Special reports
Why Binga’s ‘great river people’ feel cut off from their trade
Published
3 years agoon
By
VicFallsLive
BY FARAI MATAISHE
It is mid-morning in Binga district, on the shores of the Zambezi River, and the sun is already scorching.
Takuchinchi Munsaka of the Batonga tribe services the diesel-powered engine of his fishing rig – a boat made up of cylindrical metal at the base, which allows it to float, and energy-saving lightbulbs at the top which help attract kapenta when the fisherman goes out at night.
Strong river torrents move to and from the shore, almost threatening to carry the boats away on this mighty river sandwiched between Zimbabwe and Zambia, while the loud engines of surrounding rigs whine and rattle – drowning out conversations between fishermen on nearby boats.
When night falls, Munsaka (31), will sail his rig out across the river, lower his black nets into the water below, and fish – kulabula as it is called in his local Tonga language.
Fishing has been a part of his community for generations.
But in recent years, it has become increasingly difficult for many to make it out onto the river at all.
The reason: fishing permits.
A fishing permit is a legally mandated licence, renewable every three or 12 months, that commercial fishermen are required to have to fish in the Zambezi River.
Issued by the Zimbabwe Parks and Wildlife Management Authority (ZimParks), a state agency responsible for wildlife conservation in the country, the permits were introduced in 1990 in a bid to regulate the number of fishers, thus preventing overfishing and aiding conservation.
Those caught fishing without a licence can be fined $2,000 and have their boat impounded.
But the relatively high cost – US$1,200 for a yearly permit, plus thousands of dollars to build a fishing rig that meets government regulations – and the limited number of permits handed out each year, has disproportionately benefitted wealthy fishers from the cities at the expense of communities like the Batonga, locals say.
‘I had to survive’
Munsaka, who is a father of two, lives in Muyobe village, a remote rural community some 50 kilometres from Binga Centre, the financial hub of the district of about 139,000 people.
A tall man of medium build, he has spent much of his life working on the river.
He started young, fighting his way into the fishing industry as a boy, he says.
“When I reached teenage years, I started buying kapenta from fishermen from the city. I walked for nearly five kilometres up the hills from the Zambezi River to Binga Centre with about 30kg of kapenta, on my back. This was for resale to the locals,” he recounted.
In 2012, he tried to secure his own fishing rig, but he had no capital to buy or build one.
And without a boat or rig, he could not get a fishing permit.
Munsaka eventually got a job working for someone else who had a fishing rig and a permit.
“I was paid on commission based on a ‘tonnage system’.
For a captain, if he manages one tonne of kapenta, he was paid US$80 per month while crew members like me were paid US$75 per month,” said Munsaka, whose job involved lowering the nets into the water.
“The working conditions were exploitative but I had no choice.
I had to survive,” he adds.
He feels it was this exploitation that pushed him to work harder, so that he could make money and one day achieve his dream of owning his own fishing rig and getting a permit.
Since 2017, he has rented a permit and a boat from a relative who is among the few Batonga people to have fishing licences in Binga.
Leasing one’s permits to other fishermen is a practice ZimParks does not object to as, according to Tinashe Farawo, a ZimParks spokesperson, “subleasing does not add any fishing rigs into the river”.
By 2020, Munsaka had raised enough money for his fishing rig, which cost $8,000 to build.
He applied for a fishing permit from ZimParks that same year but is yet to be given one.
“I was supposed to be given the permit in June 2021 but I still have not heard from ZimParks. This year I am not sure if I will get it. Perhaps next year,” he said.
‘It’s who we are as people’
Munsaka’s forefathers have fished along the Zambezi River for generations.
Before white colonialists occupied the country, then called Rhodesia, the Batonga were known as “the great river people” and lived in Kariba, making their livelihoods along the river where they could fish and practise agriculture in the surrounding fertile wetlands throughout the year.
Historically, the tribe relied on fish as a source of protein and on fishing for their survival.
These natural resources were freely available to them, and from a young age, Batonga would be taught to fish using tools like fishing baskets and canoes.
They would fish along the Zambezi and its tributaries without fear of breaching any laws, as there were no state regulations on fishing methods, or which part of the river to fish in, or the quantity of fish one could catch.
But all that changed in the 1950s when the colonial government forcibly moved the Batonga to make way for the construction of the Kariba Dam.
Most were resettled in Binga, about 484km away, but some were relocated as far as Siabuwa, 84km from the Zambezi River – making it impossible for them to maintain their normal riverside existence.
After the resettlement, Batonga were given “compensation” in the form of grain to sustain them until they could somehow farm in this otherwise barren land filled with drought-resistant mopane, acacia and baobab trees.
