Scramble to contain a cholera crisis in Zambia

Published

2 years ago

January 15, 2024

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Zambia is dealing with one of its worst cholera outbreaks in recent years as 351 people have died and nearly 9,000 active cases have been registered.

Climate change has fuelled heavy rains which have contaminated drinking water in overpopulated and impoverished urban areas, mostly in the capital Lusaka.

Health workers are scrambling to contain a crisis that has the potential to be the worst the country has seen since the first outbreak in 1977.

The sound of crying cuts through the humid air as soil is hastily dug out by a uniformed worker and flung to the side. Among the clutches of tall grass is a burial site with clustered and shallow individual allotments – only marginally better than a mass grave.

The screams of grief are coming from 16-year-old Catherine. Her grandmother Tamara Lungu’s coffin is in one of the new mounds in the soft ground. Tamara was the matriarch of the family at 84 – both Catherine’s guardian and under her care.

She died of cholera in Zambia‘s Heroes National Stadium on 10 January and the family was informed two days later.

Her other older grandchild Nable Nyirongo stands at her grave. It is marked with tree branches so that he and his cousins can find it among the many other fresh graves when they come back to place a signpost. They will not be allowed to have a funeral.

On top of the grief, there is palpable disappointment.

“There’s nothing we can do. At least they have to respect the bodies, I think they’re not giving us respect,” says 50-year-old Nable.

Beyond the graves, Heroes National Stadium can be seen in the distance. Nable was waiting there for days with worried relatives. He was in the front gardens of the stadium reeling from shock when we first met him.

“They told us that she is OK and we were transferred to the waiting room after. Now they are telling me that she’s dead. What is this? We are not happy with what is happening here,” he told us as he waited for his grandmother’s body to be placed in the coffin he purchased.

Other concerned relatives gather beyond the metal barriers of the stadium waiting for any news. A roll call of names is read out periodically to assure them that their infected loved ones are still alive.

One man is seething with anger and sitting on the edge of a dry storm water drain. He says his nephew’s name hasn’t been called out for days and all he wants to know is if he is dead or alive.

Next to him is 59-year-old Hamlet and his daughter Agnes. She says her ageing father has made five trips from out of town to check on her brother – his son.

They said they were taken in on Wednesday to see him and found him well. The next day, they went in to see him but couldn’t find him in any of the wards.

“We will feel better if they tell us whether he is dead or alive,” says Agnes. It is clear the lack of closure is beyond frustrating.

The health minister, Sylvia Masebo, is working on capacity and communication issues as the stadium increasingly becomes a focal treatment centre.

“When we started the first 48 hours it was a challenge. But we have stabilised now and have people who have been employed specifically just to deal with that issue of making sure that from six up to midnight they are looking at issues of families.”

We speak to the minister in the paediatric ward where infants as young as five months old are being treated for cholera.

There are buckets and IV drips by every bed. The floor is wet with bleach. Pained high-pitched cries ring out from corners of the room.

Many of these children come from the highly infected area of Kanyama and nearby districts.

Impoverished neighbourhoods full of flooded streets, shallow wells, pit latrines and open-air food stalls.

Mothers and guardians have been allowed in to sit at their bedsides on the orders of Ms Masebo.

The prohibition of funerals and family burials has remained in place. More emergency rules are being brought in by her ministry that will place health restrictions on public places like bars and open-air food markets.

I ask her how she predicts Zambians will respond to these measures.

“I think what is important is for us to do what needs to be done which we have not done as a country [for] many decades mainly because sometimes politicians we are scared to do what needs to be done, that which is right because you feel you will be unpopular.”

World

‘The drones are always there… like a punishment’: A diary of daily life in Gaza

Published

15 hours ago

August 31, 2025

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'The drones are always there... like a punishment': A diary of daily life in Gaza

“We call drones our loyal friends, because they never leave us.”

Tasneem hears Israeli drones overhead, a constant fact of life in Gaza. It gets into your head, into your chest, she says.

“You can’t think, you can’t sleep. You can’t even be.”

“It’s always there, hanging above our heads, like some kind of punishment,” she says. In the background, the slow, constant buzz of a drone is audible.

“The people here in Gaza know that when the drone gets very low, at this level, something will happen. We all know what that something is… I don’t want to mention it.”

Tasneem al Iwini is 24. Like her peers across the world, she splits her time between work, studying for a master’s degree and spending time with her family of six.

Except she also has to deal with warplanes screaming overhead, rocketing food prices and the possibility that any day could be the last for her or her loved ones as Israel continues its war in Gaza.

To give a sense of what day-to-day life is like for her in Deir al Balah, Tasneem recorded a series of audio diary entries over the course of a week as part of her work with ActionAid and shared them exclusively with Sky News.

Day One: At least I’m still breathing

It’s incredibly hot today, Tasneem says. The kind of heat that makes your skin heavy and your thoughts slower.

I had so many things to do on my plate today, but honestly, I couldn’t move.

There’s no electricity and no fans, no air conditioner. So here I am just laying on my mattress and sweating.

My only relief is my plastic tray. I’m just using it as my personal fan…

I keep waving it back and forth, not to cool the room, but just to trick my brain into thinking I have control over this heat.

Sometimes I close my eyes and imagine I’m somewhere cold, as I actually prefer winter.

But then I hear the buzz of flies and mosquitoes in my ear and I remember this is Gaza, summer 2025. It’s exhausting, but at least I’m still breathing.

