Farai Shawn Matiashe

Zimbabwean mother Getrude Mucheri had walked miles in the rain to get her expired contraceptive implant removed and a Depo-Provera birth control injection instead.

But the 35-year-old mother, who relies on free family-planning services, was out of luck when she arrived at the Chitakatira health clinic in eastern Zimbabwe.

Abigail Kadirire picks a dark green caterpillar with white stripes off a ragged and torn maize plant and puts it on her palm. She is clearly distressed.

"This is the second time this farming season that I am seeing it in my fields," the 42-year-old single mother-of-six said in Kamutepe village, in the northern Rushinga area, some 250 km (155 miles) from the capital Harare.

Loveness Madangawa prepares lunch over an open fire in Mutare in eastern Zimbabwe - she has an electric stove, but power cuts caused partly by drought hitting the main hydropower station means she has no choice. 

"It is not easy, but I am now used to it," the 35-year-old mother-of-three told Context in the densely populated suburb of Dangamvura.

In early November, Precious Chinonzura went to a telehealth, or e-health, booth in the local shopping centre in her village in Zimbabwe to see if she could get relief from bladder pains that had been bothering her for a month.

The 30-year-old consulted a doctor online and by evening the medication he prescribed had been delivered to her village of Nhedziwa from a telehealth booth in Chakohwa, some 22 km (14 miles) away.

Nigerian nurse Temitope Ogundare has laid out a fastidious, one-year plan to get himself a well-paid nursing gig in Britain.

Saving half his monthly salary of 45,000 naira ($29) - hard earned in a private clinic - he successfully financed the key English language test needed to bolster his credentials. 

When Zimbabwean mother-of-four Eunice Sinoya enrolled in a first aid course near the capital Harare she was lured by the college's promise of a job in Britain's care sector.

But more than a year on, she is sitting at home with her dream in tatters, the victim of a fraud that has cost her thousands of dollars.

When a sharp hike in Zimbabwe's internet costs drove Joyce Kapvumfuti's small catering enterprise offline for a week, orders for her wedding cakes, business lunches and frosted cupcakes collapsed.

"I used to get at least five customers a week when advertising and marketing online, but when ... I don't have internet data, I'll be lucky if I manage to get two," Kapvumfuti said at her home in the eastern city of Mutare.

Struggling to survive on her meagre salary, Zimbabwean nurse Jane decided to start a new life abroad but, one year after landing a job in Britain, she is still waiting to pack her bags.

Jane is not alone. Zimbabwean nurses eager to escape deepening poverty say their government is barring them from pursuing opportunities overseas as it seeks to stem a brain drain of health workers.

In a fertile stretch of fields and farms dubbed New Harare, Zimbabwe is building a high-tech "cyber city" a world away from the traffic-clogged streets and overcrowded slums of the country's nearby capital.

President Emmerson Mnangagwa, eager to highlight positive news about the country's troubled economy, launched the first $500-million stage of the Zim Cyber City project last year in partnership with Dubai-based company Mulk International.

Zimbabwean soccer player Marjory Nyaumwe is used to carrying her country's hopes as part of the women's national "Mighty Warriors" team.

But she can barely afford to travel to training sessions since global governing body FIFA banned Zimbabwe from international matches last year, leaving top players facing a sharp drop in income and an uncertain future.