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Return of Zambian vendors rattles merchants in Victoria Falls

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BY FORTUNE MOYO

While waiting for customers, Sikhulile Ngwenya, a local vendor at the Mkhosana market, carefully loads her stall with cabbages, carrots, avocados, tomatoes and choumolier, a dark green, spinach-like vegetable with slightly crumpled leaves.

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A faint sound of local music playing on the radio at a shop not too far away reverberates through the market.

Housed in a red-brick structure, the market — one of two in Zimbabwe’s Victoria Falls city — is divided into 20 stalls, including Ngwenya’s, all displaying a variety of vegetables and fruit, neatly and attractively packed.

It is a busy area just behind a small shopping center where taxis drop off and pick up Mkhosana residents.

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This has been Ngwenya’s source of livelihood for more than 10 years.

“I have raised my four children from this vegetable stall,” she says. But today she feels a constant threat and uncertainty looming over her livelihood.

The reopening of the Zimbabwe-Zambia border, more than two years after it was closed in 2020 as a precautionary measure to combat the coronavirus pandemic, paved the way for the return of vegetable vendors from neighboring Zambia.

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And even though the informal cross-trading relationship between Zambia and Zimbabwe has long been mutually beneficial, the return of Zambians has rattled vendors like Ngwenya, who say that their profits plummeted since the opening and that the competition is no longer fair.

The “good business” during the pandemic has made Zimbabwean vendors realize, Ngwenya says, that Zambians are making money illegally “in our territory at no cost” and demand they be brought under the purview of law.

Zambia and Zimbabwe share similar social and cultural practices, making the movement of people between the countries easy.

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Zambian vendors cross over from the nearby city of Livingstone in their country to sell vegetables to residents of Victoria Falls, a tourism city on the Zimbabwean side.

In the early mornings, the Zambian vendors, popularly known as omzanga, a Nyanja term meaning “friend,” cross the Victoria Falls Bridge — the only route from Zambia to Zimbabwe.

The omzangas can easily be identified by the effortless way in which they balance the containers loaded with vegetables on their heads, or the carefully tied merchandise on their backs, wrapped with bright, colorful fabric in bold designs, popularly known as zambias.

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When borders were closed here like elsewhere globally, cross-border trade was allowed only for the movement of large commercial goods, not for people.

As a result, local vendors enjoyed a monopoly over the market because customers had no option but to buy vegetables from them, even if their prices were higher than those of their Zambian competitors.

But local vendors say locals know and understand the reasons for the higher prices.

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The farms in Zambia are close by. As a result, the Zambian vendors always have easy access to fresh fruit and vegetables.

Local vendors, on the other hand, have to get their vegetables from places like Lupane, 264 kilometres (away; Bulawayo, 435 kilometres away; and sometimes as far as Harare, 874 kilometres away, because those are the closest farms to Victoria Falls.

This forces them to sell at higher prices because it costs more to acquire the produce.

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It doesn’t help that local vendors must operate from their designated spots in the markets, for which they pay rent to the municipality, while the Zambian vendors can move door to door.

Ngwenya, who pays the Victoria Falls municipality $16 a month for her stall, says during the first government-mandated coronavirus lockdown, she made US$15 to US$25 a day, but now she makes US$10 to US$15 a day.

“Because vendors sell door to door, our customers no longer visit the market,” says Ngwenya.

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“This is now a threat to our livelihoods as we no longer sell much, because residents would rather wait for the Zambian vendors sitting in their homes.”

The pandemic gravely affected tourism here, and many people were laid off.

With no Zambian vendors in the picture then, many Zimbabweans took up selling vegetables as a means of livelihood.

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But after the border opened, and months later when restrictions were lifted completely, they realized that Zambians were “stealing” the local clientele and they needed to address the issue, says Grace Shoko, vice chairperson of the Zambezi Informal Cross Border Traders Association.

Shoko, whose organiSation was founded in late 2021 in Victoria Falls to resolve issues between local and Zambian traders, says representatives of the association have spoken with authorities and vendors from both sides of the border, to try to find a workable solution.

