Tendai Ruben Mbofana
In Shona culture, there is a long-standing adage: wafa wanaka—once someone passes away, they are automatically elevated.
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Traditional decorum dictates that only good things should be said about them at their funeral.
For generations, this solemn grace has been regarded as a foundational pillar of Ubuntu: the collective moral code emphasizing human dignity and mutual compassion.
Yet, African wisdom is never one-dimensional.
It is balanced by an equally potent truth: gudo guru peta muswe kuti vadiki vagokuremekedza—even the big baboon must tuck its tail so that the young ones can show it respect.
In plain terms, respect is a reciprocal currency; it must be earned.
This delicate cultural balance erupted into sharp public debate following the sudden death of controversial tenderpreneur Wicknell Chivayo in a helicopter crash near Marondera.
Almost instantly, Zimbabwean public opinion splintered into two unyielding camps.
On one side stood those aligned with the political elite, trumpeting Chivayo as an audacious businessman and generous philanthropist, while accusing his detractors of violating the sacred boundaries of Ubuntu.
On the other side were millions of ordinary citizens who either viewed his passing with utter indifference or openly celebrated his demise across social media platforms.
I am not one to celebrate anyone’s death, regardless of how harmful I found their actions in life.
Death is a finality that demands sobering reflection rather than gleeful triumph.
Along with many discerning Zimbabweans, I choose instead to hold Chivayo accountable for the legacy he left behind.
The dubious sources of his immense wealth that bled national coffers dry, resources that ought to have equipped our failing public hospitals and impoverished schools.
His life serves as a stark cautionary tale.
A tragic spectacle of flaunting ill-gotten riches and lavishly gifting the already powerful, while the marginalized majority continued to sink deeper into poverty.
As much as we must cherish Ubuntu, there are painful truths a nation cannot afford to gloss over.
We cannot mess up people’s lives for decades and then expect to hide behind the shield of cultural immunity at our gravesides.
When people celebrate a public figure’s passing, it is never an inexplicable stroke of bad luck or an unprovoked act of malice.
It is the direct consequence of a lifetime spent inflicting pain, indifference, and contempt upon others.
Ubuntu is not a one-way street that only protects the dead from judgment.
It is a living contract that governs how we treat one another while we are still breathing.
It demands that we treat our fellow human beings with genuine love, compassion, and humility.
Where there is true love, one does not siphon state resources to line their pockets while mothers die in underfunded clinics lacking basic medication and equipment.
Where there is compassion, one does not distribute luxury cars to wealthy elites under the guise of philanthropy while rural children study under trees without clean water.
And where there is respect, one does not mock and insult citizens who dare to ask accountability for questionable state contracts.
This moment carries a profound lesson, particularly for those who currently hold the reins of political and economic power.
Every individual on this planet has the agency to write their own eulogy while they are still alive.
Leaders can choose to be genuinely and overwhelmingly mourned—as were figures like Nelson Mandela and Joshua Nkomo, whose sacrifices cemented them as true heroes of the people.
Or they can choose a path where their deaths are met with widespread relief and jubilation, a fate that befell Robert Mugabe and now Chivayo.
Reading the searing commentary on social media, one cannot help but feel a deep sense of sorrow for Chivayo’s two young children.
No child should ever have to witness the public rejoicing over their parent’s death, and my sincere prayer is that they are shielded from trauma that could scar them for life.
Yet, one cannot simply blame the public for expressing these raw emotions.
Those comments are not born out of gratuitous cruelty.
They are the boiling over of years of repressed grief, anger, and suffering felt by millions whose lives have been ruined by systemic looting and impunity.
The ultimate onus falls on those who are alive today.
Leaders and public figures must step back and perform an honest audit of their lives, their choices, and the direct impact those actions have on ordinary people.
If not for the love of the nation, then let this introspection be driven by love for their own children—and a sobering awareness of what will be whispered, or shouted, when their time on earth finally ends.
In the end, how you will be remembered is entirely up to you.
You cannot spend a lifetime terrorizing the living and expect Ubuntu to cover your shame at the grave.
- Tendai Ruben Mbofana is a social justice advocate and writer. Please feel free to contact him on +263715667700 or mbofana.tendairuben73@gmail.com