Tendai Ruben Mbofana
This morning, as I reflected on my mother’s sudden and unexpected death—just a few hours after she had been transferred to Gweru Provincial Hospital—I could not help but think of the several people I knew who had met the same fate at that same institution.
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My son’s mother passed away a day or so after being admitted there in 2019.
Only a few days ago, my six-month-old great niece also died shortly after being taken to the same hospital.
She had suddenly fallen ill while traveling with her mother—who was on her way from Kwekwe to Masvingo for her graduation ceremony at Great Zimbabwe University.
In all these cases, from a layman’s perspective, there were no immediate signs that these illnesses would result in death, at least not so soon.
When my mother was admitted at Gweru Provincial Hospital, none of the doctors—whether those who had attended to her in Kwekwe or the ones who received her in Gweru—expressed any concern that her condition posed an imminent threat to her life.
The specialist surgeon who initially examined her in Gweru was more focused on preparing for surgery.
Various tests, including an abdominal ultrasound scan and x-rays, had shown a partial intestinal obstruction, which explained her excruciating abdominal pain and frequent vomiting.
That was why she was admitted to the Female Surgical Ward.
The following morning, the doctor who saw her — and who later completed the medical certificate confirming her death — remarked that she appeared stable.
Moments later, before he had even reached the Male Ward he was heading to next, he was urgently called back—only to find that she had passed away.
So what is it about Gweru Provincial Hospital that makes me believe patients there face a higher likelihood of dying than at lower-level institutions such as Kwekwe General Hospital?
I do not say this to apportion blame to the medical staff.
Far from it.
My experience with Zimbabwe’s healthcare professionals has been nothing short of remarkable.
They are among the most hardworking, competent, and dedicated people one can find anywhere.
My own late mother was a retired nurse, and I have always held the profession in the highest regard.
The tragedy is that these noble men and women work under inhumane conditions—grossly underpaid, overstretched, and operating in underfunded hospitals that lack even the most basic equipment and supplies.
When I initially took my mother to Kwekwe General Hospital, she was received promptly and treated with diligence and care.
Her blood oxygen saturation and other vital signs were immediately checked, and she was placed on oxygen therapy without delay—something that gave her noticeable relief and, in my view, increased her chances of survival.
Some tests had to be done privately because they were unavailable at the hospital, but at least the attention she received there was focused and timely.
At Gweru Provincial Hospital, however, it was an entirely different experience.
Though the staff was courteous and tried their best under difficult circumstances, it was clear that they were overwhelmed.
The hospital was overcrowded, the wards overflowing, and the nurses visibly exhausted.
My mother arrived there between 3 and 4 p.m. but was only placed in her bed around 6 p.m.
For those two or three hours, her vital signs—including her blood oxygen saturation and respiratory rate—were never monitored.
No oxygen support was given, despite the fact that one of her known complications was malignant pleural effusion — a dangerous buildup of cancerous fluid in the space surrounding the lungs, which severely compromises breathing and oxygen supply to the body.
The doctor who later certified her death told me that she had succumbed to multiple organ failure resulting from respiratory complications caused by this pleural effusion.
This omission still haunts me.
Would her life have been spared—or at least prolonged—had she been placed on oxygen therapy immediately upon admission, as had been done at Kwekwe General Hospital?
The chest x-ray taken earlier that day had shown persistent pleural effusion despite a chest drainage procedure a week earlier.
It seems likely that oxygen support, while not curative, might have sustained her until the planned surgery for her intestinal obstruction.
Of course, I acknowledge that my mother’s condition was already complicated.
She had been diagnosed with colon cancer in 2015 and had undergone surgery and months of chemotherapy.
The detection of pleural effusion and a partial bowel obstruction a few weeks before her passing, with cytology tests revealing “unusual atypical cells,” clearly showed that her cancer had metastasized—spread to other organs.
Realistically, her chances of long-term recovery were uncertain.
Still, the issue is not whether she could have lived much longer, but whether she might have been given every possible chance to live at all.
That, in essence, is what concerns me about Gweru Provincial Hospital—and perhaps many other provincial hospitals in Zimbabwe.
It is not about the competence of the doctors and nurses, but the deplorable conditions under which they are forced to operate.
The hospital is underfunded, understaffed, and overburdened with patients who flock there because their local clinics and district hospitals lack the capacity to handle even moderately serious cases.
This is where the government’s neglect of the health sector becomes glaring.
If lower-level institutions like Kwekwe General Hospital or rural clinics were adequately funded and equipped, most patients would never need to be transferred to Gweru Provincial Hospital in the first place.
But years of chronic underinvestment in public healthcare have created a dangerous funnel effect—where too many patients converge on too few facilities, stretching the system beyond breaking point.
To make matters worse, the country continues to lose highly trained doctors and nurses to the diaspora because they are poorly paid and unappreciated at home.
Those who remain are overwhelmed by patient loads that no one could possibly manage effectively.
How, then, can we expect timely monitoring of oxygen levels, prompt interventions, or thorough follow-ups when one nurse is responsible for dozens of patients at a time?
The decay is so deep that even postmortem services are now scarce.
When my six-month-old great niece recently passed away, I was shocked to learn that her autopsy had to be done in Bulawayo because the service was not available in Gweru.
There is apparently a shortage of pathologists in Zimbabwe—specialist doctors who perform autopsies and determine causes of death.
That a provincial capital like Gweru no longer offers such an essential service is a tragic reflection of how far our public health system has fallen.
I do not write this out of bitterness, but out of a deep sense of sorrow and duty.
My mother’s death certificate lists cardiopulmonary arrest, recurrent colon cancer, and malignant pleural effusion as causes of death.
But I cannot help but feel that behind those clinical terms lies a larger story—one of a collapsing public health system that is failing its people.
We may never know if my mother—or the many others who have died at Gweru Provincial Hospital—could have lived longer under different circumstances.
But what we do know is that the state of our hospitals today leaves little room for hope.
Zimbabwe’s health workers are heroes, but heroes cannot perform miracles without the tools and support they need.
Until our government truly prioritizes healthcare funding and invests in both infrastructure and personnel, countless lives will continue to be lost—not necessarily because of disease, but because of neglect.
I dedicate this article to the loving memory of my beloved mother, Anastasia Takazvida Mbofana — a devoted mother and nurse.
May her fifty years of faithful service to the medical profession inspire the transformation of Zimbabwe’s healthcare system into one that truly serves and protects every citizen.
- 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/
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