Nyasha, a Zimbabwean medical doctor with eight years in women’s healthcare, explores the unheard narratives of African breast cancer patients. Her work, part of the Elderflower Campaign, advocates for a breast cancer research hospital in Guruve, Zimbabwe.
Silence… Sigh… Inhale…
Silence…Sigh… Exhale…
Oh, malignant entity, attacker of my mother’s bosom, conqueror of worlds, here to ingest our motherland. Amai (mom).
Who am I? Within these Oxford halls and corridors, where great exploration has unveiled the hidden, how have I come to be present in this moment? I am Nyasha (meaning grace) - a daughter of Africa, a medical healer by background and now a seeker of knowledge at Oxford.
Dearest reader, join me on this journey of the self - a journey layered with reflections on the unheard chronicles of African breast cancer patients and their interactions with diverse healing communities. Each juncture of this narrative pathway has been marked by retrospection and unearthed new insights which have informed my studies for the MSc in International Health and Tropical Medicine.
Our journey begins with a recollection of chapters past, embedded within the colonial era of pre-independence Zimbabwe; this is the narrative of a mother (Amai) from the small village of Guruve, as recounted by her son. She was the Elderflower.
Guruve - a community formed by the hands of sculptors who carved masterpieces of stone and clay. The hardness of earth turned to language. However, Amai’s life had been traumatic, loud, and terrifying and yet she had survived, and, as Guruve’s great artisans, had moulded her own destiny according to her whim.
Silence… Whimper…
The Elderflower, originally from a community in Chiredzi, is fondly remembered as being a tenacious woman who had a keen natural inclination towards the art of healing. Many moons and sunrises she had shadowed her grandmother in the dry savannahs of south-east Zimbabwe. In her late teens, she built upon this living knowledge of the traditional healing practices and became one of the first black nurses at Chiredzi Hospital. At a time marked by guerilla warfare, these first indigenous medics began to bridge the healthcare access gap in Zimbabwe and continue to inspire the successive generations of healers who followed in their footsteps.
In the presence of the Elderflower, who am I?
On this ground, this cracked, concrete hospital floor, where thousands have stepped in and never out. Oh, warm hearted Amai, shall the same misfortune beseech you? Shall milk not flow to quench the scorched earth of our past? Let me be thy milk!
Tumorous invasion. You have left her frail from unending duels – in light and darkness. She neither eats nor sleeps nor rest. You have taken Amai: her rib, her chest, her womanhood, her life. Every day, every minute, every second you take and take; all shades, all walks of life, at their intersection with you there is no passing. Now you seek the seat of our very own soul, to swim in endless fountains of rejuvenation.
Silence sigh…. No more!
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