Tendai Ruben Mbofana
This morning, I was greeted by an email that perfectly encapsulates the administrative nightmare of living in modern-day Zimbabwe.
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It was a formal reminder from the Zimbabwe Revenue Authority (Zimra), written in that characteristically cold, bureaucratic tone we have all come to dread.
The message was clear and uncompromising: the deadline of 20 March 2026 for submitting the first-quarter tax returns was fast approaching.
If the recipient failed to comply, the email warned, this would result in “Estimated Assessments and Late Submission Penalty being raised.”
To any law-abiding professional, such an email is a source of immediate stress.
It is the sound of the state demanding its pound of flesh.
In this case, the taxman was looking for dues from a woman who had spent her entire life in service to this nation as a nurse.
Even in her retirement, she was a woman of integrity who ensured she obtained her practicing certificate from the Nurses Council of Zimbabwe every single year.
She did this just in case she was called for “locum” work—those vital temporary shifts that keep our understaffed hospitals and clinics from collapsing.
This professional dedication became a tether to the tax office last year when the government introduced a new requirement.
All medical staff were suddenly mandated to obtain a Zimra Tax Certificate before they could apply for their annual practicing certificate.
Like thousands of others, she complied with the new directive, effectively entering the Zimra database as an active taxpayer.
However, there is a fundamental reason why the email I received this morning was not just a bureaucratic error, but a grotesque and heartless absurdity.
The woman Zimra is so eager to squeeze for taxes passed away five months ago, on 4 October 2025.
One might be tempted to offer the taxman the benefit of the doubt and suggest they simply did not know.
But that is not the case.
I first officially informed Zimra of my mother’s death on 10 December 2025, after I received a reminder for the 2025 fourth-quarter returns.
I was instructed to navigate the Zimra self-service portal for deregistration, which I did, receiving an Etd number in the process.
I was told to return after a week to verify the success of the application.
On 18 December 2025, I returned, only to be told the process had essentially vanished and I needed to do it all over again.
I received a second Etd number and was told to email it to several specific Zimra officials.
I did exactly as I was told, assuming that surely, by the start of 2026, my late mother would have been removed from their requirements.
The email that landed in my inbox this morning proved me wrong.
It showed that despite two formal attempts and the direct involvement of their officials, Zimra was still hunting a ghost for money.
I was forced to drive into town to the Zimra offices once again to demand an explanation.
What I encountered was a scene of systemic confusion.
The staff member attending to me appeared utterly bewildered by the proper procedure to follow.
This was a repeat of my December experience, where I was shuffled from office to office because no one seemed to know how to handle a death in their database.
It makes one wonder if I am the first person in the history of Zimbabwe to try and remove a deceased relative from the tax rolls.
Today was no different, except for one curious detail.
After the staff member received occasional assistance from a colleague, we went online for the third time.
Only today, for the first time in this months-long saga, did they actually ask for my mother’s death certificate to attach to the application.
This means that during my previous two attempts, I was being “assisted” by people who had no idea what the actual requirements were.
I made sure the process was completed in my presence this time, but the conversation that followed was the most chilling part of the entire ordeal.
I asked the lady attending to me what would have happened if my mother had passed away without leaving behind an heir who was knowledgeable or persistent enough to fight this bureaucracy.
Her honesty was terrifying.
She confirmed that, exactly as the email threatened, Estimated Assessments and Late Submission Penalties would have been applied every single quarter.
A dead woman would have continued to accumulate a massive, compounding debt to the state long after she was gone.
Furthermore, she admitted that her heir—which is me—would have eventually been legally hounded to settle that debt.
This is a scary thought that should keep every Zimbabwean awake at night.
How many people are currently grieving loved ones, unaware that Zimra is still expecting money from them?
How many dead citizens are currently “owing” thousands of US dollars in penalties because their families didn’t know they had to navigate a broken deregistration system?
We could be looking at a future where families lose their homes to repay debts that only exists because a government institution is too incompetent to recognize a death certificate.
This experience has highlighted a very telling and cynical reality about how our government operates.
When my mother passed away, I immediately approached the National Social Security Authority (NSSA) and the Civil Service Salary Service Bureau (SSB) to stop her benefits.
The process was flawless.
The very next month, the payments stopped.
When it comes to the government stopping the flow of money to a citizen, they are swift, efficient, and precise.
However, when it comes to the government taking money from the people, or stopping an unfair extraction of funds, the process becomes a labyrinth of headaches, ignorance, and “lost” applications.
This is a parasitic relationship.
The state is a predator that is incredibly efficient at sucking its citizens dry but becomes suddenly “confused” and hesitant when it is time to stop.
It is no wonder our country is in such a mess.
We are governed by a system that prioritizes extraction over service, where the people are poor yet those in power take, take, and take—even from the grave.
I wrote this to warn those who have lost loved ones to follow up and demand proof of their status.
Do not trust the system to do the right thing.
If we do not fight these “ghost debts” now, they will eventually come for the living, and by then, the cost may be more than any of us can afford to pay.
- Tendai Ruben Mbofana is a social justice advocate and writer. To directly receive his articles please join his WhatsApp Channel on: https://whatsapp.com/channel/0029VaqprWCIyPtRnKpkHe08