I started as a student nurse at 22 and twenty-four years later, I’m transforming cancer care globally

My name is Naomi Oyoe Ohene Oti. I’m an oncology nurse specialist at the National Radiotherapy Oncology and Nuclear Medicine Centre at Korle-Bu Teaching Hospital in Accra, Ghana.

I’ve spent 24 years walking patients through one of life’s toughest battles. And I’m just getting started.

I was in my final year of nursing school when I met her—a young woman diagnosed with breast cancer. She had already undergone surgery and chemotherapy. But the cancer came back. It had metastasised, and there were no more options.

Yet she was still full of life, mobile, smiling even through pain. The tumour on her arm was visible and brutal. I remember asking the doctors, “What next?” They simply said, “There’s nothing more we can do. Just pain relief.”

It shattered me. She was just like me—in age, in spirit, in everything. I saw myself in her. And I knew right then: I want to change this story for others. I applied to work at Ghana’s then only cancer centre. I got the job. That was in June—24 years ago.

It wasn’t easy. I came into the system at the age of 22 where specialized cancer nursing was virtually non-existent. We had only one trained oncology nurse—just one. The odds were heavy, the resources few, and the emotional toll overwhelming.

We had to learn, teach, lobby, comfort, and fight—all while holding the hands of patients who were themselves fighting for their lives.

I saw patients pour their pain, frustration, even anger on us. And we had to remain composed. Empathetic. Professional. That emotional labour is rarely talked about, but it’s real. Burnout became a quiet companion.

But we pushed through. I led the first online oncology nursing training programme in Ghana. We lobbied tirelessly for its acceptance. Eventually, the Ghana College of Nurses and Midwives institutionalised it. That moment? That was a win for all cancer patients.

Cancer doesn’t just attack the body—it challenges beliefs. In Ghana, spirituality runs deep. Many patients link their illness to punishment from God or ancestral wrongs. Some seek herbal remedies first, arriving at the hospital only when the disease is advanced. That’s tough to watch.

We don’t dismiss their beliefs—we integrate them. Sometimes, we invite their pastors, imams or traditional leaders into sessions. We involve psychologists. We do a lot of counselling. The aim is to guide patients to understand that cancer is not a curse. It’s a disease—and one that needs medical attention.

There is some public education, yes. But it’s not enough. We need serious investment in preventive health—community screenings, accessible information, and culturally sensitive outreach. Our traditional leaders and influencers must be part of the solution.

One of my greatest joys is seeing how far the ripples of my mentorship have travelled. Many nurses I trained have returned to their own districts and started oncology units. They’re decentralising care, giving patients access to support without always travelling to Accra.

Some of these mentees are now running screening programmes in their communities. Others are leaders in policy and nursing education. This is how we change a system—not from above, but through a thousand empowered hands.

When I was nominated for the 2024 Aster Guardians Global Nursing Award, I didn’t even know. It wasn’t from a Ghanaian—it came from Kenya. Out of 100,000 nominations worldwide, I made it to the top 10… and then, unbelievably, I won.

I was overwhelmed. Humbled. And deeply grateful. But I also knew—it wasn’t just about me. It was for every oncology nurse working with too little but giving too much. It was for African nurses proving that world-class care can rise from resource-limited settings.

The award money and recognition have opened new doors. But I’m walking through with purpose:

This is bigger than a career now. It’s a calling.

To every young nurse out there: never see this job as just a routine. Nursing is an act of social justice. Every wound you dress, every patient you console, every record you update—it matters. Seek knowledge. Document your work. Share your insights. Be the voice of the voiceless.

If you had told 22-year-old Naomi that one day she’d win a global nursing award and change cancer care across countries, she would’ve laughed nervously and shrugged. But here we are.

And as long as there’s breath in my lungs, I’ll keep fighting—not just cancer, but the systems, myths, and gaps that make it harder to survive it.

This is my story. But it’s also Ghana’s story. And Africa’s. We’re just getting started.