The high cost of healthcare in most cities has created a reverse migration. Kundai Marunya writes about his experiences at a rural hospital. I recently traveled to Howard Hospital in Chiweshe to get medical assistance for my sister-in-law. She had been diagnosed, elsewhere, with genital
The story continues… I followed him into the house. I had some wits about me so I tore my shirt off, like he had already done his. I pulled off my vest and tore it into strips and bound his calf above the bite mark,
Zimbabwe’s economic crisis has has affected all sectors, not least the health sector. Philani Amadeus Nyoni narrates his experience. If I exclude the day of my birth, I can count all the times I have been in a hospital on one hand. One was both
Zimbabwe’s roads are a death trap. Among the hazards that lie in wait are potholes, narrow highways, negligent traffic cops and lawless pirate taxi drivers. Guest blogger, Keith, tells his story. A few days ago I was involved in the most terrifying high speed car
Every school playground has a bully. We all remember one from childhood. Uncle Thabani reminisces on the bullies of his school days in Kwekwe. The two most violent people I have ever seen were eight years old when I met them; Adolph and Garikai. Thankfully,
An estimated four million Zimbabweans live in exile. Guest blogger Spiwe Harper examines the polarity between the Diaspora community and those living in Zimbabwe. The long distance that separates the people in the Diaspora from our kinsmen back home has, over the years, slowly but
As her reign draws to an end, Miss Earth Zimbabwe, Sandiswe Chikomborero Bhule, writes about her term. I was six years old, in 1995, when Dionne Best won Miss Zimbabwe, live on television. I remember turning to my mother and telling her that I would
Zimbabwe is like many other places, where morals are preached by fire and thunder, yet the pulpit talk matches little action. While this is not entirely related to the above conversation, I have no doubt today that ‘abortees’ (if there is anything like that) are not your ‘loose’ young women or girls. They are not commercial sex workers. They are the goody-goody girl who has a family and community to please. The church girl who is a role model. They are the mother of three boys or girls, desperate for a child of different gender at the fourth attempt. They seemingly are the women who have a ‘reputation’ to protect.
The health ministry provides post-abortion care in government hospitals. These ‘respectable’ women will not set foot there, fearing the possibility of meeting someone connected to their network.
In Africa, giving birth to a white child causes confusion, mistrust and in the search of an explanation, superstitions abound. We, people with albinism, are stigmatized. We are seen as outcasts, our families are ashamed of us and society does not embrace us. In some cases pregnant women spit in their clothes when they come across a person with albinism as a way of asking their gods not to give them a child with albinism. It is so sad that, in Zimbabwe, some men with HIV rape women with albinism, believing that the virus will be cured. In other countries like Tanzania people with albinism are murdered by those who believe that their body parts can bring wealth or boost one’s political career. All these are harmful beliefs which cause people with albinism to live in constant fear for their safety.
I write to you of a place that knew terror last Friday the thirteenth. I cannot describe the feeling of watching the events unfold on the news. Seeing the map on CNN light up and recognise that I was near Les Halles the Friday before and then just as quickly remember that a friend lives near one of the red dots on the map and send an enquiring SMS. Then wait. Wait as the body count rises, as the police confirm that this is the worst terrorist attack the country has known in decades. Wait as the country goes into only its second state of emergency since the end of World War II. Wait and see messages coming in from across the world asking if I am okay. For a moment I thought of calling home but knowing my parents they would be fast asleep by now. I decided not to worry them, which is why they called at 5am the next day, worried out of their minds.