A Martyr Killed by a Myth: When Cancer Was Denied

Disclaimer: This is a true personal testimony shared for awareness. For any health concerns, please consult a qualified healthcare professional

Mpundu valerie

My uncle John never believed in modern medicine. Having grown up with a father who was a herbalist, he thought he had it all figured out.

Never in his life had he set foot in a hospital. According to sources close to him, he was born at home and never had his records taken at the hospital. Any form of sickness, he claimed he could cure. Well, that was just flu and headaches. He was well known in the village as a healer. Uncle John was the kind who would laugh and scorn the man in white. He believed they were wasting their time and, in the end, they would all come back to consult him.

He believed he had unmatched healing power. Inasmuch as he was crude in his own understanding of modern medicine, he never deprived us of an education. It was in school when I started questioning his practice but couldn't confront him. I was an orphan and feared he would chase me away.

A slight sickness, Uncle John would douse you with herbs. You would think he was trying to make spice out of you.

One day he was in a very happy mood. I seized the opportunity. "Uncle, we lost a teacher to cancer at school." He beat the cancer thought outta me. He laughed so hard he had to use a concoction to ease the pain his ribs had suffered. "That is a myth, nothing like that exists," he burst out. It was at that moment I knew we were never to discuss that again, or I would be left homeless.

He took me to his consultation room, which had charts of all ailments. He asked me to look carefully and read thoroughly. "When you find cancer in there, let me know. I will come and open up for you," he said as he locked me in and walked off.

It was around 19:00 when my aunt came and unlocked the door. She barely said a word except, "Never bring that up again." Then one day, our self-proclaimed healer had a small blister on his right leg. He scratched it, and it started developing into a sore that seemed to increase in size each day.

He kept to himself and accused innocent witches, thinking they didn't want him to farm as he always outdid everyone.

What my uncle had was Acral Lentiginous Melanoma (ALM) - a rare and aggressive skin cancer that grows on the soles, palms and under nails. It is the most common melanoma in dark-skinned people.

We all thought it was a blood blister. It started as a small, dark spot on the sole of his right foot. Then it began to enlarge its territory viciously. The borders became irregular and notched, not round like a normal blister.

The colour was variegated patches of dark brown mixed with jet black. It grew beyond 6mm, to almost 12mm across, flat but with some raised areas. It would not heal. It itched, then burned, then bled when he scratched it.

In medical terms, it had all the ABCDE warning signs - Asymmetric shape, irregular Border, uneven Colour, Diameter larger than a pencil eraser, and Evolving every week. But to us in the village and to my uncle, who called cancer a myth, it was just a stubborn sore bewitched by jealous neighbours.

I remember aunty getting a lecture of a lifetime after she suggested he visit a hospital. That day, all her belongings were thrown out. That evening we witnessed how ignorance can destroy.

If I were her, I would have left to never return. She had to crawl from the gate, begging and shouting my uncle's mutupo, singing him clan praises with a plate of food in her hands. She rolled on the ground, making a mockery of herself.

If this was marriage, I didn't want it!!

One day my aunt asked me to accompany her to the field. Our route was diverted we were at the hospital. I was made to stay in the other room. My aunty must have promised the doctor an arm and a leg. The amount of medicine she came out clutching was enough to open her own pharmacy.

She dug the lot in a shallow pit just by the sugarcane plant. She would finely crush it into powder and mix it with his food.

Too little, too late. She tried her best, but Uncle John succumbed to his ignorance, adamancy, and ego.

If he had listened to the voice of reason, he could have been saved.

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