Kenya – Mary Mwangi, a tall, talkative woman who owns a tailoring business in Thika town in Kiambu County, started knitting as a child. But it was only in 2017, when she was bedridden for 11 months after having cancer treatment, that she picked it up again.
Mwangi was first identified with spine cancer. She chose to knit hats, which she ended up donating to Kenyatta National Hospital’s cancer patients because she was housebound and wanted to have fun.
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Her world was shaken again the following year, in 2018, when she was diagnosed with stage-three breast cancer.
“I felt like it was the end of me when the diagnosis came out”, said the 52-year-old mother of three, who recalls being “terrified” at the news.
She turned off her phone and kept her friends and family a distance. The world was so violent when I told my husband that I didn’t want to interact with anyone.
Mwangi had to undergo a mastectomy – a surgical removal of part or all of a breast – and 33 sessions of radiotherapy. She spent four years receiving treatment, losing both of her hair and money in the process.
She lamented that when I took out a 1.3 million Kenyan-shilling (approximately $10, 000) loan to expand my tailoring business, everything [was] thrown away] by treatment.
Added to the physical and financial devastation was the social discrimination.
Although the mastectomy saved her life, her community in central Kenya, which is located 40 kilometers (24. 8 miles) northeast of Nairobi, experienced stigma.
Mwangi, who was declared cancer-free in 2020, was quoted as the “woman whose breasts were cut.” “Losing them affects your dignity”.
She soon realized she wasn’t the only one: While visiting a nearby hospital’s cancer unit, she noticed other women tucked under large scarves and sleeveless clothing. She learned from their conversations that they had also had mastectomies.
Although there are several cancer survivor support groups in Kenya that offer screening and counselling services, some of them for free, experts say the public health system often lacks adequate oncology and follow-up care, with many survivors left to navigate recovery on their own.
Mwangi pondered what helped her through her illness, knitting, in an effort to help others like herself. Then she came up with the idea of knitting knitted breast prostheses made of vibrant cotton yarn to help survivors while earning money.
At a cancer support group she attended while ill, one of the sessions taught the participants to make yarn breast prostheses. Before beginning to practice her craft, Mwangi started there, where she learned the fundamentals and later watched YouTube tutorials.
“Thank you for the knitting,” It was a form of simple therapy for me”, Mwangi said. It “told me not to think about]the cancer.”
Physical and psychological care
According to the World Health Organization, breast cancer is the most prevalent cancer in women worldwide. More than 6,700 women in Kenya are affected annually by it, according to the nation’s National Cancer Institute.
Many undergo mastectomies and are left searching for prosthetic breasts.
However, according to Mwangi, one silicone prosthetic costs an estimated 22 000 Kenyan shillings ($170), making them unaffordable for many. More than 40% of Kenya’s population, according to the World Bank, lives below the international poverty line of $3 per day.
Mwangi sells each prosthetic she knits for 1 500 Kenyan shillings ($11, 60) for each.
They come in different sizes and colours and are filled with yarn before being placed into specially adapted bras with pockets, which are sold separately for between 1, 000 ($7.74) and 2, 000 Kenyan shillings ($15.49) each.
Mwangi sells about 600 breast prostheses and more than 450 knitted hats for cancer patients each week, selling about 50 pieces a week.
She pays cash for her goods in her shop, but she also donates them in large quantities to charities she has collaborated with, including Children’s Cancer Initiative and Kenyatta National Hospital, and Milele Health.
This has helped her rebuild her business, while also continuing to aid those in need.
Mwangi also makes an effort to support survivors through the support group New Dawn Cancer Warriors, which she leads.
She describes the day a 33-year-old survivor named Jane, who was initially too anxious to speak, joined the group.
When Mwangi spoke to her privately, she learned that her confidence had dropped since having a mastectomy. She encouraged her by teaching her that a woman’s loss does not diminish her. She also donated a knitted prosthesis to support her. She claims that after five months, Jane gradually regained her self-assurance and started contributing to group discussions. Today, Mwangi says her self-esteem and courage have returned.
Knitted prosthetics, according to psychologist Joy Kulet, who sees numerous women who have undergone mastectomies, are both an affordable option and help women who have had mastectomies.
She said that losing a breast is more psychological than just physical.

Knitting served as my source of purpose.
The outside of Mwangi’s tailoring shop can be audible as busy sewing machines scream in Thika town.
Inside, finished clothes hang on the wall near two women focused on sewing. They occasionally joke joke joke jokes and laugh heartily as their skilled workers continue to feed fabric into their machines.
Mwangi knits a prosthetic breast as the sewing progresses. When she finishes, she immediately begins stuffing it with wool-like fibre, before moving on to make another piece.
The vibrant knitted breast prostheses are on display on a table next to her.
Mwangi crafts the majority of the breast prostheses she sells herself, but some, especially when she receives large orders, are created by trained women who she employs to assist with the knitting.
Since January, Mwangi says she has taught more than 200 women to knit during informal lessons she holds in her tailoring shop.
According to Mwangi, “knitting has not only saved me, but it has also given me a purpose.”
Hannah Nungari Mugo, a 46-year-old former vegetable trader at Thika market and a survivor of breast cancer, is one of the people she has trained.
Mugo underwent a mastectomy, chemotherapy and radiotherapy in 2019. Her husband took out a 500, 000 Kenyan shilling ($3, 800) loan to keep them afloat as her body lost weight and hair.
She claimed that all of our savings were consumed by it.
But like Mwangi, the stigma that followed was one of the worst parts of the experience, she says. People in her neighborhood turned away from her activities because they thought she was “fragile.”
She said, “I immediately started getting the basics from Mwangi’s training,” and after a few weeks, I was done. She now makes approximately seven prostheses a week to sell at Mwangi’s store, which earns her an income to support her family.

Sharing stories is “part of healing,” according to the saying.
The workshops aren’t just for breast cancer survivors. Mary Patricia Karobia, 58, who uses the opportunity to share her own story of stigma and survival, is one of the participants who also participated.
She received a successful liver transplant in 2011 after being diagnosed with liver fibrosis. But just like Mwangi and Mugo, discrimination awaited.
She said, “People were whispering that my liver had been removed,” recalling that she was forbidden from participating in women’s events because she was deemed too weak to contribute.
She felt disregarded. But then she came across Mwangi and her space that enabled women to talk about their experiences with others going through something similar, and she was inspired to join.
Karobia reported that she now knits four [prostheses] each week. Making prosthetics gives me joy because I help breast cancer survivors regain their self-esteem, according to the artist.
“The healing journey]from cancer] is unique for each individual. Some people find it easy, while others fall behind, according to psychologist Kulet, adding that Mwangi’s community support groups are necessary.
She said that sharing a person’s story is a part of healing, especially in areas where they can freely share their story without fear of being judged.
Mwangi considers her work to be part of the larger healing process for breast cancer survivors who have undergone mastectomies. She claims that many of the women who have the prostheses have shown improved self-esteem and courage, which is a merit for her.
Due to space constraints, Mwangi’s training workshops can only hold four people at once. And financially, she is limited: she can’t register as a training school due to a lack of funds, the price of yarn also fluctuated a few times this year – from 450 Kenyan shillings ($3.40) to almost double that – forcing her to sometimes raise prices.
She continues to believe.
She stated, “My goal is to train as many cancer survivors as possible in Kenya.” She wants them all to have their own independent businesses one day, so that hopefully, they too can “earn a living through knitting”.
Source: Aljazeera

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