Day Two: Rocketing price of food

It’s Friday, which is a special day for us as it is the day we usually wait to cook something special. Today we are cooking maqluba (a traditional dish consisting of meat, rice and fried vegetables).

We haven’t tasted any kind of real protein like meat, chicken or fish for more than three months. I really miss chicken and fish badly.

But even this fake maqluba costs a lot, so many families can’t afford it… vegetables are very expensive.

Before the war we used to cook maqluba with at least four kilos of eggplants, because we are crazy about eggplants and its taste in maqluba . Now, if we manage to cook it with only two eggplants, that’s considered a luxury.

The price of one kilo of eggplant is more than 45 shekels. That’s approximately $12.50. Talking about tomatoes, the price is more than 90 shekels, which is approximately $27 per kilo.

Day Three: The drone reality

Here we go again. Our dear friend, the drone, Tasneem says as a buzzing noise hums in the background.

It just never leaves. It’s always there hanging above our heads like some kind of punishment.

The sound, I don’t even know how to describe it.

It’s not just noise. It gets into your head, into your chest. You can’t think, you can’t sleep, you can’t even be.

It drains something inside you slowly, and yet we live with it every day.

Later on:

Hi again. I’m just recording the gunfire. We are not sure what is happening outside, actually.

I can say that this is almost an every afternoon routine.

Day Four: A message to the world

Today I came across a small community kitchen, one of the very few still functioning.

Because of the current situation, especially the scarcity of food and the near-total blockade on the humanitarian aid, most of these kitchens have shut down…

Tasneem says that just after she left the office, the community kitchen was hit in an Israeli strike.

Three youths were killed, and many children were injured.

Those children were playing around and nearby the kitchen…

This time I went to send a message to the world, with a heavy heart burdened by the challenges and the impossible conditions we live under.

I still hold on to hope that this war will end… Because honestly, here in Gaza, we have lost trust in the world, governments and every actor.

Day Five: How many children must die?

Good evening, dear friends. I don’t really know what to say. I feel like my heart is just a drain.

Yesterday I promised to take you through the rest of my day, but honestly, I came home feeling exhausted…

I bought just two cucumbers, and that cost me $8. Yes, $8 for two cucumbers.

This is what it means to say that even the basics have become impossible to get in Gaza.

I came home, washed the cucumbers and cut them into small pieces so all of us could taste what it feels like to eat cucumber.

Tomatoes are even worse. They are completely unaffordable in the market.

And every time I think about the situation we are living through here in Gaza, I feel like I’m out of patience. I just can’t take more.

How many of us have to die before the world decides to intervene? And how many children must die, not from bombing or shelling, but from starvation and malnutrition?

Today, the telecommunications company in Gaza announced that in the next 24 hours it is expected that internet services will shut down again because of the fuel shortage and because of the occupation, who continue to block fuel from entering the Strip.

And this does not mean losing the internet only. It means patients in the ICUs will lose connection to life. It means ambulances, fridges for medications and blood, even water pumps for both drinking and domestic use will stop working.

I was planning today to come home and study for my final exams, but I just sat there for a moment thinking about our reality.

And I couldn’t, I couldn’t do anything. So instead, I decided to record this for you. This is what Gaza looks like right now.

Day Seven: The cemetery is full… and the horror of jets overhead

There are many types of weapons being used… and here in Gaza, we the people have learned to genuinely distinguish between them.

We know each sound by heart.

For example, we know the sound of the F-16 (fighter jet) very well. We can even guess when it has a target.

It has a special tone, like it’s rushing towards something. There is a tension in the air, and we feel it in our bodies.

Whenever I hear one of them, I swear I feel like this is the last moment of my life. I cover my ears with both hands and run to stay nearby my family, because in this moment my heart tells me, if something happens, let it happen to all of us together.

I know that’s not how it works, but that’s how I cope. That’s the only way I feel some false sense of control…

Sometimes it feels like the pilot is showing off, flying lower over the heads of women, children and civilians, as if to say: “Look at me. I can do this.”

Every time the jets go low, I start praying, I do everything I can as if it is the end of my life.

In another voicenote from the same day, Tasneem talked about her walk to work.

I pass by the cemetery every day. Today, I saw a situation that truly broke my heart.

There was a group of angry people gathered around the person who is responsible for digging graves.

They were shouting, saying the cemetery is completely full, and now they have started opening all the graves without knowing who is buried there and without getting any consent from the families of the dead.

They are placing new dead bodies on the top of the old ones, whether they are men, women or children.

Most people were furious, and honestly, I was so disappointed and heartbroken when I saw this.

This is one of those things I wish I never had to witness, but I wanted to share it with you, because it says so much about how bad things have become.

‘Critical moment’ for Gaza

Tasneem works with the Palestinian NGOs Network in Gaza and has partnered with ActionAid in the UK.

A spokesperson for ActionAid UK said: “Humanitarian workers like Tasneem are risking their lives every day to support and advocate for their fellow Palestinians in Gaza, despite experiencing the same intolerable conditions that they are.

“Just imagine having to go to work when you haven’t had a proper meal in days, knowing that at any moment you could be killed by bombing: that is their daily reality. Yet still, people like Tasneem are bravely speaking out and telling their stories so that the world knows the truth about the horrors they are facing…

“This is a critical moment. It’s time for the world to take meaningful action and use every diplomatic lever available to bring about a permanent ceasefire and end the siege on Gaza immediately so that food and other aid can enter unhindered, rapidly and at scale.”

World

‘The drones are always there… like some sort of punishment’: Woman’s diary of daily life in Gaza

Published

24 hours ago

August 31, 2025

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