Mental health refers to one’s emotional, psychological and social well- being. It affects how one thinks, feels and behaves and it also determines how one can handle stress, relate to others and make decisions and choices. Thus, good mental health enables you to deal with life’s challenges, realise your potential and abilities, learn and work well, contribute to your community as well as form and maintain healthy relationships. Mental health is an important part of one’s well-being, yet it is one of the most misunderstood and stigmatized aspects of health. It is therefore vital to explore what mental health issues are, why they matter and how societies can better address them.

According to WHO more than one billion people globally live with a mental health condition, making it one of the leading causes of disability worldwide. In Zimbabwe it is a common thing to find mentally challenged people roaming the streets. It is worrisome to note that many more people succumb to stress and depression due to social and economic reasons. Experts describe mental health as a public health emergency, with rising rates of depression, anxiety and stress- related disorders found across all age groups.

Common mental health issues comprise depression, that is persistent sadness, loss of interest, fatigue and lack of sleep that affect one’s daily life. Anxiety disorders emanating from excessive worry, panic attacks and other physical symptoms like rapid mood changes and violence depict mental health challenges. Some people struggle with mental health as a result of drug abuse and substance use. I have witnessed disheartening incidences of people struggling with mental health issues. At my workplace some student teachers have to postpone their studies in order to seek medication as a result of substance use. Even when they return to resume their studies, you can still see that they would be vulnerable and struggling. At one point we had a female student who was raped while on work integrated learning. Although the culprit was arrested and the girl received counseling and medical treatment, the traumatizing incident left an undetectable mark on her well-being.

There is also the sad case of a colleague’s son who committed suicide after completing his Advanced Level. Unknown to his parents, he had been struggling with drug and substance abuse. The heart wrecking incident of a fellow congregant who returned home from church to find his son who had been struggling with drug addiction), having set fire to the entire homestead, struck and murdered his pregnant wife with a matchet and then burnt the body. The mother had to flee for dear life together with her three grandchildren (children of the man who had killed his wife). Mental health issues are not merely an individual problem, they also affect families and the society at large.

They say prevention is better than cure. Healthy lifestyle approaches are necessary. It is therefore imperative to exercise self-care strategies such as mindfulness and meditation. This helps to reduce stress and increase self-awareness. Exercising boosts mood and it is essential for one to have adequate sleeping time. One also needs to have healthy eating habits and avoid loneliness by building and maintaining healthy relationships and community ties.

Early intervention is important. There is need to be one’s brother’s keeper. Recognizing symptoms of health challenges and seeking professional help early is important. Expanding affordable therapy, counseling and community-based support is very important. It is also important to reduce stigma through open conversations in order to normalize mental health struggles. I remember one of our students who had just returned from receiving therapy for drug addiction, coming to my office with a notebook saying, “Mam, I want to learn to write books like you do. Here is what I got from the library.” He read to me what appeared to be lacking coherence but I praised him so as to boost his confidence and then gave him the advice he needed. He left a contended young man and I felt that I had assisted him well without showing any stigmatization.

Mental health issues are therefore not just personal struggles, they are societal challenges that require collective action. By providing the awareness, accessibility and compassion, communities can foster resilience and ensure that mental health is treated with the same urgency and respect as physical health. Mental health is a prerequisite for everyone.

By Perpetua Gonese

Social Handles

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POEM:

Arise and claim your throne

You, a queen that has fallen

The one with the buried kingdom and forgotten the throne

You, who surrendered her strength to the struggle

The pain cut off your wings

You could not fly

You stayed on the ground

Let go of the passion you possessed

Buried the dreams and wishes.

Arise and chase dreams

You, the dreamer who gave in

To the pressure of planet earth

Spiraling you to a life of no hope

The heat convinced you that you didn’t belong

That you were nothing but basic

So you curved in

Just to fit in.

Arise and love again

You, whose heart has been shattered

Mishandled by those you gave yourself to

The one’s who could not love your heart

The soul you poured out

Into a bottomless cup

So you took back your care

Stone cold

You locked away your heart.

POEM By : Nonsikelelo Moyo

Social media: Facebook

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FemaleHood

Being a woman is learning
how to exist loudly
in a world that prefers you quiet.

