By Tendai Makaripe
In the hushed tones of life’s resilience and hope, one finds the tale of young Melisa Madanga.
An adolescent girl of fifteen years, residing in the humble community of Chikomba, nuzzled within the heart of Mashonaland East Province, Zimbabwe, she wears the many layers of a life not fully lived.
While others her age would be busy with the hustle and bustle of teenage years, Melisa’s world has been coloured by an affliction that denies her the normality of adolescence.
Her story began six years ago, in 2017 when she was but a third-grader.
From an age when dreams are woven and the world is an oyster of opportunities, a mysterious health condition presented itself as an ominous cloud.
It began as a deep, festering wound on her left thigh, just behind the knee, an unexpected intruder that brought turmoil not meant for such young years.
Days turned into weeks, then months and years, the wound stubbornly persisting.
Like an uninvited guest, it took residence, a towel always in tow for Melisa, to clean the pus oozing uncontrollably from the depths of the wound.
Life is often unfair, but in Melisa’s case, it was brutally so.
From the wound emerged tiny pieces of bone, a horrifying spectacle, the stuff of nightmares manifesting in the waking world.
As a testament to her unending struggle, her leg now carries the scars of the past, a slight deformity visible as she limps, each step a testament to her unspoken resilience.
Look into Melisa’s eyes, and one will witness a sadness that a 15 -year-old shouldn’t know.
Her life is touched by a premature melancholy that paints her youthful vibrancy with shades of despair. The sparkle that should be there is replaced by the dull glaze of lost hope, the echoes of her dreams drowned by the harsh reality of her life’s battle.
Once she confessed to one of her teachers at Chimowa Secondary School, Chikomba District, Annamaria Makamure, the weight of her pain expressed in her whispering voice: “There’s no need for me to read, I’m counting down my days. After all, who survives cancer?”
In the thick woven beliefs of culture and tradition, Melisa’s tale takes an unfortunate turn, twisting around a lattice of deeply rooted religious beliefs.
For years, the Madanga family held back from seeking medical help, entrusting their child’s fate to their faith and the power of prayer.
Days of earnest prayer stretched into months, then years, but Melisa’s painful reality remained unaltered, an unyielding mountain casting a vast shadow over her young life.
It was not until 2020 that Melisa first visited a clinic, her condition so critical that even faith could no longer turn a blind eye to her suffering.
She was quickly referred to a hospital, a beacon of hope in her relentless storm.
But the family stood at the crossroads of emotions – the gnawing fear of the unknown, the struggle of their faith, the daunting financial constraints.
The prospect of hospitalisation was put aside, and Melisa’s silent pleas for relief echoed unanswered in the corridors of time.
As the grim situation worsened, they turned to traditional remedies, clutching at the straws of hope. Herbs, the ancient whispers of healing, were administered, but they too failed to subdue the relentless torment.
The Madanga family found themselves in the grip of a prophecy – a chilling prognosis from the local prophets.
The word ‘Nhuta’ – an affliction in the Shona belief, resonated in the air around them, a haunting echo in the quiet nights.
The unthinkable was spoken the potential amputation of Melisa’s leg.
The following year, 2022, saw Melisa returning to the clinic, her frail form an embodiment of her struggle. This time, she was referred again to a hospital.
The barriers of religious belief had crumbled under the weight of Melisa’s condition, leaving only the obstacle of financial constraints.
Their resources, including their livestock, had been spent on traditional remedies that had yielded no comfort.
The family found themselves stripped bare, left only with the desperate desire to see their child well again.
Her mother, worn down by the years of torment, regarded this turn of events with a weary gaze.
She saw it as a means to buy time, her heart filled with dread at the inevitable.
She anticipated the worst, that her beloved child’s life was approaching its end.
The specter of death had begun to weave its way into their lives, its chilling touch casting a shadow over their every waking moment.
The hope that once held them was fading, replaced with a foreboding acceptance of the tragic inevitability.
“Mwana wangu ari kuita sehuku irikuchekwa nebanga rakagomarara, ichirwadziswa kwenguva refu asi ichizongofa hayo,” (My child is like a hen being cut by a blunt knife, enduring pain for a long time but seemingly destined to die nonetheless) Melisa’s mother always told close relatives.
“I first became aware of her condition in 2022 when she was in Form 1. Until then, we had merely assumed that she was disabled and that was all. I brought her situation to the attention of the school head and requested permission to speak with her parents,” said Melisa’s teacher Makamure.
She explained how the parents were agreeable to receiving help if offered, consenting that their daughter be taken to the hospital.
“We tried seeking assistance from several organizations, but all attempts proved fruitless. Then came the day at Sengwe shops, where the Honorable Minister (Felix) Mhona was addressing a large crowd. I sought permission from the school head to take the girl to the gathering after asking her parents if they were comfortable with the idea. The permission was granted, and we both attended the rally.
“We were fortunate enough to have a one-on-one conversation with the Minister and explained the situation and the challenges we were facing. He was deeply moved by our story and assured us he would help the girl receive the necessary medical care. He also generously provided us with some money to buy groceries for the family.”
Mhona then instructed that the girl be brought to Harare to see the doctors as soon as the schools closed for the April holidays.
“This was the most encouraging news we had received,” she said.
Melisa found herself at the doorstep of a private doctor, a new chapter in her unyielding battle against pain.
The doctor, understanding the severity of her condition, immediately requested a series of tests and X-rays.
The words echoed in the stark white room: Chronic Osteomyelitis.
An infection that had quietly gnawed at her bones, born of an innocent incident in 2017 when Melisa had fallen while in the midst of a playful moment.
The revelation was a striking reminder of how even the smallest of incidents can ripple into life-altering waves.
Further consultations led her to the doors of Parirenyatwa Group of Hospitals to see a specialist.
Medical science cast its vast net, operating twice on Melisa, while a flurry of tests sought the shadowy specter of bone cancer.
The wait was agonizing, yet the results brought a sigh of relief.
The wound, the relentless nemesis that had tormented Melisa for years, was not cancerous.
Nor was there cancer in her bones.
April was a month lost in the sterile smell of hospitals and the empathetic gazes of doctors.
Melisa remained under their vigilant care; the school’s call was answered by the empty chair she left behind. When the schools reopened their doors in May, Melisa couldn’t return, her body still wrestling with pain and medical appointments looming over her days.
Eventually, she joined her peers, yet her life was punctuated by hospital visits, each day a balance between normalcy and medical vigilance.
As for the medical bills, they hung over the family like an ominous cloud.
The procedures were exorbitantly priced, each bill a stark reminder of the healthcare system’s toll on the economically challenged.
The promise made by Honorable Minister Mhona, though noble, seemed like a distant dream.
The numbers were daunting; from the beginning to the present, the total expenditure on Melisa’s treatment amounted to an overwhelming USD $4 000 which Mhona has cleared.
Development Coordinator for Chikomba East Constituency Lovemore Masunungure said: “Normally, Honorable Mhona is not comfortable giving comments to the press when he would have assisted people because people are quick to link the assistance to politics since he is a political figure. However, he is happy to have contributed to Mellisa’s improvement and wishes her all the best as she continues with her education.”
Melissa’s father, Jeremiah Madanga is a happy man.
“I am so grateful to honorable Mhona for what he did for my daughter. We had lost hope but he strengthened us and gave us the help we never expected from anyone.
The young girl has recovered tremendously and is back in school but the only challenge is to make her really believe that she does not have cancer since a lot of bush doctors had made her trust that.
