A front-line of foreign workers

England is at war with a vicious virus. Wars are dirty and messy, some are surviving the virus, many people are dying, our collective mental health is at stake.Virus do not respect boarders, invisible in their movement, they are the unwelcome visitors, they move into our bodies silently, creeping in as we fight for breath. Viruses cause panic, havoc, distraction, trauma and the poor always pay the heaviest price.

England does not send its best breed to work in care homes and hospitals, so the frontline of this war is being fought by foreign workers, migrants who come to these lands so far away from home in search of a living, so that they can send money home to their families. Because we the diaspora send more money home than any aid budget dangled in our faces.

When most of us in Zimbabwe think about the UK, we probably imagine streets paved of gold, we imagine rich footballers waving their wealth about, huge cars and houses to match, movie stars dazzling us with their fashion, affordable to most of us.

The reality is that the UK does not have enough nurses and doctors, many people in England do not want to hold cleaning and porter jobs, its beneath them, they say, so the gaps are filled by us, foreigners and migrants. Much the same as in South Africa and other countries.

Many nurses and doctors and come from Ghana, Nigeria, India, Pakistan, Philippines, Kenya, Malawi and Zimbabwe. Migrants and foreigners do not have much voice, the system is not inclusive, they are invisible, like a muroora in her in-law’s house. Some of the nurses and care workers who have died from COVID-19 here in the UK are from Zimbabwe. We are grieving.

We are all vulnerable, we are all in fear, as my colleague, Clinical Psychologist Tarisai Bere said, ‘we are learning that our fears can become a true’ I would be lying if I said I was not living in fear. I think about many people had existing health challenges like diabetes, high blood pressure, HIV and asthma, they are even more vulnerable, COVID will not be kind to them. We all fear death.

Still there is something humbling about sharing our own vulnerability with others and how mental health affects us all in our own ways, I think about doctors and nurses who have committed suicide because of the stress of their work, I think about nurses who do not see their children because they are working long hours, children orphaned because mommy died in the hospital she worked in.

As I move around London, fussing over my mask, rushing to get to my hospital, I think about my dear friends in Mbare, friends who have become family. I think about our community champions, Lynn, Maxwell, Caroline, and Rutendo who have been tireless in passing health awareness around the community. I think about Uncle Brav and his love for music/art therapy for children. I miss our workshops deeply, damn if this virus had not taken over our lives, I would have loved to practise yoga with young people at the precinct, I would have loved to sit on ‘Our Mbare’ bench with Chido D Chikwari and just be, because silence heals.

When home sickness becomes too much, I reach out to my brother, Zimbabwean artist, Moffatt Takadiwa, in a world so uncertain we look the arts to help us make sense of our fears, trauma, and resilience, or are we victims our own resilience?

I turn the volume up, Enzol Ishall’s, song ‘Simbisa musana undibereke’ cuts deep. It warms my grieving heart. I turn to Gemma Griffitts, her song ‘My Town’ helps me scream at this virus, I do not want this virus in our towns and villages, it doesn’t belong here, or anywhere.

 My Himba woman art piece by Bulawayo artist, Fortune Mpofu adds fire to my feminist belly. But I am a wounded soldier, there is too death around me, my heart is bruised and I am gasping for air, I am done fighting on the frontline, these masks are uncomfortable, and my hands are pale from washing, my hair is slowly turning into dreadlocks, I wear a colourful duku, as I dig deeper in search of my tradition values. My duku reminds me that I come from something bigger than a virus, or England itself, I come from the great people of Chiota, kwa Madamombe vaera shumba, vanorwisa kusvika zvapera.

Then I turn to prayer.

We who leave our countries to find home elsewhere, we the Zimbabwean diaspora, we who send money home to help with school fees, food, fuel and funerals are also vulnerable, our mental health is at stake. COVID has affected us all, we have been given an opportunity to write one story, it is the story of poverty against a virus, there are no winners here.

 It is the story of African nurses, doctors, cleaners and hospital porters who work long hours in the UK, some have lost their lives in these foreign lands. It is the story of our collective trauma, the tears wept the UK are just as painful as the tears wept in Mbare, Australia or Johannesburg. Depression and anxiety is just as real as COVID-19 virus, they go hand in hand. We are all affected by one trauma, post traumatic stress needs to be addressed in our community, communities that come together, heal together.

Loss and trauma is not new to us, we have been here before with HIV, Ebola, and our economic challenges, many of us in Zimbabwe have at least one relative who lives outside the country but if you dig deeper the grass is not always greener.

Now more than ever we must look out for each other mental health, its that simple text, or call or smile that might make the difference. Sometime those we think are the strongest are often the ones suffering the most. Many men suffer silently, and they are much more vulnerable to suicide. During this difficult time let’s check in on each other that much more, lets check in on the elderly. Let’s look out for those that seek to take advantage of our fears, we are most vulnerable when we desperate. Domestic violence is a real issue during pandemics, mainly associated with financial problems and sometime suicide.

Pandemics do come to an end, they must end, when this lock down is done, and this virus is long gone, I can’t wait to visit my village in Chihota, and my uncles and aunts in Murehwa. Kumusha is where I find peace. I can’t wait to hang out with the community in Mbare again,

I need a hug, I hope we can do hugs again sometime soon

No health without mental health

Dorcas Gwata

Global Health Specialist

London/Zimbabwe