The Bitter Truth Behind the ‘Guchu’ Craze: A Bitter Pill for Zimbabwe’s Health
HARARE — In the bustling heart of Mbare’s Mupedzanhamo market, the air is thick with the scent of dried roots and the low hum of desperate commerce. Here, tucked between stalls of second-hand clothes and hardware, a booming underground trade is flourishing. It is the trade of ‘guchu’—a traditional herbal concoction that has become the latest craze sweeping across Zimbabwe, promising everything from boundless energy to miraculous bedroom performance. But behind the vibrant plastic bottles and the confident sales pitches of street vendors lies a darker, often lethal reality.
The popularity of these unregulated remedies is driven by a potent mix of cultural belief, economic hardship, and a pervasive desire for quick fixes. For many Zimbabwean men and women, guchu and other herbal enhancements are seen as cheaper, more accessible alternatives to pharmaceutical drugs. Yet, as health authorities and medical experts warn, what is being sold on street corners as a cure is frequently a poorly understood mixture that can just as easily become a poison.
The Human Cost of a Quick Fix
The dangers are not merely theoretical. In September 2025, the tragic death of Knowledge Chikafu, a 48-year-old man from Mutsimba Village in Chivi, Masvingo, served as a grim reminder of the risks involved. Chikafu reportedly consumed two litres of a sexual enhancement concoction locally known as guchu. Shortly after drinking the mixture around 2:00 pm on a Sunday, he began vomiting uncontrollably. Despite being rushed for medical assistance, he could not be saved.
This incident is part of a growing tally of casualties linked to unregulated herbal drinks. Only a year earlier, in October 2024, four men from Mutare died and two others were admitted to Mutambara Mission Hospital after consuming a boiled aloe vera concoction known as ‘Gava kava’. The desire to enhance physical performance turned into a mass tragedy, with witnesses describing a pungent smell emanating from the victims, suggesting the ingestion of a highly toxic substance.
Despite these fatalities, the trade continues unabated. Vendors like Tavonga Muke, who has operated at Mupedzanhamo for four years, see themselves as providing an essential service. “I now have regular clients who collect herbs and pay later,” Muke stated. “Most of my customers are men. I source the herbs from Malawi. I also sell herbs that treat heartburn, frequent urination, acid reflux and other conditions.”
Not Just a Man’s World: The Risk to Women
While much of the public discourse surrounding guchu focuses on male sexual enhancement, a more clandestine and equally dangerous trend is emerging among women. Driven by societal pressures and the desire for physical perfection, many young women are turning to unregulated herbal products to alter their natural forms, often with catastrophic results.
In July 2025, the community of Overspill in Epworth was left in shock following the death of 21-year-old Jacqueline Gatsi Terepi. Jacqueline, a divorced mother of a two-year-old child, tragically died after reportedly using a traditional medicine intended to enhance her genital ‘twins’—a practice known locally as ‘matunhu’ enlargement.
According to Progress Sambare, Jacqueline’s landlady, the tragedy began when female tenants were approached by itinerant vendors selling herbal concoctions. “They bought this medicine, and some started using it, applying it and succeeding in enhancing their ‘twins’ to their desired length,” Mrs Sambare explained. “This woman then took the medicine from the others and locked herself in her room and started applying the medicine to her private parts. While inside the room, she started shouting to the others, saying she was feeling a burning sensation all over her body.”
The deterioration was rapid and horrific. Jacqueline began vomiting and developed rashes all over her body. In her agony, she stripped off all her clothes and attempted to run outside, sweating profusely and foaming at the mouth. Despite being carried to local traditional healers for help, she died shortly after returning home, losing control of her bodily functions in her final moments.
“The medicine they were sold to enlarge ‘things’ is harmful; there are such medicines that are harmful, like a poisonous caterpillar,” warned Annah Muzimbi, a traditional healer also known as Madzimai Merekina, who attempted to assist Jacqueline. “People should not buy medicines from people who walk around in the streets.”
A Culture of ‘Natural’ Misconceptions
The belief that ‘natural’ automatically equates to ‘safe’ is a cornerstone of the guchu craze. Zimbabwe has a deep-rooted history of using medicinal plants, a practice passed down through generations. However, modern street-sold guchu and enhancement herbs are a far cry from the carefully prepared traditional remedies of the past.
“Herbs are often consumed as guchu, but these preparations usually have no standard dosage,” warned Johannes Marisa, a prominent physician. This lack of dosage control is perhaps the most significant health risk. Unlike regulated medicines, where active ingredients are measured to the milligram, the strength of a herbal mixture can vary wildly from one bottle to the next.
“Unregulated substances can be dangerous,” Marisa added. “For example, a standard dose of amoxicillin is clearly defined. But with guchu, there is no way of knowing how much you are taking. You could easily overdose.” The World Health Organisation (WHO) has echoed these concerns, noting that many of these herbs have no scientifically proven medicinal value and that the absence of quality control can lead to contamination with heavy metals, pesticides, or even pharmaceutical drugs added secretly to boost efficacy.
The Regulatory Battleground
The Medicines Control Authority of Zimbabwe (MCAZ) has found itself on the front lines of a war against these ‘backyard pharmacies’. Davison Kaiyo, the MCAZ public relations and communications manager, was clear about the legal standing of these products. “It is illegal for unlicensed individuals to sell or distribute medicines,” Kaiyo said. “All such activities must take place within registered premises to ensure safety and quality control.”
