Tendai Ruben Mbofana
The Ministry of Health and Child Care recently issued a statement dismissing widespread social media accounts of Zimbabwe’s public health system as exaggerated and misleading.
In their words, the Ministry claims the criticism represents a “coordinated effort to selectively highlight challenges” while ignoring progress made under the so-called Second Republic.
But for those of us who have either experienced or witnessed firsthand the suffering within our healthcare system, these denials are not only deeply offensive, but also reveal a dangerous level of denial, detachment, and heartlessness.
What is most disturbing is the government’s tendency to trivialize legitimate outcries as agenda-driven or malicious.
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Deputy Health Minister Sleiman Timios Kwidini, when recently asked in Parliament about the deplorable state of public hospitals, astonishingly claimed that patients were satisfied with services, and that the discontent was largely confined to social media platforms.
This statement not only disrespects the pain endured by millions of Zimbabweans, but dangerously seeks to bury a humanitarian crisis under a mountain of propaganda.
The stories coming from our hospitals are not invented by political operatives or social media mischief-makers.
They are the lived realities of ordinary Zimbabweans.
One particularly heartbreaking case is that of a rural woman who suffered a serious shoulder injury in a traffic accident.
She was referred to a provincial hospital and told she needed to raise US$800 for surgery.
This amount was to cover not only the operation itself, but also the purchase of her own drugs, x-rays, scans, bandages, and even blood in case of transfusion.
This is a public hospital, yet patients are expected to pay for nearly everything out-of-pocket.
Because she simply could not afford this amount, the woman was left untreated until a kind-hearted friend of mine from South Africa offered to fly her to Pietermaritzburg for surgery.
If that isn’t a damning indictment of our healthcare system, then what is?
Another tragic case involved a family that stayed in contact with me throughout the prolonged illness of their elderly relative battling cancer.
They described his daily torment as he writhed in pain due to a lack of medication.
He desperately needed radiotherapy treatment, but the machines had long since broken down and remained unrepaired.
Despite their pleas and updates, the final message I received from them informed me of his death.
That man might still be alive today had our hospitals been adequately equipped and staffed.
My own mother’s battle with colon cancer left me with an indelible scar.
She had to travel more than 200 kilometers from Redcliff to Bulawayo’s Mpilo Hospital every month for six consecutive months for chemotherapy.
At the time, she was frail, weak, in constant pain, and fitted with a colostomy bag.
The journey was both physically and emotionally draining.
She often told me horrifying stories of fellow cancer patients who were in far worse condition than she was — some whose faces had been devoured by cancer — who had to endure similarly long, painful trips.
The Kwekwe District Hospital, which is much closer to our home, had no chemotherapy services.
What kind of system forces the sick and dying to embark on such journeys for treatment?
And yet, the Ministry of Health insists that things are not as bad as portrayed, claiming that highlighting these stories causes “unnecessary panic and anxiety.”
Tell that to the thousands of women dying in childbirth due to a lack of maternity facilities.
Tell that to the victims of road traffic accidents who die on the roadside because there are no ambulances, or to the cancer patients who die waiting for machines to be repaired.
Renowned activist Farai Maguwu has shared photographs of patients in Marange — a diamond-rich region, no less — sleeping on floors or on beds improvised from planks and doors.
How can a government that claims to have made progress tolerate such dehumanizing conditions in a region that should be among the wealthiest in Africa?
Earlier this year, nurses at Sally Mugabe Central Hospital, one of Zimbabwe’s largest referral centers, staged protests.
Their grievances were not about salaries, but about the lack of electricity, running water, and basic medical supplies — essentials needed not just to do their jobs, but to save lives.
When the very professionals entrusted with our care are forced to speak out so desperately, shouldn’t that be enough for the government to act instead of launching a defensive public relations campaign?
In a rare moment of honesty, Minister of Youth Tino Machakaire admitted that Zimbabwe’s healthcare system was in shambles.
That admission aligns with what everyday Zimbabweans know and experience.
His comments sharply contrast the Ministry of Health’s attempt to downplay the crisis, revealing deep fractures even within government ranks.
The truth is, no amount of public relations spin can whitewash the suffering endured by millions.
It is deeply insulting to be told to “balance” our criticism when lives are being lost, and dignity stolen.
What “balance” is expected of someone watching a loved one die because the nearest hospital lacks painkillers, chemotherapy drugs, or working diagnostic machines?
Even the Ministry’s claims of “increased access to medical equipment” and “expanded training programmes” ring hollow when those developments do not translate to tangible benefits for patients.
What use is a new building if it is empty?
What value is a trained professional when they are demoralized, underpaid, and working without tools?
At the heart of all this is the government’s failure to prioritize the healthcare needs of its people.
Instead of allocating adequate funding to hospitals and clinics, billions of dollars are siphoned off through corruption, looted by politically connected elites.
Wicknell Chivayo, a man notoriously linked to questionable government deals, is free to flaunt his wealth, while public hospitals run without water or electricity.
Zimbabweans are not blind.
We see the lies. We feel the betrayal. And we are tired.
We are tired of being blamed for speaking the truth.
We are tired of being gaslit by officials who refuse to acknowledge the rot.
We are not making up stories; we are recounting our pain. And we will not be silenced.
It is time for the government to stop its arrogant dismissals and start listening to its people.
We are citizens, not enemies.
We deserve a healthcare system that serves us all, not just a privileged few.
We demand accountability. We demand dignity. And above all, we demand humanity.
To the Ministry of Health and Child Care, this is not a smear campaign.
This is a cry for help. Ignore it at your peril.
- Tendai Ruben Mbofana is a social justice advocate and writer. Please feel free to WhatsApp or Call: +263715667700 | +263782283975, or email: mbofana.tendairuben73@gmail.com, or visit website: https://mbofanatendairuben.news.blog/