Naomi, a Zambian vendor who prefers that only her first name be used for fear of being targeted, says when she sells in Zimbabwe, she makes more money than when selling in Zambia because in Zimbabwe she sells in United States dollars, which she converts to Zambian kwacha back in her country, giving her a substantial amount.

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“I understand that it is unfair that locals are not allowed to sell door to door, and we can,” she said.

“However … I am also doing what I can to support my family in Zambia.”

Exact figures for informal cross-border trade are hard to come by because of its unrecorded nature, but such trade constitutes a major form of informal activity in most African countries.

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In fact, in the Southern African Development Community (Sadc), which includes Democratic Republic of Congo, Zambia and Zimbabwe, cross-border trading has an estimated value of about US$17.6 billion, which accounts for 30% to 40% of intra-Sadc trade.

Even though informal cross-border traders carry different types of goods, trade in sub-Saharan Africa is dominated by food, particularly groceries and fresh produce.

Until recently, Zambian vendors coexisted with local vendors, without any large-scale resentment or demands.

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But now, as most coronavirus restrictions have been lifted, easing the movement of people, some vendors have come together to express this displeasure collectively, with the help of organisations like the Mkhosana vendors association, lobbying for a level playing field and an end to what they say is an undue advantage for Zambians.

Mercy Mushare, a member of the Mkhosana vendors association, says the group is in talks with the municipality to put in place bylaws that protect local vendors or build stalls for Zambian vendors.

“We are not saying Zambians should not come and sell, but they should abide by the same bylaws which we abide by.

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They should not be at an advantage over locals,” says Mushare. (The association has a membership of about 300 vendors.)

The city’s bylaws stipulate that vendors should sell from designated places and not move around the city.

But the laws apply only to local vendors.

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Mandla Dingani, spokesperson for the Victoria Falls municipality, says the municipality is well aware of the tension between omzangas and local vendors.

“We are in the process of coming up with a way of ensuring that even Zambian vendors sell from designated stalls and also pay a monthly fee for selling in Victoria Falls,” Dingani says.

Sibusiso Dube, a resident of Chinotimba, worries that strict action against Zambian vendors might eventually hurt the common Zimbabwean.

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“It is unfair for Zambian traders to have more freedom … but if Zambian traders are barred totally, we will suffer because local vendors will increase their prices of vegetables beyond the reach of many, as we experienced when borders were closed during Covid-19,” he says.

Standing in front of her stall, Ngwenya says what she knows is that she is suffering losses. Despite that, this is the only work she has known over the years, and switching to anything else now is out of the question for her. – Global Press Journal

 

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Zimbabwe fights a losing battle against illegal Chinese plastics

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Much of Zimbabwe’s plastic waste isn’t disposed of properly. It has clogged rivers, littered streets, and had been linked to deadly flash floods and animal deaths.

BY LINDA MUJURU

At Mbare marketplace, a major trading hub in Zimbabwe, plastic bags are everywhere. Vendors stack them at the ready for customers, who tote their purchases home and often discard the bags after a single use. Many of these plastic bags are either imported from China or sold by local Chinese companies, and fail to meet Zimbabwe’s standards for plastic packaging.

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“We know this type of plastic isn’t allowed, but we sell it anyway. It’s cheaper, and there is a huge demand for it in the market,” says Tichaona, a local plastic bag vendor who sources his bags from a Chinese company in Harare. He provided only his first name for fear of arrest.

 

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In some cases, plastic bag buyers don’t even know that the bags are thinner than is legal, says one employee at Colour Maximal, a Chinese-owned plastic manufacturing company in Harare, who asked Global Press Journal to protect his identity for fear of losing his job.

 

“We know what the quality should be, but we never produce it,” he says. “Customers are told these plastics meet the 30-micron requirement, but that’s simply not true.”

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Zimbabwean law bans the production and distribution of plastic packaging thinner than 30 microns (a unit of measurement to describe plastic thickness), except for bread packaging, which must measure at least 25 microns. However, the country faces an influx of inexpensive plastic imports from China, coupled with a rise in Chinese-owned manufacturing firms, which now dominate the plastic industry.

 

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Many of these importers and manufacturers exploit weak law enforcement to produce plastics that measure lower than the standard, exacerbating a pollution crisis that’s already critical.