The Medicines and Allied Substances Control Act governs the handling of all medicinal products in the country. According to Kaiyo, those operating on the streets are not only violating this act but may also be falling foul of the Dangerous Drugs Act if their concoctions contain controlled substances.
In recent months, the MCAZ, in collaboration with the Zimbabwe Republic Police (ZRP), has intensified its enforcement operations. In February 2026, a major blitz led to the arrest of over 100 individuals involved in the illegal medicine trade. During these raids, authorities uncovered illegal production facilities in private homes and seized vast quantities of unregistered medicines, some valued at tens of thousands of dollars. In one notable bust at the Dulibadzimu Bus Terminus in Beitbridge, police arrested individuals in possession of 82 boxes of unregistered medicines, highlighting the scale of the cross-border smuggling involved in this trade.
The Vendor’s Perspective and the User’s Doubt
For the vendors, the business is a matter of survival. Mbuya Chakari, a travelling herbalist, claimed that the demand is so high she often runs out of stock. “I have Kiwi tea for women, which they drink in the morning on an empty stomach. For men, I sell different herbs. I have Muzvomora kwayedza, Mut***do wegudo and muchemedza mbuya,” she said, listing names that translate to various promises of physical and sexual prowess.
However, the efficacy of these products is frequently questioned by the users themselves. Mengezi Tshuma, a regular visitor to the markets, expressed his scepticism. He claimed to have tried various street herbs without noticing any meaningful results. Instead, he suggested that commercially packaged drinks like ‘Bhuru’ or ‘Kombucha’—which are subject to at least some level of industrial oversight—offered better outcomes.
The disparity between the vendors’ claims and the users’ experiences points to a broader issue: the psychological allure of the ‘miracle cure’. In an environment where pharmaceutical healthcare is often prohibitively expensive or unavailable, the promise of a cheap, powerful remedy is hard to resist.
Hygiene and Hidden Dangers
Beyond the chemical composition of the herbs, the conditions in which they are prepared are often appalling. Many guchu mixtures are brewed in unsanitary environments, bottled in recycled plastic containers that have not been properly sterilised, and sold in dusty, open-air markets. This increases the risk of bacterial contamination, which can lead to severe gastrointestinal illnesses, further complicating the health profile of the consumer.
The broader regional context adds another layer of concern. Across sub-Saharan Africa, it is estimated that more than 500,000 people die each year due to the consumption of dangerous and unregulated medications. In West Africa, similar ‘artisanal’ sexual stimulants have been linked to men suffering from uncontrollable drooling, migraines, and life-threatening permanent erections.
The Social Pressure for Perfection
The tragedy of Jacqueline Terepi highlights a disturbing aspect of the herbal craze: the extreme lengths to which individuals will go to meet perceived sexual or aesthetic standards. The pursuit of ‘matunhu’ enlargement or increased virility is often driven by a desire to please partners or conform to traditional ideals of sexual prowess.
“Medicines to increase the ‘things’ of women or men are harmful, and people end up dying, as happened in this case,” said Morgan Chakandinakira, husband to Madzimai Merekina. “Let us live with our lives as we were created.”
George Kandiero, head of the Zimbabwe National Traditional Healers Association (Zinatha), has been vocal in his condemnation of street vendors. He urges the public to distinguish between registered traditional practitioners and the itinerant sellers who lack any formal training or accountability. “People should abandon the issue of buying medicines on the streets from people who walk around without licenses to do this work,” Kandiero stressed.
A Collapsing System and Desperate Choices
The rise of the guchu trade cannot be viewed in isolation from the broader challenges facing Zimbabwe’s healthcare system. With many public hospitals struggling with shortages of basic supplies and staff, and private healthcare being out of reach for the majority, herbalists have filled the void.
A recent report highlighted how desperate patients, including those with chronic illnesses like cancer, are increasingly turning to unregulated herbalists as the formal medical infrastructure falters. In this climate of desperation, the warnings of the MCAZ often fall on deaf ears. When the choice is between an unaffordable pharmacy and a five-dollar bottle of guchu, many choose the latter, unaware that they may be paying with their lives.
The tragic end of Jacqueline’s story is a testament to this desperation. Her father, Ngoni Terepi, remains in a state of grief and confusion. “We were just told that the child and her friends were using medicines to enlarge their ‘things’ when this accident happened,” he said. “Whether that is the case or whether there is something else, I do not know. I am waiting to hear what came out of the examination of my child’s body.”
A Bitter Conclusion
The guchu craze is more than just a passing fad; it is a symptom of a healthcare system under pressure and a society searching for answers in the roots and barks of the past. While nature undoubtedly offers powerful medicinal properties, the transition from traditional knowledge to unregulated street commerce has stripped away the safeguards that once protected the public.
As the MCAZ continues its crackdown and doctors deal with the aftermath of herbal toxicity in hospital wards, the message remains clear. The quest for a quick fix in a plastic bottle or a packet of street-bought herbs may provide a temporary sense of hope, but without regulation, testing, and standardisation, it remains a dangerous gamble.
In the end, the bitter truth is that when medicine is divorced from science and sold on a street corner, it is no longer a cure—it is a hazard. For the families of those like Knowledge Chikafu and Jacqueline Terepi, the cost of the guchu craze has been far too high. The allure of the herbs remains, but for many, the promise of a better life has ended in a silent, preventable tragedy. Zimbabwe’s health is at a crossroads, and the bitter pill of the guchu craze is one that the nation can ill afford to swallow.