Online Reporter
Veronica Gwaze
Zimpapers Sports Hub
ZIMBABWEAN netball carries a history marked by grit, heartbreak and sacrifice; a legacy driven by unmatched passion, determination and sheer willpower that was rarely rewarded.
Of the six pioneering teams that formed the country’s first professional netball league, the Netball Super League, in 1993, only two remain. The other four now lie in a metaphorical netball graveyard, forgotten by time.
Founded by the late Ledwin Dondo, Eva Chirwa and other netball trailblazers, those original clubs — St Mary’s (Chitungwiza), Highlanders, Hwange and Mhangura — have since vanished from the court.
Only Black Rhinos and Zimbabwe Republic Police Queens survive. The latter later rebranded to ZRP Mambas Queens.
Mambas clinched their first Super League title in 2018.
The following year, both Mambas and Black Rhinos left the league to join the Rainbow Netball Amateur League.
In 2021, Rhinos moved again; this time to the newly formed Premier Netball League, and went on to win the championship in 2024.
Before her death in May 2021, Dondo sat down for one final interview with Zimpapers Sports Hub, reflecting on the early days.
“At first there was no netball league to talk of, so we only played inter-township games, social matches and sponsored cups,” she said from her home in Chitungwiza.
“Our main sponsors were UBM and Lyons. Netball was a game of passion for the teams that started the league. We got very little, but we still played wholeheartedly anyway.”
Among the founding six, St Mary’s stood out as the heartbeat of Zimbabwean netball. Formed by Dondo in 1985, the club is widely regarded as the best netball team ever assembled in the country. They were unstoppable, going unbeaten for 13 straight years from 1985 to 1998. Their roster included legends like the late Gladys Murisa, the mother of football icon Stewart Murisa; Chioniso Ariferi; Ronica Marondera; Faresi John; Jane Makoni; Memory Mandirahwe; and Ebboh Mlambo.
Stewart, Gladys’ eldest of seven children, often tagged along to his mother’s matches as a child.
“She used to take us to her games when we were kids, and I remember watching her play at Huruyadzo Grounds in St Mary’s,” he said.
“The other players would babysit us while she played. All I can say is that netball gave me a life.”
Sponsorship was always a challenge. To survive, teams partnered with municipalities, securing space at local bars or community centres to run soup kitchens. They cooked and sold food to raise money. Sometimes, it was the only source of income keeping their clubs alive.
At games, players would take turns preparing meals. Even with such resourcefulness, many teams eventually ran out of options.
Over the years, more than 20 clubs have been started, but they eventually folded, choked out by financial strain. Alice Mutema, former radio and TV personality, who led the Zimbabwe Netball Association (ZINA) from 1996 to 2002, remembers it well.
“We had huge sponsorship challenges,” she said. “But, because of the passion we shared as a team, we pushed ourselves to find backers. We were in it for the love of the sport.”
Sometimes the money just was not there.
For international programmes, ZINA members would pool funds to send a single representative. In other cases, people paid their own way.
Mutema recalled one particular trip to South Africa. She had covered her own travel and lodging expenses, only to be told ZINA owed money to Africa Netball.
“I stood up and told them that in Zimbabwe we play out of passion. I had paid for everything out of my own pocket, and if they wanted to send me home, that was fine,” she said.
“Someone from the executive stood up, said it was rare to see such passion, and handed me money out of his own pocket. It was a lot. I cleared our debt and even used it to get home. That’s the kind of fire we had.”
She added: “We dreamed of self-sufficient clubs, but that never materialised. And even now, many clubs are still struggling.”
Veteran netball legend Sarudzai Chapo remembers the days when the Stodart Netball Complex was packed to the rafters with fans.
“Whenever there were games, the atmosphere was electric,” she said. “All we ever wanted was to go out there and play our hearts out. Netball felt like family.”
There was no glamour, no big paychecks — just sweat and pride.
“I’m glad that over time, things have started to improve,” she added.
The graveyard of Zimbabwean netball is not just a space for vanished teams or faded jerseys.
It is a quiet monument to a generation of relentless dreamers; women who played out of passion, who gave everything, and who were never truly celebrated.
