If you were at EastPark Mall earlier this month, you probably saw the sea of headwraps and trainers at the Dukutober Cancer Awareness and Fitness morning. People showed up with friends, aunties and workmates. There was music, movement and plenty of reminders about looking after ourselves. The Ministry of Health even streamed parts of it, which shows these gatherings are being noticed.
Dukutober began as a local way to break the silence around breast health. The duku, a headwrap deeply rooted in African culture, took on new meaning during cancer awareness month. For many women undergoing chemotherapy it became a gentle way to cover their heads after hair loss. When friends and supporters began wearing the duku too, it turned into a public symbol of care and solidarity, a simple way of saying “I stand with you.” The World Health Organization has highlighted the Zambian campaign for using this cultural symbol to spark conversations about cancer prevention, early detection and treatment in communities where the topic is often avoided. In truth, conversation is often the first step to care.
Still, the danger with October is that the colour can sometimes become the whole story. Visibility helps, and pink ribbons have made survivors feel seen and encouraged many to finally check a lump. But we need less “pink for pink’s sake” and more focus on how people can actually get seen, tested and treated on time.
Take the baby powder debate. Johnson and Johnson faces a major lawsuit in the United Kingdom over alleged links between long-term baby powder use and cancers. The company denies the claims, but the case has caused concern because many families still keep baby powder in their cupboards. Research so far shows mixed results for ovarian cancer and very little evidence of any link to breast cancer. Still, it is sensible to be cautious. If you use baby powder, keep it away from genital areas and avoid breathing it in. Small, balanced choices like these matter.
The larger issue is access. Across many countries, women of colour are diagnosed at similar rates to Caucasian women, yet they die more often from breast cancer. The gap is around forty percent in the United States, and younger Black women face even higher risk. That is not destiny. It reflects late diagnosis, limited access and social barriers that have nothing to do with courage. We should not import this fear, but we must import urgency.
Delay is the pattern many of us know too well. A lump that stays “under discussion” for months. A clinic that feels too far. A payslip already stretched. Health workers doing their best in crowded wards. Dukutober helps because it gives us a social excuse to act. The headwrap or the walk is not the cure, it is the nudge to take the next step.
So here is a weekend plan that feels doable. Start where you are. If your breast has changed and it worries you, pick one clinic and ask how to be seen. If you are nervous to go alone, ask a cousin to come. If cost is unclear, ask directly what the options are. Use October as your prompt and check because you promised yourself you would.
If you are in your thirties or forties and have no symptoms, learn your normal. Notice how your breast usually feels so that if something new appears and stays, you will recognise it. If you drink alcohol, cut down a little. If exercise has slipped, add a short walk this week. They are not magic fixes, but over time they lower risk and bring back a sense of control.
If you are reading this from abroad, your voice still matters. Gently remind loved ones back home to book their screenings. Share what you have learnt from your own health system, pass along reliable information and keep breast health part of normal conversation. Awareness spreads fastest through people we trust, and even a quick call home can encourage someone to act.
And about all that pink, do not feel shamed if you bought something feverishly pink this month. Awareness is not the enemy. The invitation is to pair the gesture with substance. Keep supporting campaigns that make people feel seen, but also read the labels in plain language and ask where the money goes. If a brand can point to local partners or real programmes, that is a good sign. If not, move your support towards people on the ground who can show the work.
We all want the same thing – for our people to be well. The good news is that small, ordinary actions still count. The auntie who finally books her clinic appointment. The friend who says, “I will come with you.” The manager who swaps a coffee morning for a quick chat with a nurse. None of these moments make headlines, but together they change the odds.
When I think back to EastPark, I picture the headwraps, the laughter and the early morning sunlight on tired faces that still showed up. That is Zambia: warm, stubborn in the best way. We can keep the beauty of October without letting the colour become the whole story. The point is not to fight pink, it is to fight for people. And if this weekend becomes the weekend someone you love gets seen, then every ribbon, playlist and headwrap will have done what it was meant to do.

Kaajal Vaghela is a wellness entrepreneur, sportswear designer, and diabetes wellness consultant with over three decades of lived experience managing Type 1 diabetes. Having previously served as Chairperson of the Lusaka branch of the Diabetes Association of Zambia, she remains a passionate advocate for breaking down myths and building awareness about diabetes. For more personalised coaching or corporate wellness workshops, visit: www.kaajalvaghela.com and for any feedback: [email protected])