Degrees of distress: The Economic and mental cost of being a student at campus

By Fine ChiviruAs the sun drops behind the Great Zimbabwe horizon, darkness does not only arrive on campus pathways. For too many students, it settles in the mind—quietly, daily, and dangerously. We keep treating student mental health as an individual weakness or a private matter to be endured. It is neither. It is the predictable outcome of a system that piles pressure onto young people while stripping away the support that would help them survive it.From Africa University to Midlands State University, the pattern is the same: academic pressure collides with rising living costs, shrinking opportunities, and deepening isolation.Consider Sekai (not her real name), a final year student whose biggest worry is no longer the next test—but the semester balance: US$400 still outstanding. She has three siblings still in school. Her parents scrape together fees term after term, and she feels the weight of their sacrifice every time a deadline approaches. She rents off campus, and when money for rent arrives late, the stress is immediate and humiliating. And like many finalists, she carries an extra fear that no lecturer can mark: what if there is no job after graduation?When students are worrying about rent and food, “focusing on assignments” becomes a slogan, not a realistic expectation. Many are stuck chasing basic needs—the bottom of Maslow’s hierarchy—long before they can think about “self-actualisation” in the classroom. Some try to hustle between lectures; others make riskier choices to survive. Tarisai (not her real name) says she depends on an older, married man for upkeep. That dependence leaves her with little bargaining power, including around safer sex, and exposes her to harm she did not come to university to face. If we can name these realities, we can stop pretending this is simply about ‘resilience’.Distress may be common, but seeking help is not. In Zimbabwe, mental illness is still heavily stigmatised; many students fear being labelled “weak” or “mad” if they are seen asking for support. On many campuses, counselling services are understaffed and overwhelmed—and private psychological services are priced beyond student reach. Gender expectations make it worse: men are told to “man up”, not speak up. Tanaka (not his real name) told me he would rather go for a drinking session than visit the clinic to manage distress. That is not bravado; it is a warning sign.Add a high cost of living, a shrinking job market, and a loud “success” narrative on social media, and chronic stress becomes the norm. For some, alcohol and drugs turn into an escape route. Campuses and surrounding communities increasingly talk about misuse of cough mixtures such as Bron Cleer and the spread of crystal meth—substances that intensify anxiety, depression, and risky behaviour. We also hear, far too often, of students who self-harm or die by suicide after academic failure, relationship breakdown, or financial collapse. Even when these tragedies are whispered about, they are rarely confronted with the seriousness they deserve.If universities can require registration fees, attendance, and examinations, they can also require care.Mental Health First Aid should be introduced in the first semester for every student—not as a once-off talk, but as practical training on recognising warning signs, supporting peers, and knowing where to get help. Resilience and emotional intelligence should be integrated across faculties, and peer-support networks should be properly trained and supervised, not left to improvise in emergencies. Universities should also expand low-cost, confidential counselling (including after hours) and use telehealth platforms that offer evidence-based tools such as cognitive behavioural techniques in local languages. Most importantly, university leadership must treat mental health services as core infrastructure—like libraries and laboratories—because a degree that costs a student their wellbeing is not an education success story. It is institutional neglect.Fine Chiviru is a final year psychology student at Great Zimbabwe University