 

“[They] don’t care about quality. Their products are cheaper. People can just walk in and buy in bulk,” says Donald Marumbwe, who has worked in the plastic manufacturing industry for over 30 years.

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Global Press Journal collected samples from Colour Maximal and independently tested them. All samples were thinner than the required 30 microns. Some bags measured were just 20 microns.

 

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Global Press Journal also measured bread bags from Mbare marketplace, which, according to the regulations, should range between 25 to 30 microns. Some of those bags measured as thin as 6 microns.

 

Thin plastic bags, often used just once, can take thousands of years to decompose, turning into harmful microplastics that threaten wildlife and enter the human food chain. Thicker plastic is likely to be reused and recycled, reducing environmental impact.

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But thin plastic is cheaper to make, says Tatenda Murwira, a manager at Colour Maximal. It’s the reason his employer manufactures this kind of plastic, despite the law. “We’re profit-oriented,” he says. “It’s all about saving materials and keeping prices competitive.”

 

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In the end, it’s Zimbabweans who suffer. A significant portion of plastic waste — approximately 18% of the country’s total waste — isn’t disposed of properly. It has clogged rivers, littered streets, and, worse, been linked to deadly flash floods and animal deaths due to ingestion. Since 2010, plastics, both locally produced and imported, have caused the deaths of about 5,000 animals.

 

Amkela Sidange, the environmental education and publicity manager at Zimbabwe’s Environmental Management Agency, says they conduct routine inspections to prevent the manufacturing and distribution of plastic that doesn’t meet requirements. Those caught violating the law face fines that could reach 500 United States dollars.

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But Murwira, the manager at Colour Maximal, says that while officials from the environment agency have visited the company, which has been operating for more than a decade, they’ve never inspected the factory. “They never check the quality of our products,” he says.

 

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Once the packaging gets into the market, it’s hard to trace back to the manufacturer. “[The companies] don’t put their names on the packages because they don’t want it traced back to them,” Marumbwe says.

 

None of the plastic bags Global Press Journal examined at Mbare marketplace had a manufacturer’s name on them.

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Although South Africa is the main supplier of materials used to produce most of the plastic packaging circulating in the country, these imports are on the decline while imports from China are on the rise. In 2012, Zimbabwe imported 10.9 million dollars’ worth of plastic raw materials from China. By 2023, that number had increased fivefold to 54.8 million dollars, according to data from Trade Economics.

 

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“We’re profit-oriented. It’s all about saving materials and keeping prices competitive.”

 

Tatenda Murwira, a manager at Colour Maximal

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China is also a major player in Zimbabwe’s manufacturing sector, largely thanks to former President Robert Mugabe’s push to strengthen ties with East Asian countries. Mugabe famously described China as “our second home, a part of us” in 2006. By 2015, China was Zimbabwe’s biggest foreign investor, and its hold over key sectors, including mining and manufacturing, has grown.

 

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The investment has promoted growth, but it’s also come with challenges, including environmental degradation.

 

Chinese-owned companies’ disregard for regulation is indicative of a larger problem, says Gift Mugano, a professor of economics at the Durban University of Technology, in South Africa.

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“They are in bed with the politicians. [The] Chinese work with people in high offices, so they’re kind of covered, and they don’t respect the environmental laws,” Mugano says.

 

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It’s a widespread problem in Africa, where dependency on such investors is common, he says. In Zimbabwe, the situation is even worse because the country is mired in debt, which makes it susceptible to influence from one of its primary investors.

 

“[It’s] a new wave of neo-colonialism,” Mugano adds.

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Zimbabwe has made several attempts to address its plastic problem, including a 20% tax on plastic bags, which went into effect in January. But companies routinely dodge that tax, just as they’ve avoided the plastic bag regulations, says the ColourMaximal employee who spoke on condition of anonymity.

 

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“At the end of 2024, Zimbabwe Revenue Authority representatives visited our offices, threatening to shut us down for nonpayment of taxes,” he says.

 

Murwira, the manager, says Colour Maximal is fully tax compliant.

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Global Press Journal visited a plastic-packaging production company formally registered as Liwei Wang but currently trading as Multiple Star. Upon inquiry, factory representatives said that their plastic bags measured only 20 microns, short of the standard.

