CHIREDZI is a place I know intimately.
I grew up walking its streets, attended Chiredzi Primary School, and played in the bushes that are now scenes of tragedy.
The news of six-year-old Steadfast Makondo’s death a few weeks ago was more than just a headline; it affected me personally.
I know her family and am connected to that community.
The “unspeakable horror” we often see from afar suddenly felt close to home, unsettling us and shattering our innocence.
Steadfast was an early childhood development (ECD) student at the very dawn of her life.
Her body was found beneath a marula tree in Newtown, marked by bruises that told a horrifying story no child should ever endure.
Police have since confirmed she was raped before her death.
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Perhaps the most chilling detail is the betrayal: the main suspect was the person entrusted to transport her safely to school.
His initial alleged confession, a claim that he “mistakenly” left her in his vehicle, was a pathetic, calculated deceit attempting to mask a monstrous reality.
The mourning in Chiredzi was just beginning when the shadow moved toward Zaka.
Having both learned and taught at St Anthony’s High School, I am familiar with the pace of life there.
Regrettably, in Zaka, a 14-year-old girl was raped and murdered, and her nine-year-old cousin was taken from us forever simply because he witnessed the incident.
Three children. Three lives lost in the places where they should have been safest.
These aren’t isolated events; they reflect deep societal decay.
For generations, the saying “It takes a village to raise a child” reflected our social agreement.
In the past, every person on the street watched over a child walking home.
Nowadays, that agreement has fallen apart.
Economic struggles, rapid urban growth, and diminished social bonds have turned neighbours into strangers.
When offenders are “known to the kids”, as in these cases, it indicates a profound problem.
Our society’s moral compass has not merely drifted; it has been broken.
We also need to address the disturbing rumours that often emerge after such tragedies, suggesting some killings are connected to ritual practices or attempts to obtain wealth through muti.
Whether these motives are genuine or communities use these explanations to rationalise unimaginable cruelty, the situation is deeply troubling.
Taking a child’s life for perceived personal gain reflects a serious moral and spiritual crisis, showing a society where human life, particularly that of the innocent, can be reduced to a means for power, wealth or influence.
Yet ritual beliefs alone cannot explain the violence we are witnessing.
Children are harmed for many reasons, and confronting these realities is essential if we are to protect them.
In some cases, the violence is rooted in sexual predation, where perpetrators exploit children because they see them as vulnerable and powerless.
In other instances, children become victims of domestic violence, family conflict or abuse by people entrusted with their care.
Poverty and economic desperation can also increase risks, creating environments where exploitation, trafficking or neglect flourish.
Alcohol and drug abuse, untreated mental health problems and deeply ingrained gender inequalities can further fuel violence against children.
Sometimes, children are killed simply because they become witnesses to other crimes, as appears to have been the case in Zaka.
None of these explanations diminish the horror of these acts.
Instead, they reveal that the violence facing our children is not caused by a single factor, but by a dangerous combination of social breakdown, economic hardship, and moral failure.
If Zimbabwe is to confront this crisis honestly, we must be willing to examine all these underlying causes and respond to them with urgency and resolve.
Perhaps the greatest tragedy, beyond the crimes themselves, is our national amnesia.
Zimbabwe is a nation overwhelmed by its own challenges, inflation, political tension and the daily grind of survival.
Consequently, we have developed a dangerous defense mechanism: we shock easily, but we forget quickly.
In a few months, the names of the murdered children will likely fade from the front pages.
The outrage will simmer down to a low hum, and these families will be left to navigate the wreckage of their lives in total darkness.
This is where we also fail most catastrophically.
We demand justice, but we neglect the survivors.
There is a desperate, urgent need for professional trauma counselling for these bereaved families.
How does a mother in Chiredzi walk past that Marula tree every day?
How do parents in Zaka close their eyes at night?
Without sustained psychological support, these tragedies ripple through generations as unresolved trauma, further weakening our community fabric.
We must ensure these deaths are not just statistics. Action is necessary on multiple fronts.
We should revive the “village” spirit, including neighbourhood watches and a culture where “minding your own business” is no longer acceptable when a child’s safety is at risk.
Our schools must be transformed into fortresses.
This calls for comprehensive background checks for everyone, from teachers to the private kombi or mushikashika drivers we entrust with our children’s lives.
The perception of impunity emboldens predators.
The police and Judiciary must treat crimes against children as a national emergency.
Justice delayed invites the next monster to strike.
The innocent lives of the three children cry out from the soil.
Their deaths must be a harrowing catalyst for change.
We owe it to them and to the children still walking those dusty paths today to rebuild a society where a child can play without fear.
The time for "thoughts and prayers" has long passed.
We need systemic reform, community bravery, and a commitment to never forget.
Our children deserve more than a headline; they deserve a future.
