Tendai Ruben Mbofana
Lately, Zimbabweans have been flooding social media with calls urging controversial businessman Wicknell Chivayo to redirect his wealth toward the country’s crumbling public healthcare system and to the destitute.
These appeals have grown louder in the wake of Chivayo’s now-routine donations of expensive vehicles—predominantly luxury cars—to celebrities, religious figures, and ruling ZANU PF party sympathizers.
Understandably, many citizens are outraged by this trend, especially considering the dire conditions in our public hospitals and the desperate situations in which countless Zimbabweans find themselves.
Some posts have gone viral highlighting real, painful examples of Zimbabwe’s deteriorating health infrastructure—patients being told to buy their own painkillers because hospitals lack basic drugs, bus crash victims having cardboard wrapped around broken limbs due to the absence of plaster of Paris, and families helplessly watching loved ones die at home because ambulances are unavailable or unaffordable.
Cancer patients are routinely turned away from public institutions because life-saving radiotherapy machines are broken or obsolete.
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Given this context, it’s only natural that Zimbabweans, gripped by despair and frustration, are pleading with anyone who appears to have resources to step in and help.
Thus, their appeals to Chivayo are understandable and deeply emotional.
But while these sentiments are valid and reflect a real societal crisis, we need to interrogate whether such calls are appropriate or even helpful in the long term.
Should Zimbabweans really be turning to someone like Wicknell Chivayo for help—someone whose wealth is mired in allegations of corruption, scandal, and misuse of public funds?
Is it logical to demand charity from a man whose riches have been linked to questionable dealings involving state institutions like ZESA and ZEC, worth millions of dollars?
Does it not raise deeper moral and ethical questions about who we consider heroes or philanthropists in our society?
What seems to be lost in the desperation is a far more urgent issue—accountability.
Instead of asking Chivayo to spare a few coins for the sick or fund the repair of hospitals, shouldn’t Zimbabweans be demanding full transparency into how he acquired his fortune in the first place?
Why is there so little national outrage demanding that the authorities investigate him thoroughly, following the money trail to establish how Ren-Form CC, a South African company, allegedly transferred R800 million to him shortly after receiving R1.1 billion from the Zimbabwean Treasury?
This wasn’t just some shady backroom deal; it was a massive transfer of state funds, and it warrants intense scrutiny.
In other jurisdictions, such transactions would have triggered a string of investigations.
In fact, it was the South African Revenue Service (SARS) and the Financial Intelligence Centre (FIC) that unearthed these suspicious transfers—not our own Zimbabwean authorities.
That alone should tell us something.
Why aren’t Zimbabweans more concerned about this glaring dereliction of duty from our government agencies, who are supposed to protect public funds?
The uncomfortable truth is this: when we pressure Chivayo to use his money to help the poor or fix hospitals, we are inadvertently legitimizing the very money we should be questioning.
It’s a form of moral laundering.
If he donates to hospitals or gives away food hampers to the poor, does that suddenly make his wealth clean?
Are we ready to turn a blind eye to the origin of the funds as long as a few people receive token handouts?
This, in essence, is how corruption becomes normalized.
A few lucky individuals might receive a used ambulance or a small donation, and suddenly, the public forgets to ask where the money came from.
The narrative shifts from, “How did you get this money?” to, “Thank you for helping.”
It’s a dangerous shift in focus that undermines the very foundation of justice and accountability.
Instead of praising car “gifts” and pleading for help, we should be insisting on a comprehensive investigation into Chivayo’s business dealings.
If any of the money was indeed stolen from the Zimbabwean public through corrupt contracts, it must be recovered and returned to the state.
That’s the only way it can genuinely benefit the poor and improve public healthcare—not through piecemeal donations that are more about public relations than real impact.
Let us remember that meaningful national development and public service delivery do not come through charity from controversial businessmen.
It comes from systemic change, strong institutions, and honest leadership.
If we allow ourselves to rely on the benevolence of people like Chivayo, we risk letting the real culprits off the hook.
We risk making corruption look charitable.
The only way we will see real and sustainable improvement in our hospitals and in the lives of ordinary Zimbabweans is by holding the corrupt accountable.
Every cent looted must be returned.
And that money must be channeled into equipping our hospitals, building new infrastructure, hiring more medical staff, and ensuring medicine and supplies are always available.
Not through favors or random acts of kindness—but through justice and good governance.
So yes, the calls for Chivayo to donate to the poor are understandable.
But we must pause and ask: are we not, in the process, turning a potentially serious crime into an act of generosity?
Are we not helping to whitewash the very rot that is destroying our country?
We should not be demanding that he donates—we should be demanding that he is held accountable.
That’s how we build a just and equitable society.
That’s how we develop Zimbabwe.
- Tendai Ruben Mbofana is a social justice advocate and writer. Please feel free to WhatsApp or Call: +263715667700 | +263782283975, or email: mbofana.tendairuben73@gmail.com, or visit website: https://mbofanatendairuben.news.blog/