On the evening of 14 August 2021, we received the news that our boss was gone forever. Dr Christopher Zishiri, affectionately known as CZ, had died in his residence after a short week of COVID-19-related complications. What we didn’t know, was that we were not going to go through normal grief. It would be a grief confused with figuring out that work family is actually family. That emails and zoom meetings could continually trigger tears for weeks to come. It would be a grief that left you unmotivated to touch your work because who then would revert with “Well done Chiremba!” It was going to leave us scattered and sober and sad.
My interest in TB work began the day CZ stepped into my master’s in public health lecture room to tell us all about the International Union Against Tuberculosis and Lung Disease. It was a long title but when shortened to ‘The Union’ it became catchy, somewhat elite. I remember asking him a lot of questions in that class and he, as he did, responded positively and pleasantly. I was to meet him again during my interview a few months later. His sunny disposition put me at ease after facing a number of tough questions from the other panelists. How was it possibly that this was the boss? This was the nicest guy here, I thought. Our third meeting was my first day of orientation into the organisation. He spoke with so much pride about everyone else. It seemed he carried his team as his personal badge of pride.
He was good. He had crises for breakfast. Not being flustered by challenges or conflict. His communication style was honest, open and transparent. Sometimes as you cringed, he would call the person you were complaining about and put the call on loud speaker. Minutes later, the issue had a way forward. He talked to the director of USAID the same way he spoke to the company driver, giving all he interacted with respect and time. A psychometric test revealed that he was a rare manager who fell under the considerate and caring type, where most were domineering. He brightened a lot of tough moments with jokes and genuine chuckle.
It had just been a few months into the organisation that I saw him standing by my hospital bed after an emergency life-threatening surgery. He had flown all the way to Bulawayo, representing the organisation to visit me. What outrageousness was this? I later found out that everyone had their own story. He had saved marriages, sorted out home issues, provided parenting solutions and countless compassion visits to his employees. It was these acts of shepherding which made him seem like our dad. A man you could count on every time you rung him or knocked on his ever open door. This united the team especially when the organisation went through more tumultuous times. He kept the entire team together, focused on his vision willing to confidently following him through rocky plains. He kept to his word time and time again, so it was easy to follow him.
It was devastating that the cause he championed, was what took his life. He was the most careful of workers when it came to safety and precautions against COVID-19. In July 2021, the overall numbers of people in Zimbabwe who had died of the coronavirus overtook the numbers of people who had died of TB in the previous year. This pandemic was defeating us and nothing could prepare us for this…not only from the disruptions of services to the TB and HIV patients who we served, but also ripping us away from the front-line workers, and the back-line health workers – the policy makers, the planners, the fundraisers, the researchers, and the people who ran the programmes. The public health workers.
Public health is not just about the guy on news giving us the latest COVID-19 statistics. Public health is the science and the art of preventing disease. Dr Zishiri was both a scientist and an artist. His approaches were well informed, always evidence based and determined in prolonging and improving the quality of the life of Zimbabwean people. He had magnificent leadership in organizing efforts and giving informed choices not just to society, organisations and communities but to all who he mentored, I included. It was always a choice. He gave me a choice to rise and be better that what I was. I will never forget the USAID high-level meeting he sent me to representing the organisation. I was a baby thrown into a swimming pool. It was only a few months later that I realised I had begun to swim. His specialty was building leaders.
We now have no choice. We have to continue where he left off. We need to continue to fight to end TB by 2030. We have to continue to shine in our work. We have to be responsible in communication, respect all people and fear no one. The work has to be done. And done well. The way CZ would have approved and responded by email, “Well done Chiremba!”
Indeed we lost a pillar of strength, the greatest mentor. I too have so much to tell having worked under his wings for 5 years. I won't forget how he always laughed at me each time I fought for my space during planning meetings. He would always say ' Chihera hamunete kusvikira mahwina nyaya yenyu". Yes he taught us to stand up for ourselves. Too many stories I have of him, I could write a book. I miss him everyday and his death really pained me. Go well CZ
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