 

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On display at the site was an expired 2024 tax clearance certificate.

 

Global Press is an award-winning international news publication with more than 40 independent newsrooms in Africa, Asia and Latin America.

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Tuberculosis treatment in jeopardy as Zimbabwe loses US Aid

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Natasha Gwashure holds her son, Anashe, who is receiving free tuberculosis treatment at Beatrice Road Infectious Diseases Hospital in Harare. The hospital, which has relied on USAID funding for TB treatment, faces uncertainty following a US aid freeze.

BY LINDA MUJURU

Natasha Gwashure watches as tuberculosis ravages her 1-year-old son Anashe’s frail body. He has been ill for more than a month. Gwashure struggles to accept the diagnosis. Her only solace is that they have access to free medication.

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“Without this support, the chances of defaulting on treatment because of monetary constraints would have been significantly higher,” she says.

 

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For years, the United States Agency for International Development has stood at the front lines of Zimbabwe’s TB battle, providing critical support for detection, treatment and prevention. But this lifeline now hangs in the balance as a US executive order threatens to undermine years of progress, potentially forcing patients, like Gwashure’s son, to abandon lifesaving treatments.

 

TB is a particularly vicious illness. Left untreated, the mortality rate is about 50%. It spreads easily, when an infected person coughs or sneezes, or even sings or speaks.

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US President Donald Trump issued an executive order on Jan. 20, his first day in office, to suspend nearly all international aid. That includes USAID programs, which administer lifesaving health and other services around the world.

 

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The recent funding freeze leaves a huge gap in Zimbabwe, where nearly all funding for TB treatment comes from international donors. Just 4% of that funding is domestic.

 

In 2024, USAID allocated 7 million United States dollars for TB treatment, screening and other necessary interventions in Zimbabwe. Despite decades of medical advances, tuberculosis still rampages across the globe. TB affected 10.8 million people in 2023; 1.3 million of those were children.

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In Zimbabwe, the battle against TB reveals a health care system struggling to keep up. In 2021, just a little over half of an estimated 30,000 new infections received treatment.

 

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The human cost of scrapping USAID programs is already evident here. Hospitals that once benefited from US-backed health programs now face mounting pressure as health workers supported by these initiatives have been forced to stop working.

 

A local nurse, who requested anonymity for fear of retribution, says it’s strained an already overextended health care system. She says that nurses previously funded by USAID-backed organizations, who primarily cared for patients with HIV, TB and other diseases, have stopped reporting to work. And what used to be handled by a full team of nurses is now falling on just a handful.

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The freeze has begun dismantling Zimbabwe’s TB care network. New Start Centre — once a cornerstone facility, providing essential CD4 count testing, TB screening, diagnosis and counseling — has already gone dark, its doors closed as funding runs dry.

 

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Noah Taruberekera, executive director of Population Solutions for Health, which has relied on USAID support for these centers, acknowledges the dire challenges now confronting patients and health care providers. He says he is not authorized to share additional details.

 

The funding crisis ripples beyond TB control, casting a shadow over HIV programs — a critical concern since TB preys particularly on those with HIV. While effective antiretroviral therapy can reduce the risk of developing TB, ongoing screening and preventive measures are vital for those with HIV.

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HIV co-infection affects 68% of TB cases in Zimbabwe, but the national government covers only 7% of the required TB budget. International donors contribute 60%, leaving a significant funding gap.

 

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Despite the mounting challenges, Dr. Fungai Kavenga, deputy director of TB and prevention control in the government’s Ministry of Health and Child Care, remains hopeful.

 

“If donor support diminishes, I am confident that the government of Zimbabwe can still ensure a steady supply of treatment for TB patients,” he says.

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But Barbara Samu, a TB patient receiving care at Beatrice Road Infectious Diseases Hospital, underscores the critical role of donor support. She received free medication because USAID supported the hospital.

 

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“I can’t even begin to imagine where I would find the money for treatment,” she says. “I would be facing a death sentence.”

 

Global Press is an award-winning international news publication with more than 40 independent newsrooms in Africa, Asia and Latin America.

