Cut Funding, Cut Protection- Rusape’s Communities At The Mercy of HIV As Threesomes surge

By Senior Reporter

Rusape, a small farming town in Manicaland Province, carries a long and painful history with HIV and AIDS. Once labeled a hotspot, the town became known for its high number of sex workers and alarming infection rates. At the peak of the epidemic, more than 2,000 residents were placed on antiretroviral therapy (ART), a number that underscored both the severity of the crisis and the fragile victories achieved in treatment and prevention.

Today, however, the hard-won progress is under serious threat. Rusape is staring down a new health emergency, crippling shortages of condoms, HIV testing kits, and critical drugs, shortages worsened by recent cuts in U.S. funding to the health sector in developing countries. For a community already burdened by poverty and inequality, these gaps have left residents exposed, vulnerable, and desperate.

In the narrow streets of Rusape, the conversation is hushed but the reality is loud. Sex workers, long at the frontline of the town’s HIV battle, say the situation has deteriorated in shocking ways. Without enough resources to protect themselves and their clients, some have turned to survival strategies that reveal just how deep the crisis has cut.

One sex worker, speaking on condition of anonymity, confessed that desperate women are now offering group sexual encounters, “threesomes”, simply to increase their earnings. What might once have been considered taboo has, under economic desperation, been normalized. “It’s no longer about fun or choice,” she said, “it’s about survival. When there’s no food, no jobs, and no support, women will do anything to put money in their pockets.”

The shortages have created a black market where condoms, once distributed freely in clinics, bars, and nightclubs, are now being hoarded and sold. A box that would have cost nothing now goes for as much as US$10, while a sachet of eight condoms is fetching US$1. “Some of us were given condoms for free,” admitted another sex worker, “but because they are scarce, we sell them. That money helps us survive.”

This dangerous trade-off comes at a steep public health cost. With fewer condoms in circulation and demand rising, many men are opting out of protection altogether. For women whose livelihoods depend on satisfying clients, negotiating safe sex has become nearly impossible. “Most men don’t want to use protection,” one worker explained, “and if you refuse, you lose money. We can’t afford to lose money.”

Meanwhile, health facilities in the district have stopped distributing condoms in entertainment spots, fearing further resale. The result is predictable: nightclubs, once key points of prevention, are now high-risk zones where unprotected sex thrives.

Medical sources confirmed to The Post on Sunday that the shortages extend beyond condoms. Pre-Exposure Prophylaxis (PrEP), which protects HIV-negative people at risk of infection, and Tenofovir/Lamivudine/Dolutegravir (TLD), a widely used antiretroviral regimen, are also in short supply. For those already living with HIV, this disruption threatens treatment adherence. For those not yet infected, it pushes them closer to danger.

adding to that, some are willingly defaulting while other due to shortage have resorted to buying from pharmacies, which again cannot be tracked in the event one defaults.

The irony is that Rusape has been here before. Years of awareness campaigns, mass testing drives, and the provision of ART had begun to change the narrative. Communities that once whispered about AIDS began speaking openly about prevention. Condoms became commonplace, and stigma slowly began to recede. That fragile progress, however, now risks being undone.

Public health experts warn that the situation is a ticking time bomb. “The HIV prevalence in Rusape has always been high,” one local health worker said. “Without condoms, without PrEP, and with ART shortages, we’re creating conditions for a resurgence. We’re not just talking about sex workers; the entire community is at risk.”

The broader tragedy is that this crisis is not unique to Rusape. Across Zimbabwe, similar shortages are being reported, particularly in smaller towns and rural districts where external donor funding has long been the backbone of the health system. Without swift intervention, these communities could see HIV rates spike again, erasing decades of progress.

For Rusape, the story is deeply personal. It is about women negotiating survival with their bodies, men gambling with their health, and children growing up in a community still shadowed by a virus that refuses to loosen its grip. It is about systemic neglect, political failures, and the painful consequences of global funding cuts on local lives.

As the sun sets over this farming town, the silence masks a dangerous storm. Behind the closed doors of nightclubs and in the dim corners of the streets, the choices people are forced to make echo with risk. For now, Rusape’s HIV crisis remains a whisper. But if nothing is done, it may soon roar again, louder than before as they are now offering group sexual encounters, “threesomes”