Cars over Care: Zimbabwe's healthcare crisis exposed

This week, the Ministry of Health and Child Care proudly announced the acquisition of a heart-lung machine and a heater-cooler system for Parirenyatwa Group of Hospitals. On paper, it is a milestone - a step toward strengthening specialised healthcare and edging closer to the elusive goal of universal health coverage. There is no denying that these machines are vital. Open-heart surgery is impossible without a heart-lung machine, which temporarily takes over a patient's heart and lung functions during surgery. The heater-cooler system regulates body temperature, ensuring safe outcomes.

Yet, as we celebrate this small victory, the larger picture remains grim. Parirenyatwa, the country's largest referral hospital, still lacks essential cancer treatment equipment. The same is true for United Bulawayo Hospitals and Mpilo Central Hospital. Across the country, public hospitals are missing even the most basic supplies: bandages, gloves, functioning beds, medicines, and diagnostic tools. Families wait hours at private pharmacies for drugs that should be readily available in hospital dispensaries. Doctors and nurses perform daily miracles under conditions that would shock anyone outside the healthcare trenches.

And this is where the moral bankruptcy becomes starkly clear. While the Health Ministry struggles to fill decades-old gaps, the nation's political leadership is busy flaunting priorities in full display. Just yesterday, President Emmerson Mnangagwa handed out a fleet of brand-new vehicles to top Zanu-PF women's league executives, MPs, and members of Young Women for ED. The convoy included six Toyota Land Cruiser LC300s at roughly US$180 000 each, 21 Toyota Hilux double cabs at US$70 000 apiece, and five single-cab Hiluxes at US$40 000 each - a total of approximately US$2,75 million spent on cars for political actors.

Now imagine what that money could have done for hospitals. How many heart-lung machines could it buy? How many radiotherapy units? How many dialysis machines? How many operating theatres could be refurbished? How many wards could finally have functional beds, linens, gloves, syringes, and life-saving medications?

The gap between what Zimbabweans need and what leaders choose to prioritise is not merely a matter of budgeting - it is a moral indictment. The country's top officials rarely step foot in public hospitals, instead flying abroad for check-ups, scans, and surgeries. They do not wait in Parirenyatwa queues, nor are their relatives turned away when radiotherapy machines break down. Insulated from the collapse of the system they oversee, urgency is absent. Cars come first. Patients, if they come at all, are secondary.

The heart-lung machine is welcome, but it is a drop in an ocean of neglect. True progress in Zimbabwe's healthcare system will not come from ribbon-cutting ceremonies or press statements. It requires political courage - a willingness to place hospitals over convoys, equipment over patronage, and service delivery over loyalty politics. Until that happens, the healthcare crisis will remain a wound that never heals.

Zimbabweans deserve more than isolated gestures. They deserve a system that works, a government that prioritises life over luxury, and leaders who understand that survival is not negotiable.