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Antibiotic resistance is here. Millions of people are dying

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A woman walks past a pharmacy and health facility in Harare. Most Zimbabweans face significant challenges in accessing basic health care, with 93% unable to afford health insurance, according to the Association of Healthcare Funders of Zimbabwe. For many, the only option is purchasing antibiotics from informal medicine stalls, often without prescriptions or proper guidance. Photo Credit: Gamuchirai Masiyiwa, GPJ Zimbabwe

BY GLOBAL PRESS REPORTERS 

Summary: Scientists and doctors can’t keep up with the tidal wave of people whose bodies don’t respond to basic antimicrobial treatment.

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For years, Radha Lama bought antibiotics in bulk at a clinic near her home in Kathmandu, Nepal. She took the pills whenever she had a stomachache or headache, without talking to a doctor or nurse, says her daughter Pratikchya Lama.

 

Now, at 57 years old, Radha Lama is on a ventilator in the intensive care unit of Nepal’s Tribhuvan University Teaching Hospital. She hasn’t been able to breathe on her own since August last year. She’s conscious but can’t move her arms or legs. She communicates only with her eyes.

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Lama has a catheter that doctors say she’ll probably need for the rest of her life. If it’s removed, they say, she’ll undoubtedly get an infection. And for Lama, a basic infection — one that most people would treat with a simple course of antibiotics — can be deadly.

 

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“We now have no alternative antibiotics to give her,” Dr. Pushkar BK says.

 

Lama isn’t alone. In Mongolia, 2,000 miles to the northeast, Dashzeveg Tsend says he’s bought and taken antibiotics throughout his life, whenever he felt he needed them.

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In October last year, he checked into a hospital with a fever and blisters in his groin. Doctors discovered he had MRSA, a type of staph infection — and that the bacteria causing the infection had become resistant to multiple antibiotics. Now, he’s bedridden and relies on oxygen, catheters and IV support to survive.

 

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Antimicrobial resistance is among the biggest health crises of the modern era. Bacteria that have evolved to resist the drugs designed to eliminate them kill more than 5 million people per year, according to the World Health Organization. By 2050, more people will die from AMR than from cancer, according to the Fleming Initiative, a London-based AMR research organization.

 

Thirty years ago, the leading causes of death due to illness were often roughly divided into two categories: cancer or heart attacks and strokes, says Lorenzo Moja, a scientist serving as team lead of the World Health Organization’s Model List of Essential Medicines.

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Today, he says, there is a third category: antimicrobial resistance.

 

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Someone hospitalized for a heart issue or even a bone fracture — anything that weakens the body — can easily contract a resistant bacterium. The person might get several forms of antibiotics, but the bacterium resists all of them “and makes a mockery of the drugs,” Moja says.

 

The reasons for AMR are complex. A person might get infected with resistant bacteria from dirty drinking water or a poor sanitation system. In many cases, doctors prescribe a wrong dose of antibiotics — or the wrong antibiotic altogether. Pharmacies and informal medicine stalls sell the pills to people who take them “like candy,” as one Nepali doctor put it. Many people can’t afford to take a full antibiotic dose. It’s also caused by the antibiotics used in animals raised for food, which leech into the environment through their waste. In each of these scenarios, bacteria have a chance to grow stronger and ultimately thwart even the most aggressive treatments. Often, it’s not obvious why a patient isn’t beating an infection. Bacteria just grow stronger, until the patient dies.

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And even though AMR isn’t always identified and diagnosed, “many of us have family members who have died from resistant bacteria,” says Anahi Dreser, an AMR researcher at the National Institute of Public Health of Mexico.

 

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But like most other problems, it doesn’t hurt equally.

 

The drivers of AMR are most prevalent in all but the richest countries.

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“These disparities that exist really have nothing to do with AMR. They’re linked to politics or corruption or generally the system of health services and sanitation,” says Isabella Impalli, a research analyst at One Health Trust, a research firm funded by the World Health Organization and other major organizations. Impalli is one of the authors in a major AMR research report series published in 2024 in The Lancet.

 

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An earlier study published in The Lancet showed that nearly all children under age 5 who die due to antibiotic resistance live in what the World Bank defines as low- and middle-income countries, based on gross national income per capita. Children in sub-Saharan Africa are especially at risk: They are 58 times more likely to die of antibiotic resistance than those in high-income countries.