It is carrying questions in your body,
answers in your silence,
and still choosing softness.

It is remembering yourself
even when the world tries to name you first.

It is becoming,
every single day,
without permission.

– By AJ Pearl

aka Aisosa Joseph

Instagram: SheIsAJPearl

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I’m not a joke, I’m human too,
With feelings that are real and true,
I care and love, I feel and see,
And my emotions are a part of me.

Don’t reduce me to a jest or play,
I’m a person with feelings every day,
I have a heart that beats and loves,
And words that hurt can leave their doves.

It’s okay if you think like that,
But know that my feelings are where I am at,
I’m still a person, with hopes and fears,
And kindness can calm my tears.

I breathe and live, I laugh and cry,
I have a soul that’s sensitive and high,
I feel the pain, I feel the joy,
And my emotions are a part of my employ.

Don’t dismiss me, don’t make me small,
I’m a human being, with feelings that enthrall,
I have a voice, I have a heart,
And words of kindness can make us never part.
So let’s be kind, let’s be real,

Let’s treat each other with love and feel,
For we’re all humans, with hearts that ache,
And words of kindness can make us awake.

Let’s walk this path, with empathy and care,
Let’s lift each other, with love and share,
For we’re all in this, together as one,
And kindness can make our journey just begun.

It’s okay if you think like that,
But know that my feelings are where I am at,
I’m still a person, with hopes and dreams,
And kindness can make my heart beam.

By: Grace Banda

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The 20 y/o girl I used to be.

If I could find you now, where would you be? In the sterile, chilled air of the oncology ward, listening to the steady drip-drip-drip of the poison that is also your salvation? Or are you in a university library, your head swimming with formulas and theories, a beanie pulled low over the hair that is no longer there, trying to convince the world and yourself that you are just like any other student?

I see you. I see you with a clarity that time has carved into my bones. I am writing to you from a decade in your future. Ten years. You, who was told to get your affairs in order, who was handed a hospice referral like a life sentence. You would not believe that we are still here.

But first, I need to tell you that I miss you. I know how strange that sounds. You are right here, in my memories, in the very blood that still courses through my veins. But I miss your specific kind of fire. I miss the way you set your jaw when the doctor said the word “cancer.” I miss the sheer, terrifying ambition that made you get out of a hospital bed, dizzy from chemo, and walk onto campus. You saw that degree as a golden ticket, the only way out of the poverty that haunted our childhood. It was more than a degree… It was a promise to ourselves, our family, a shield, a future. And when the diagnosis came, it felt like that promise was being ripped from your hands. You couldn’t accept that. So you entered a tug-of-war with death itself, with a blurry, uncertain future as the prize.

You were so beautiful in your defiance. It wasn’t a loud, dramatic beauty. It was a quiet, stubborn one. The beauty of showing up. The beauty of your stubborn faith.

Do you remember the physical cost? The weight loss that made your clothes hang like ghosts on your frame? The neuropathy in your fingers and feet that made typing an essay feel like climbing a mountain? The physical disability that left you mourning for what was once there? The exhaustion that was more than just tiredness… it was a lead blanket on your soul, a gravity seven times stronger than anyone else’s. You didn’t care. Or rather, you cared, but you refused to let it be the boss of you. Day after day, with the veins filled with the red devil’s poison, you hopped to class with your crutches – every step you took screamed I am here for a purpose – and a purpose you fulfilled.

All you wanted was to live your life as if you weren’t dying. As if you weren’t, at nineteen, being handed pamphlets on palliative care. You went to class with a port attached to your body. You studied between bursts of nausea and chest pains. You laughed with friends, your laughter sometimes a thin veil over a bedrock of fear. You were a masterpiece of courage, and you didn’t even know it. You thought you were just surviving – after all, you had no choice (so you thought).

I need you to know something. That fight you were in? You won.

You got your degree. You finished it in record time, a fact that still astounds me to date. You defied every grim statistic, every whispered prognosis. You lived to see the other side of that “blurry future.” The woman I am today is built on the foundation you laid with your pain, your courage, your sheer, bloody-minded will.

We have come so far. We have achieved so much. We have loved, we have traveled, we have built a life. There are so many blessings, moments of joy so sharp and sweet they still make you weep. I list them in my head sometimes, like counting jewels… Waking up without pain. A cup of coffee that tastes good. The sun on my face. The degree, framed on the wall. These are the victories you made possible.

