REPORTS from Mashonaland West paint a grim and deeply troubling picture.  

The province is facing a critical shortage of frontline malaria medication and therapeutic nutritional feeds at a time when cases are surging. 

Five lives have already been lost. 

Cumulative malaria cases have climbed to 1 203 since January 2026.  

Behind those statistics are grieving families, overwhelmed clinics and communities left vulnerable to a preventable and treatable disease. 

Health authorities in the province say they have run out of key Artemether/Lumefantrine 20mg/120mg blister packs — the standard treatment for uncomplicated malaria in patients weighing between 5kg and 25kg.  

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In simple terms, children are among those most exposed. 

This is not just a provincial crisis.  

Mashonaland West is a microcosm of a national emergency that long unfolded across Zimbabwe.  

Drug shortages, erratic supply chains and under-resourced facilities are becoming the norm rather than the exception. 

At the heart of the problem is chronic underfunding. 

For years, Zimbabwe’s health sector has leaned heavily on donor support to sustain essential programmes targeting malaria, HIV and Aids, tuberculosis and maternal health.  

That model was always fragile.  

When the United States scaled down funding for foreign programmes, the cracks widened.  

What had been masked by external support was suddenly exposed: a domestic funding structure too weak to stand on its own. 

But external shocks alone cannot shoulder the blame. 

Zimbabwe is a signatory to the Abuja Declaration, the landmark African Union pledge committing member States to allocate at least 15% of their annual national budgets to health.  

The declaration was meant to strengthen health systems and reduce dependency on donors.  

Yet, more than two decades later, Zimbabwe has consistently fallen short of that benchmark. 

Treasury’s failure to meet the 15% target is not a technical oversight.  

It is a political choice — one that carries life-and-death consequences. 

When clinics run out of essential malaria medicine during an outbreak, that is not just a supply chain problem. 

It is a budgeting problem.  

When therapeutic nutritional feeds are unavailable for vulnerable patients, that is not an administrative hiccup. 

It is a policy failure. 

Zimbabweans are already paying for healthcare through various levies and so-called “sin taxes” on alcohol, tobacco and other goods.  

Citizens have shown remarkable tolerance for these taxes, largely because they are told the funds will support the health sector.  

But tolerance depends on trust. 

If levies meant for health are diverted, delayed or absorbed into the broader fiscus without clear accountability, public confidence erodes.  

Ring-fencing health levies is no longer optional; it is essential. 

The government must urgently increase direct funding to the health sector and prioritise procurement of essential medicines.  

Emergency allocations should be considered to address the immediate malaria outbreak in Mashonaland West and other affected provinces.  

Beyond the crisis response, there must be structural reform — predictable financing, transparent expenditure tracking and strict accountability for every dollar collected in the name of health. 

Malaria is preventable. It is treatable.  

No child should die because a blister pack is missing from a clinic shelf. 

The shortage in Mashonaland West is a warning siren.  

If ignored, it will not only cost more lives, but also undo years of fragile progress in disease control. 

Healthcare cannot remain an afterthought in national budgeting.  

It must become a central pillar of governance. 

Because when medicine runs out, excuses are not a substitute for treatment.