The first time I heard about cupping as a form of therapy, I dismissed it almost instinctively. I filed it away in the same mental folder as acupuncture and other traditional Chinese practices. At the time, it felt easier to assume that anything involving suction cups and bloodletting belonged more to history than to modern health discussions.
It was only later that I learned cupping isn’t a single, monolithic practice. There’s dry cupping, which involves suction alone, and wet cupping, also known as hijamah or bloodletting, which combines suction with small, controlled skin incisions.
For Muslims, hijamah occupies a unique space. It isn’t just a cultural habit but a recommended practice rooted in prophetic tradition. Given that Nigeria has a large Muslim population, it makes sense that cupping is far more common than I initially realized.
I began to notice how casually it came up in conversations, especially around health. My wife, for instance, would suggest it anytime I complained about unexplained body aches, particularly the stubborn kind that settle around the neck or lower back. I usually smiled, nodded, and moved on.
That changed a few days ago.
It started with a nagging neck pain that refused to go away. I blamed my pillow at first. We had travelled to visit my wife’s family, and sleeping on a different bed after a long stretch of routine comfort seemed like a reasonable explanation. But by the next morning, the pain had intensified enough to be annoying, the kind that reminds you of its presence every time you turn your head.
Coincidentally, that morning happened to be like a cupping day in the house. Almost everyone was getting wet cupping done. Watching the preparations stirred both curiosity and skepticism in me. As a scientist, I am trained to question mechanisms and demand evidence, but as a human being in discomfort, I was also open to relief, however it came. I decided to give it a try.
The procedure itself was surprisingly methodical. The therapist first cleaned the areas to be treated. Plastic cups were then placed on these points, and suction was created using a pump. This initial suction, which is essentially dry cupping, pulls the skin upward and encourages blood flow to the area.
After a few minutes, the cups were removed, and small, superficial incisions were made on the skin. The cups were then reapplied to draw out a small amount of blood. In total, three cups were placed around my neck and shoulders, and three along my lower back.
I won’t pretend the incisions were painless. They weren’t. But they were brief, controlled, and far less dramatic than I had imagined. What truly surprised me was what happened afterward. Almost immediately, the stiffness in my neck eased. The sharp edge of the pain dulled into something manageable, then faded further.
By the time the session ended, I could move my neck freely again. No exaggeration. This was relief I hadn’t expected, let alone anticipated so quickly. That experience forced me to rethink my earlier dismissiveness.
I remembered seeing images of elite athletes and well-known public figures with circular cupping marks on their backs and shoulders. Michael Phelps clearly comes to my mind as I'm writing this. I had always assumed it was either a placebo or trend-following. Now, with my own anecdote added to the pile, it makes more sense why some people swear by it.
Beyond my experience, there are countless stories that echo similar outcomes. People talk about relief from chronic headaches, improved sleep, reduced muscle tension, and even a sense of lightness after a session. Some describe feeling drained for a few hours afterward, followed by renewed energy the next day.
Others make it a routine practice, scheduling sessions monthly or quarterly as a form of maintenance rather than treatment. While these accounts don’t replace clinical trials, they do raise important questions.
Of course, anecdotal evidence has its limits. As compelling as personal stories can be, they are not substitutes for controlled, peer-reviewed research. That said, dismissing centuries-old practices simply because they originated outside modern biomedical frameworks may be shortsighted. The human body has always responded to intervention in complex ways, and not all of them are fully understood yet.
Cupping may work through improved blood circulation, nervous system stimulation, or even placebo-driven pathways. Or perhaps it’s a combination of all three. What matters is that many people report tangible benefits. My hope is that more rigorous scientific studies will be conducted to explore these effects, identify where cupping truly helps, where it doesn’t, and for whom it is most effective.
Until then, I remain cautiously impressed. I haven’t abandoned science, but I’ve learned to be a bit more humble about what it has yet to explain. Sometimes, experience nudges belief forward, and in this case, cupping did exactly that.