But being cut off from the river, and the tougher restrictions on fishing licences that were introduced in subsequent decades, made much of the tribe feel that their way of life was criminalised.
“Fishing for us has been an important factor being our nutrition as well as being important in our economy. We trace it to who we are as a people,” said Prince Dubeko Sibanda, an opposition party MDC-Alliance member of parliament for Binga North.
“Fishing is not only for economic and other social reasons, but it is part and parcel of our life, it has been part and parcel of our culture,” he said, adding that the colonial laws which were introduced in a bid to conserve the fishing sector were not inclusive of the tribe.
After the construction of the Kariba Dam in the 1950s, the then-Rhodesian government introduced other species of fish such as kapenta in a bid to commercialise the sector.
By the 1970s the sector was flourishing, but with fears of possible overfishing in the Zambezi River and Lake Kariba, licensing processes and regulations were tightened.
During these pre-Independence times, the industry was dominated by white people, while Black people – including the Batonga – had limited access to licences.
Most Batonga in the fisheries sector at the time worked for white people.
After 1980, when Zimbabwe gained independence, the licensing regulations were eased slightly to allow Black people to enter the sector.
The government also introduced a cooperative system – an initiative where a minimum of 10 people could come together to apply for fishing permits.
This was aimed at compensating and empowering the Batonga who had been affected by the displacements in Kariba in the 1950s.
However, the cooperative system was later monopolised by politicians and businessmen, resulting in non-Batonga people benefitting more than the locals, said Munsaka.
Barriers and costs
Today, the Batonga number some 300,000 people and are situated between the northern parts of Zimbabwe (including Binga) and the southern parts of Zambia.
Four decades after independence, Binga, which is one of the most sparsely populated districts in Zimbabwe, has remained under-developed with inaccessible roads, poor connectivity and inadequate infrastructure such as schools and clinics.
Many Batonga homes have no electricity, despite it being generated from Lake Kariba – which lies in the valley that used to be their home – and supplied to cities hundreds of kilometres away.
Farming is not always viable, due to poor soil and insufficient rain, so the Batonga have limited sources of income.
Some depend on traditional craft-making – basketry, wood-carving, textile and jewellery making; others survive on remittances from the diaspora – relatives who live mainly in Zambia, South Africa and Botswana.
Wealthy residents of Harare often come to Binga to enjoy its sand beach, hot springs, boat cruises and recreational fishing. But for most Batonga people, fishing is not a recreational activity – it is their means of survival. To sustain what has historically been their primary source of income, however, they are now required to pay.
Fishermen in Binga believe these levies should be decreased.
“Many locals cannot afford the US$1,200 fees required [for the fishing permit],” says Givemore Gwafa, a chairperson of the Binga Fisheries Association, a membership-based local trade union that represents fishermen. “This is a barrier to many current and aspirant fishermen.”
Civic society groups have expressed and called for the government to relax its licensing process to accommodate more Batonga fishermen.
Cooperatives
Since the 1980s some Batonga from Binga and Kariba have formed cooperatives under the Ministry of Women Affairs, Community, Small and Medium Enterprises to apply for permits from ZimParks.
Tapiwa Mateiswana (40), a Tonga from Shangwe in Kariba, started fishing in 1991, working for rig owners from Harare. But in 2019, he got his own rig and a permit through a cooperative.
“I have been applying as individual several times with no success,” he said, sitting at an old resort-turned-harbour for fishing rigs on the shore of Zambezi in Binga.
The father of 14 children sits barefoot on a wooden stool, wearing brown shorts and a pink shirt. He holds a spanner in his right hand as he talks, determined to finish servicing the diesel-powered engine of his fishing rig before night falls.
He explains that the cooperative system has paid off for him.
“In 2019, we were advised to join hands and apply for the fishing permits as a cooperative. We were lucky we got the licences,” he said, smiling.
While fishermen in Binga say they struggle to get even single permits, Munsaka said he knows of some people from the city who have several permits per person.
“These people from the city have money, some are businesspeople. They just apply and get the licences.
They have the money to have as many fishing vessels as possible.
It is sad that the Batonga people are failing to get even one licence while some rich people from the city can get as many as they want,” he says.
But Clever Mutondori, who relocated to Binga in 2010 from Marondera, about 70km outside Harare, told Al Jazeera that he faced the same struggle as the locals when trying to get a fishing permit.
“I ventured into fishing by buying from local fishermen and resale in Bulawayo and Harare.
I wanted to raise money to buy my own fishing rig. I bought a second-hand rig in 2011 and started fishing in 2012.
“I then started buying several fishing rigs. By December 2014, I had 12 fishing rigs,” said Mutondori.
“The permits I used were all on lease …
‘It was tough to get permits because the authorities tried to minimise the number of fishermen. In 2015, I finally got the fishing permits with assistance from a local chief.”
