we met on other occasions and gradually got to know each other better,” he recalled.

According to Rev. Yunusa, it was through these interactions that he learned about Bavoshiya’s illness and the many struggles she continues to endure.

“What moved me most was discovering her foundation and the selfless work she continues to do for others despite her own challenges. Her resilience and commitment to service left a deep impression on me,” he said.

He went on to explain that Bavoshiya sometimes experiences psychological stress and moments of deep emotional exhaustion. During such periods, she reaches out feeling lost and discouraged.

“One of the ways I have supported her is by offering counsel, praying with her, and helping to uplift her spirit,” he noted.

Rev. Yunusa also highlighted that there are times when Bavoshiya lacks the financial resources needed for her treatment. Yet, even in pain, she remains deeply committed to supporting women through her NGO, working tirelessly to bring smiles to people’s faces.

In those moments, Rev. Yunusa said he stands by her—encouraging her spiritually and morally, and reminding her that her strength and compassion continue to inspire others.

Bavoshiya’s life tells a story where strength is found in surrender, in community, and in unwavering faith. She has carried illness without allowing it to carry away her purpose. She has faced death without surrendering her devotion to life. And through every diagnosis, every injection, every labored breath, she has continued to serve.