And yet. This is the hard part to write. This is the part where I have to be as honest with you as you were with yourself in that hospital room. I am tired, my love. I am so, so exhausted.

The battle didn’t end when the scans came back clear. It just changed shape and location. Now, it’s a different kind of war. It’s the war of aftermath. The war of “what now?” The war of chronic pain that has overstayed its welcome, of hormones that rage like a storm inside me, medications with side effects that feel like a new disease. It’s the endless parade of hospital visits… not for crisis, but for maintenance. For monitoring. It’s the isolation that comes from living in a body that has been to war while your peers’ bodies have been on vacation.

Some days, the lead blanket of exhaustion you wore temporarily has become my permanent state. I tell myself, “Think positively… You’re alive…” But my body doesn’t listen. The pain doesn’t listen. The negative energy is a bubble I can’t pop, and it’s not easy to escape. Some mornings, the greatest achievement is the Herculean effort it takes to move my limbs from the bed to the floor.

I look for you in these moments. I search for that nineteen-year-old who fought death for a chance to sit in a lecture hall. I long for her strength. I feel like I’ve lost her, that the years have sanded her down into this weary, overwhelmed woman. I never thought, after all this time, that the battle would feel so familiar – like moving in circles.

But here is what I am learning, from my vantage point ten years ahead of you. Your strength didn’t vanish. It transformed. Your fight then was external, against a visible enemy… a malignant tumor, a disease. It was a sprint of sheer will. My fight now is more internal. It’s a marathon against the echoes of that war. It’s the management of the fallout. And my dear, a marathon requires a different kind of endurance. It requires pacing. It requires knowing that it’s okay to walk sometimes. To know that it is okay to take one step at a time. To rest when need be.

You fought to build a life. Now, I am learning how to live in it – as I am now, now as what I thought I would be now.

When you chose education over surrender, you weren’t just being stubborn. You were making a statement: “My life is mine.” You were claiming your identity back from the disease. I need to do that again, now. I need to find small, daily ways to claim my life from the pain, the fatigue, the overwhelm, the treatments, the recurrences… all of it.

Maybe it’s not about finding your old strength, but about recognizing that the strength I have now is just as valid. The strength to rest without guilt. The strength to say, “I am not okay today,” and to mean it. The strength to mourn… for the beautiful, ambitious 19-year-old you were, and for the woman we thought we would become. It’s okay to mourn them. It’s necessary. They are beautiful ghosts, and we must honor them before we can fully embrace the woman we have become.

You were a warrior in the bright light of crisis. I am a gardener in the quiet, slow dawn of survival, tending to the scarred but fertile soil you left me.

So, thank you. Thank you for fighting so hard for this future, even when it felt hopeless. Thank you for every class you attended, every page you turned, every tear you swallowed. You did it. You gave us a life. I won’t promise you that it will all be easy from here. That would be a lie. But I can promise you this… it is definitely worth it. The joy is worth the pain. The peace is worth the struggle. And the love is worth the loss.

You taught me that the will to live is not just about the heart beating in your chest, but about the soul firing in your eyes. You taught me that life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass… it’s about learning to dance in the rain, even if the dance is slow and painful.

When I can’t get out of bed, I will try to remember the feel of a textbook in your hands. When the pain is overwhelming, I will remember the fire in your belly that burned hotter than any fever. I will draw a line from your courage then to my perseverance now.

We are the same person, you and I. The same relentless and stubborn spirit in different seasons of the same storm. You are not a stranger I’ve lost. You are the seed from which I grew. I am still here because you refused to give up. And I, in your honor, will refuse to give in.

With all my love, and all the strength you lent me,
Your Older Self

Story written by: Mutshidzi

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I grew up in the Cape Flats, a place where skin was a map of worth, and mine was written in the darkest ink. My hair, thick, untamed, spiraled toward the heavens—was branded as a curse, the emblem of poverty. From the beginning, my parents whispered warnings: “You will not look like the rest in your class.” They tried to prepare me for the jeers, for the loneliness. But nothing could shield me from the sting of small fists and sharp words, the daily crucifixion of a child whose only crime was to carry the color of her ancestors.