ZimParks’ Farawo said granting licences to everyone who applies would threaten conservation.
“We risk overfishing. There is a need to make decisions based on scientific assessments. Kariba alone has 275 commercial licences for Zimbabweans and 225 for Zambians,” he says.
“All local headmen have fishing licences and most members of the community belong to cooperatives.
“However, some that have received licences have hired them to other people.”
Making a living from fishing
Munsaka and Mateiswana have been able to look after their families from incomes generated from the fishing industry.
Mateiswana said he uses the profits to pay the school fees for his children “as well as buying all other essentials for the family”.
“I am glad that with this business I am able to make sure that none of my children goes to bed with an empty stomach,” he said.
Fishing is Munsaka’s only source of income.
“In a good month, I can get about 16 bags of kapenta with each bag weighing 30kgs,” he said.
But over the years, overfishing has affected his catch.
“I remember in 2017 when I started renting this fishing rig and permit, I would get about 30 bags with each weighing 30kgs of kapenta in April. But in April 2021, I got about 12 bags of kapenta,” he said.
From the 16 bags he gets today, he says he gives 10 to the fishing vessel owner and keeps the last six for himself to sell.
“There is not much profit. But I have no choice as I want to put food on the table for my family.”
Munsaka says his kapenta attracts buyers from as far away as Bulawayo and Harare.
“We sell our catch to people in Binga and to those from Harare and Bulawayo at wholesale prices.”
He has even employed three people, a captain and two crew members.
But with a reduced catch, he sometimes struggles to pay his workers. “Worse is budgeting the $1,200 for the annual fishing permit,” he added.
Binga Fisheries Association’s Gwafa says fishing produce has gone down over the years due to a number of factors from overfishing, poachers and poor conversation between the fishermen.
He says their counterparts in Zambia often drift into Zimbabwean waters, affecting the conservation efforts of the locals.
“Some fishermen with nets disturb these breeding places. Once the process is disturbed, our production goes down.”
‘I am related to these waters’
Sibanda, the MP for Binga North, describes how, before they were moved in the 1950s and before state regulations for fishing were introduced, the tribe had its own way of practising sustainable fishing and preserving the natural resources.
“The resettlement changed everything,” he said.
“It is not like that we the Batonga never knew how to conserve fish. We knew. The laws that came into place changed the manner we looked at conservation.”
Sibanda said that for the Batonga people to once again benefit from fishing there is a need for the devolution of some decision-making power from the national to the provincial level.
This would empower local authorities to spearhead economic and social development projects in their areas by leveraging local resources.
“We need to make sure that the laws are decided at the level they are implemented.
“We allow the people that are surrounded by the resources to be the people who help in deciding the crafting of the law as well as its implementation,” he said.
“If the Batonga people are to benefit from the fish that God gave them, the board that decides on the fishing laws and the board that give the fishing licences should be controlled by people that are in Binga rather than from Harare.”
For Munsaka, he still hopes that one day the authorities will grant him a licence.
“I am related to these waters,” he said. “I will keep on renting the permit until I get mine, I will never give up.” Aljazeera
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Zimbabwe fights a losing battle against illegal Chinese plastics
Published
5 days agoon
March 4, 2025By
VicFallsLive
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.
“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.
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.”
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.”
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.
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.
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.
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.
“We’re profit-oriented. It’s all about saving materials and keeping prices competitive.”
Tatenda Murwira, a manager at Colour Maximal
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.
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.
“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.
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.
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.
“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.
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.
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
Published
3 weeks agoon
February 19, 2025By
VicFallsLive
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.
“Without this support, the chances of defaulting on treatment because of monetary constraints would have been significantly higher,” she says.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
“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
Published
1 month agoon
January 30, 2025By
VicFallsLive
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.
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.
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.
“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.
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.
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.
Today, he says, there is a third category: antimicrobial resistance.
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.
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.
But like most other problems, it doesn’t hurt equally.
The drivers of AMR are most prevalent in all but the richest countries.
“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.
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
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.
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.
“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.”
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.
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.
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.
“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.
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.
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.
“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.
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.
The report notes over-reliance on a few available drugs, even when they are not the primary choice for treatment.
The wrong Rx
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.
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.
“The thing is that here in Puerto Rico, there is a belief that any little thing can be solved with antibiotics,” she says.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
“The quality of life of patients with UTI just keeps decreasing,” Adhikari says.
‘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.
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.
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.
Soap, she says, can be more effective than the most powerful antibiotic.
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.”
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.
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.
Even routine surgeries won’t be possible, he says.
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.”
Some interviews were translated from Spanish, Mongolian and Nepali.
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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