Parirenyatwa Group of Hospitals is the largest
medical institution in Zimbabwe and its main
hospital – a complex maze of charcoal grey
buildings built before Zimbabwe’s independence
in 1980 - is located a few kilometres shy of
Harare’s city centre, a distance that is walkable
for many.
Upon entering the foyer in the casualty
department, the first noticeable thing is the large
numbers of people.
Dozens sit on the rows of the benches to the left
while many others are either milling around or
sitting all over the place, while others stand on
the reception area, sorting out administrative
issues with the medical personnel.
A nurse checks blood pressure and temperature
of the incoming patients on one part of the
foyer.
There is a strong sense of hopelessness, despair
and the fatigue on the many faces is too much to
be ignored.
Today, I am here to join family members who
have come to process the paperwork for the
burial of my auntie who died a day after being
admitted to the COVID-19 section of the hospital.
We are headed towards the police post within
the hospital complex and on the way is the
entrance to the mortuary. The strong,
traumatising stench in that area suggests poor
ventilation and improper handling of the
morgue.
As we reach the police post, I notice hordes of
people waiting on the outside, waiting to collect
burial orders for their dead relatives.
In Zimbabwe, a burial order is a document
approving the burial of a deceased person, and it
often has the authorization of a doctor,
pathologist, the police and next of kin.
Inside the police post, are two officers and a
pathologist, all sitting on chairs, processing
papers.
There is no doubt the three are going beyond
their limits to deal with the dozens of people
eagerly waiting outside.
“All bodies that come from the COVID-19 ward
do not get post mortems,” he says.
Later on, we discover that anyone who is
admitted to the hospital exhibiting any
symptoms of COVID-19, be it a fever or
breathing complications, they are bundled to the
COVID-19 ward even before they are tested, and
there, they are condemned with no access to any
life-saving medication.
As we waited for about an hour for our papers to
be processed, over five people came in to submit
papers of their relatives who had died of COVID19- related complications.
When all was done, we collected our papers and
all we know, without any conclusive evidence, is
that our aunt died of ‘COVID-19- related
complications’, and that is because she was never
tested positive, neither was she tested
posthumously.
In the end, my aunt becomes one of the statistics
of COVID-19, and still we are never sure of the
cause of her death, and she joins the many
Zimbabweans whose deaths are not being fully
accounted for as government continues to keep
a tight lid on how it is dealing with contact
tracing, testing of the deceased and their
relatives, among other procedures necessary to
deal with COVID-19.
The story of the death of my auntie speaks a
great deal to how a lot of corners are being cut
to cover up for government’s failure to deal with
COVID-19.
In addition, it exposes government’s disjointed
approach to the pandemic, and whereas other
countries such as South Africa have already
secured vaccines, the Zimbabwean government is
still appealing for funding and donations.
It goes beyond COVID-19.
It must be noted that while COVID-19 is the
major focus right now, other healthcare needs,
such as medication for chronic diseases, sexual
and reproductive health services, among others,
remain inaccessible to the ordinary people.
Local clinics are charging a prohibitive US$5
consultation fee in some cases.
We submit my aunt’s papers and the police
officer politely tells us that since she was in the
COVID-19 ward, she will not get a post mortem.
“But when she was admitted, she had negative
results from the two tests she undertook at a
private hospital and when we came here, she
never got tested for COVID-19, so what leads to
that conclusion?” we enquire.
The pathologist weighs in.
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