 

When poverty is an incubator

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Among the dozen or so antibiotic-resistant bacteria that WHO lists as “priority pathogens” is the one that causes tuberculosis. That’s a particular problem in Africa, where half a million people die every year from the illness — more than 30% of all global TB deaths.

 

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In Zimbabwe, Taurai Chingoma was diagnosed with tuberculosis nearly 20 years ago. Now 62 years old, he says he still feels weak all the time and can’t do any hard physical labor. He was once a carpenter, but doesn’t have a stable source of income now. He’s constantly worried that the TB will return.

 

That’s all because he couldn’t afford to complete a full course of antibiotics.

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“Imagine taking 14 tablets at once each day!” he says. “Coming from poor backgrounds, we cannot afford proper meals, so we end up skipping some doses of the medicine.”

 

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Unlike typical antibiotic courses that last a few days or weeks, TB treatment demands a strict regimen for at least six months, and sometimes up to two years. For many people, that’s too long to keep up. Bacteria remain in their body when they stop taking antibiotics, and grow stronger.

 

The consequences of resistance in cases of TB are especially serious. Since most people infected with tuberculosis do not show symptoms and act as reservoirs for the bacteria, the spread of both the disease and antibiotic-resistant strains is pervasive. About 1 in 3 deaths from antimicrobial infections are due to drug-resistant TB.

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Like Chingoma, most Zimbabweans struggle to pay for basic health care. Ninety-three percent of the population in the country has no access to health insurance due to the high costs of subscriptions, according to the Association of Healthcare Funders of Zimbabwe.

 

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Without insurance, a visit to a public health clinic might cost the equivalent of 5 United States dollars, and 15 dollars at a private clinic. The only option for many poor Zimbabweans is to buy antibiotics at medicine stalls, without a prescription or directions.

 

And those medicines might very well be fake. The Medicines Control Authority of Zimbabwe has found that active ingredients weren’t present in many of the drugs sold informally — or even through formal prescriptions.

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“These medicines can cause harm by worsening the condition and may even result in death,” says Davison Kaiyo, a public relations official at the authority.

 

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Half of all Ugandans find it difficult to pay for their medical visits. Nearly all of them must borrow money or sell something to meet their health care needs, according to a report by Makerere University, Johns Hopkins University and other partners.

 

And people who can afford treatment often wind up with the wrong medicine.

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Pharmacists provide on-the-spot diagnoses and give out antibiotics to find out if they’ll work, without any lab testing, says Dr. Catherine Abala, of Mulago National Referral Hospital’s pediatric wing.

 

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“People are exposed to antibiotics for an infection they don’t have; but because of using them, the same bugs are going around,” she says.

 

Across Africa, the right antibiotics are often unavailable in the first place. The World Health Organization organizes antibiotics into three categories: “access,” for low-cost drugs used for common infections; “watch,” for higher-cost drugs used for severe infections; and “reserve,” last-choice antibiotics for multidrug-resistant infections.

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Across the continent, only 14% of the reserve-class antibiotics are accessible and 80% of antibiotics consumption is that of access-class antibiotics, according to a report released by the African Union in August 2024.

 

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The report notes over-reliance on a few available drugs, even when they are not the primary choice for treatment.

 

The wrong Rx

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E. coli, the pathogen that causes most urinary tract infections, is of particular concern because it is widely resistant to antibiotics. It is listed in the priority category of antibiotic-resistant pathogens, according to the World Health Organization.

 

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Around the world, Global Press Journal interviewed people who buy antibiotics to take whenever they suspect they have a UTI.

 

Since 2012, Carmen Ana González Miranda repeated the same cycle whenever she had a UTI: take antibiotics, get better, have symptoms again, and take more antibiotics.

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“The thing is that here in Puerto Rico, there is a belief that any little thing can be solved with antibiotics,” she says.

 

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When the drugs weren’t working, González switched doctors. She saw a gynecologist, then a urologist, then a gastroenterologist.

 

Finally, she went to an infectious disease specialist who discovered she had developed antibiotic resistance that will likely be lifelong, and potentially deadly if she gets another infection.