In our streets, light skin was worshiped like a fragile god, and straight hair held the throne. The children around me were already disciples of a history that had brainwashed their families into self-denial. Teachers tried to remind us that we were all Africans, yet their words fell into soil already poisoned. Parents hissed back: “Our children are not African—they are coloured.” And the lie continued to blossom, strangling truth like weeds in dry ground.

By the time I entered high school, my body itself had become a shadow that boys recoiled from. None dared to walk beside me, as though my presence would stain them. Some spoke their cruelty aloud, saying they could never bear children with me, for their offspring would look like “Bantus”—their word for black, wielded like a blade. Their rejection, strangely, became my refuge. Where others sought affection, I found sanctuary in silence, pouring my exile into journals. Line by line, I began to stitch my own destiny, my eyes fixed on the faraway gates of the University of Cape Town.

From Grade 1 to Grade 7, my childhood was a battlefield. The blows of classmates carved wounds not only in my skin but in my spirit. There were mornings when I begged the heavens to release me from school, when despair wrapped itself around me like a shroud. Yet my parents armed me differently. My mother, warrior in her own right, would say: “The  weak fight violence with violence. The strong fight with the Word of God, and with words on paper.”

And so I chose the weapon of the unseen. In secrecy, I became a soldier of ink, fighting not with fists but with sentences, waging war in silence. My scars became my scripture, and my journal, the altar where I laid down every pain.

Story by: Lendy

Social handle:

Facebook

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We all made mistakes
We are human
We are of flash
People made of soil
God, the Almighty, is the creator
But to what do we owe this world
To what should we give to show gratitude?
To what depth can the remembrance prove how proud we are to be his own.
We all made mistakes because we are human
The prayer would be to refrain from digging too deeply into the wrongs.

A human of love,
A human of care,
A human of honesty,
A human of patience,
We all make mistakes; however, we are of soil.

God is love
God is kind,
God is forgiving
God, the Almighty, is the creator
We all made mistakes
We are human
We are of flash
People made of soil
But to what do we owe this world
Amidst all questions, he still is God and forgives
We are humans.

By:Lerato

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My name is Grace Banda, and I’m thrilled to share my story with you. Growing up, I faced numerous challenges that tested my resolve and character. However, with God’s grace, I’m here today to share my journey of resilience, faith, and triumph.

One of the most significant challenges I faced was finding my purpose and passion. I struggled to identify what I wanted to do with my life, and I often felt lost and uncertain. However, with the support of my loved ones and mentors, I discovered my passion for writing and through communication.

As I pursued my passion, I encountered numerous obstacles, including self-doubt, fear, and criticism. There were times when I felt like giving up, but I refused to let my challenges define me. Instead, I chose to use them as opportunities to grow, learn, and become stronger.

I remember when I first started writing, I was terrified of what others would think. I was afraid of being rejected, being criticized, or judged. However, I didn’t let my fear hold me back. I continued to write, and with each passing day, I grew more confident and determined.

Through my journey, I’ve learned valuable lessons about perseverance, faith, and the importance of never giving up. I’ve come to realize that our struggles are not unique, but our responses to them can be. We can choose to let our challenges break us, or we can use them
as opportunities to grow, learn, and become stronger.

I’ve also learned the importance of surrounding myself with positive influences and supportive people. My loved ones, mentors, and friends have been instrumental in my journey, providing me with encouragement, guidance, and support.

To every girl out there, I want you to know that you’re not alone. The world may be full of challenges and doubters, but don’t let that hold you back. You’re stronger than you think, and you’re capable of overcoming anything. Keep pushing forward, and never lose faith in yourself
and your abilities.

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In our fast-paced, digital-driven world, the line between what’s real and artificial grows thinner by the day. We’re bombarded with all the  information, yet the truth is elusive. How do we trust our senses when our eyes and minds compete with the persuasive power of technology? It’s a question that haunts us, as we go through a reality increasingly governed by screens and algorithms.

We wake up with our smartphones in our hands, their screens the first light of day. They are the last thing we see at night before we fall asleep, a glowing lifeline in a sea of digital noise. But what does this constant connection mean for our understanding of reality? Are we hypnotized, or simply addicted to the endless scroll? The distinction is blurred, much like the line between artificial and real.

