By Kuda Pembere recently in Kadoma
An often-overlooked consequence of gender-based violence (GBV), is the bitter aftertaste it leaves on future generations—a legacy stained by silence, shame, and isolation.
Chadwick Mangwiro* (not his real name), a man rooted in African family values, takes pride in his totem, Shumba—a name held dear by his father, relatives, and community. Yet behind this proud identity lies a painful past.
His father, once a perpetrator of GBV, eventually turned a corner, committing himself to love and support his wife. Following in those reformed footsteps, Mangwiro, too, would embark on a path of healing and reconciliation in his own marriage.
But before redemption came estrangement.
Being shut out of family events—funerals, traditional weddings, and other key gatherings—cut deep. This exclusion was the community’s response to Mangwiro’s violent behavior towards his wife.
At just 24, the young man from Bindura, Mashonaland Central Province, married a beautiful woman. But, as he admits, he replicated the very cycles of abuse he had grown up with.
Although I got married at 24 and my wife was 20—both legally of age—we weren’t ready. We lacked an understanding of what marriage truly entails. I grew up in a home where anger and GBV were common,” Mangwiro shared during a Journalists’ Workshop on GBV and child marriage reporting hosted by the Zimbabwe Gender Commission and Population Solutions for Health (PSH).
“My father used to beat my mother. Any suspicious movement or comment would provoke him. That environment shaped me. I began treating my wife like an adversary—and abused her.”
At the height of his violence, his wife was left bedridden.
“One time, I hurt her so badly she couldn’t do any household chores. I sent her back to her family home, but surprisingly, she kept coming back,” he said.
In one incident, while Mangwiro was socializing with friends, his wife commented that his clothes were worn and needed replacing. The seemingly harmless remark triggered a violent outburst.
Bindura is one of Zimbabwe’s districts with the highest rates of GBV and child marriages—realities that Mangwiro links to the local mining economy.
“I’m a gold dealer. When men come into money, they often stray. They devalue their wives and prioritize girlfriends. When confronted, violence can erupt. Sometimes the girlfriends become victims too,” he said.
“Child marriages are also rampant. Many makorokoza—artisanal miners from places like Kwekwe and Kadoma—come to Bindura, make fast money, and impregnate underage girls. Some are married, but they don’t live with their families.”
In 2022, a local soccer event unexpectedly changed the course of his life. PSH had brought its Love Shouldn’t Hurt campaign to Bindura, and a friend invited Mangwiro to attend.
“After the match, PSH staff started speaking to us. It felt like they were describing my life. I was angry at my friend for putting me in that situation, but on the way home, I began to understand why he brought me. That night, he counselled me,” Mangwiro said.
That moment marked the beginning of his transformation. He began attending Apostolic Faith Mission (AFM) church services, where he received spiritual guidance. During times of emotional turmoil, he reached out to PSH’s toll-free line for professional counselling.
“I picked up a pamphlet with their number—0808117. I called and got support. Later, my friend invited me to church again. The pastor shared verses that moved me. Eventually, I took my wife to the pastor’s home, and he counselled both of us. That was in September 2022.”
Today, Mangwiro is a changed man. He owns two vehicles and rents a home where he lives peacefully with his wife. In his community, he’s seen as a role model and is often called upon to mediate domestic disputes.
“I’ve learned to love and respect my wife. We now understand and value each other. Even my in-laws trust me—they give me responsibilities. I’ve since paid the bride price. When a GBV case arises, I’m called in to counsel. I feel like I’ve discovered a new power in myself—the power to love and lead my family,” he said.
One of the most powerful symbols of his redemption came in 2024, when his mother finally shared his sister’s roora (bride price) list—a gesture of trust long withheld due to his past behavior.
“What hurt most was being excluded from my sister’s wedding. When I asked about the rusambo, my mother showed me the list. The bride price was USD 3,000 and the cows were already in the kraal. I was given only USD 100, while my brothers received USD 300 each. That’s how they used to see me.
“Back then, I couldn’t even contribute to family events. My father and I didn’t get along—he’d threaten to beat me like I used to beat my wife. All this while we lived in his house. Now, I rent my own place in Bindura,” he said.
Mangwiro’s story is one of painful self-awareness, transformation, and hope. It proves that change is possible—and that redemption, though hard-won, can bring healing not only to individuals, but also to families and communities.
The Love Shouldn’t Hurt campaign was launched in 2021. By 2024, PSH Executive Director Dr. Noah Taruberekera announced that 6,082 individuals had been reached through community-based GBV prevention initiatives. Traditional media helped amplify the campaign’s impact.
Dr. Taruberekera said the campaign zeroes in on intimate partner violence (IPV), a widespread issue in Zimbabwe.
“Most IPV happens in domestic settings. That makes the home the most dangerous place for women,” he said, emphasizing the campaign’s unique focus: engaging men as key agents of change.
Citing data, he revealed that 69% of Zimbabwean women have experienced IPV—a staggering figure that demands urgent national reflection. Even more troubling, 41% of men have admitted to perpetrating IPV.
“The problem is so widespread that you could point randomly and find a perpetrator every second person,” he said.
Dr. Taruberekera also criticized traditional interventions that focus only on women.
“That approach is incomplete. It takes two to tango,” he said. The campaign uses a human-centred design to better understand the mindset of men who commit IPV.
One deeply disturbing finding, he noted, was the belief among some men—and even women—that violence is a form of love.
“I’m only reporting what participants told us. But that belief is both entrenched and profoundly harmful,” he said.
Caroline Matiza, Director of Programmes at the ZGC said many GBV survivors in rural areas struggle to access health services.
“Survivors often lack transport, medication, hospital fees, food, and shelter—essentials when seeking health care that is far from home,” she said.
She also pointed to chronic shortages of critical medicines at health facilities.
“Some health centres run out of essential drugs—like those for STI treatment or post-exposure prophylaxis (PEP). Survivors are told to buy them themselves, and many simply can’t afford to,” Matiza added.