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Global medical guidelines are clear about when antibiotics should and should not be used. They can’t cure viral illnesses like the flu or common cold. Broad-spectrum antibiotics can’t be prescribed as a first-line treatment, and in most cases antibiotics shouldn’t be prescribed for long periods of time.

 

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And yet, inappropriate prescriptions are prevalent globally. Like González, people want treatment for especially for urinary tract infections, even if there’s no microbiological confirmation of the problem.

 

The rise of multidrug-resistant bacterial strains of E. coli globally has reduced effective treatment options.

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Bishnu Raj Karki, in Nepal, had bladder surgery after persistent UTIs in 2020. After the surgery, he got another UTI, which didn’t improve even after he took antibiotics. He crossed the border into India in hopes he’d get effective treatment. There, he was diagnosed with kidney inflammation and was prescribed a 42-day antibiotics course.

 

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Things got worse from there. The UTI returned, and Karki had chills, a high fever, nausea and other symptoms. Now 71 years old, he still struggles to recover and requires dialysis three times a week. He’s spent more than 2 million Nepali rupees (about 14,800 dollars) on his treatment so far.

 

“If my UTI flares up, I know I can die at any moment,” he says.

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In many cases, antibiotics are taken “like candy,” says Dr. Prabhat Adhikari, an infectious diseases and critical care specialist at the Center for American Medical Specialists in Nepal, who oversees Karki’s care.

 

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The doctor says a prescription of a 42-day antibiotic for a UTI is bad practice and likely caused Karki to develop antibiotic resistance — the problem that ultimately caused his kidney failure.

 

AMR in cases of UTI are alarmingly high in Nepal, Adhikari says. A 2021 study shows that 84% of UTI cases there showed resistance to at least one antibiotic, while 54% are multidrug resistant.

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“The quality of life of patients with UTI just keeps decreasing,” Adhikari says.

 

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‘Much bigger challenge than HIV’

 

Antibiotics are, in many ways, miracle drugs. When Alexander Fleming discovered penicillin in 1928, it was considered one of the century’s greatest scientific achievements. Health care changed dramatically when the treatment became widely available in 1945. Communicable diseases like malaria and tuberculosis, and even infections now considered mere aggravations, like strep throat, became much more easily treated. People lived longer.

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Now, irresponsible use of those antibiotics has created “a much bigger challenge than HIV,” says Tapiwanashe Kujinga, director for the Pan-African Treatment Access Movement in Zimbabwe.

 

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The path to reverse the impacts of AMR and preserve antibiotics as life-saving drugs starts with reducing the rate of bacterial spread in the first place.

 

Basic handwashing is a powerful start, says Impalli, the research analyst with One Health Trust.

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Soap, she says, can be more effective than the most powerful antibiotic.

 

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Clean drinking water and functional sanitation systems are also key, she adds, as is universal distribution of basic vaccines.

 

“We have a tendency to talk about AMR as if it’s something that is so big that we shouldn’t even address it,” Impalli says. “It is a really big issue, and it crosscuts so many different areas. So it’s important to emphasize there are tools out there that are proven to help the problem.”

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There is global movement toward AMR solutions. At the High-Level Meeting on Antimicrobial Resistance, a gathering of senior officials in September 2024, UN Deputy Secretary-General Amina Mohammed said that more than 90% of countries now have plans to combat AMR.

 

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The need for action is critical.

 

“If things continue as they are now, infectious diseases associated with resistant microorganisms are going to become the leading cause of mortality,” says Leandro Martín Redondo, coordinator of an AMR project at the National Agricultural Technology Institute in Argentina.

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Even routine surgeries won’t be possible, he says.

 

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Fleming predicted that this moment would come. Public demand for antibiotics would begin an era “of abuses,” he said in a 1945 article in The New York Times.

 

He was clear about the stakes: “The thoughtless person playing with penicillin is morally responsible for the death of the man who finally succumbs to infection with the penicillin-resistant organism.”

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Some interviews were translated from Spanish, Mongolian and Nepali.

 

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Global Press is an award-winning international news publication with more than 40 independent news bureaus across Africa, Asia and Latin America.

 

 

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