In this tech-dominated age, it’s challenging to discern our own thoughts from those generated by machines. AI can mimic human creativity, leaving us questioning our worth and originality. If a machine can pen a poem or write an article, what does that say about our place in this new world? It’s a sad realization, one that demands introspection and a reevaluation of our values.

We find ourselves in a time where chaos and confusion are not mere accidents but symptoms of a deeper crisis. Our reliance on technology has distanced us from the tangible world, leading to a societal disconnection that’s as profound as it is unsettling. Have we lost sight of what makes us human, of our ability to discern, to feel, to connect?

But here’s the truth we keep missing… life isn’t infinite. That’s the thing that could save us, the reminder to put the phone down, to look up, to hold on to what’s real. Tech isn’t the enemy, but we can’t let it steal our humanity. So what’s next? Maybe it starts with a
single breath. A choice. A step back into our own lives.

From: Mutshidzi

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“There comes a time in life, A time of death, grief and weeping, And the clock does not stop ticking, For life goes on”

My name is Anathi Kom. I am 22 years old. I am from Butterworth in the Eastern Cape province. I recently graduated from the University of Fort Hare with a Bachelor of Science degree in Animal Production. I am also the author of the poetry book titled The Tree Of Life. My book is about my life experiences. I come from a poor background. I lost my mother when I was 8 years old and was raised by my grandmother. I was sexually abused at the age of 18, and because of that, I conceived. I learned to forgive and let go so that I could love and care for my daughter. The book aims to heal souls, ignite hope, and teach people the importance of forgiving, letting go, and moving on.

What brought me to writing was finding solace and strength in it. I didn’t feel alone when I wrote on paper and expressed myself. For me, writing was a tool I used to pour out my sorrows and motivate myself through affirmations. Publishing wasn’t the aim initially. However, I entered a short story competition run by Published Afrika Magazine and won third place. The co-founder, Sukoluhle Ntokozo Mdlongwa, read my work and told me that their publishing company would sponsor me under their Adopt-An-Author Programme. They collected my poems and turned them into an anthology, believing that the poems tell stories and aim to heal, which reflect my life experiences.

I published the book when I was 19. On July 31, 2023, I was honored at the 6th African Global Honoree Author’s Awards 2023 for my book. I have also garnered numerous accolades as a result of my writing journey. I have also been part of many books because I have won competitions. An achievement I hold dear is that I was one of 66 poets from 50 different countries to be part of an international poetry book titled Tranquility.

I was awarded the Local Hero of 2023 for the work I do in my community. In 2024, I received a Leadership, Advocacy, and All-Rounder Award from This Girl Wins. I love involving myself in volunteering work; in varsity, I was a Wellness Leader for 2023/24, a Gender-Based unit called Prevention Unit Champion for 2023/24, and a volunteer at the Disability Unit.

I founded two initiatives: Women Empowering Women UFH and Growing Together in Writing UFH. Those programs not only helped me grow but also positively impacted the lives of my fellow students. The Women Empowering Women UFH group was a small initiative aimed at uniting female students at UFH. The group had over 500 participants from East London and Alice campus, where we supported each other with sanitary pads, food, clothes, and motivation. Growing Together In Writing UFH was a monthly poetry competition for UFH students passionate about writing and poetry. It aimed to enhance their literary skills and provide a platform for self-expression. It was a unique opportunity, the first of its kind at school.

What motivates me to volunteer is the saying “Umntu ngumntu ngabantu”. I believe that when we come together and help each other create positive change in our communities, we impact each other’s lives. Volunteering also helps individuals grow and develop by learning to work with others, being teachable, and developing listening skills. Overall, volunteering enables growth, development, learning, unlearning, and self-improvement. Volunteering has helped me discover my passion and capabilities. I’ve become passionate about giving without expecting anything in return. I’ve also realized I can work under pressure without pay, be consistent, and determined.

Volunteering has given me a voice to express my opinions and stand up for what I believe in.

 Extract from poem titled: ‘Life Goes On’

Life Goes On ~ By Anathi Kom – Sheevolves.world – African

From: Anathi Kom

Socials: Facebook~ Anathi Kom

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