Online Reporter
Lovemore Chikova
WHEN news of Nicholas Zakaria’s passing spread last week, Zimbabwe mourned a man widely celebrated as “Senior Lecturer”, the undisputed professor of sungura music.
Zakaria did not only lecture others about sungura, he literally owned the genre which he helped give an identity.
Yet beneath the outpouring of grief lay a quieter truth that has lived in the shadows of his long career: Zakaria, for all his fame as a sungura maestro, was in fact one of Zimbabwe’s most consistent gospel musicians.
It was only unfortunate that the church never fully accepted him simply because the packaging of his message came wrapped in sungura, rather than conventional praise-and-worship sound.
His was gospel disguised as everyday wisdom, spiritual counsel blended with guitar-driven township rhythms and evangelism delivered through the rhythms of sungura.
For decades, gospel fans and church communities rarely embraced Zakaria, despite the fact that his lyrical content often pointed to the same God, the same moral code and the same spiritual virtues championed by mainstream gospel artistes.
While he is widely remembered as the “Senior Lecturer” of sungura, a closer look at his lyrical messages and personal life reveals a man whose music consistently carried gospel values, spiritual reflection and moral teachings, even though the gospel fraternity never fully acknowledged him as one of their own.
His refusal to abandon sungura – his musical home, cultural identity and artistic pride – effectively kept him on the margins of gospel recognition.
Radio stations shunned him on their gospel music charts and organisers of gospel music shows thought he was too “sungura” to make it to the line-up among gospel musicians.
To many of such people, including Christians, gospel music had to sound a certain way.
Zakaria did not fit the mould.
Yet, ironically, his catalogue is filled with songs anchored in scripture, ethics and spiritual reflections far deeper than some formally labelled gospel releases.
With his death, a generation lost not only the “Senior Lecturer” of sungura, but also an artiste who, without ever needing a clerical collar, used his guitar to preach the humility, gratitude and neighbourly love that lie at the centre of Christian living.
In most of his songs, he pointed people to God and used lived experiences to chastise the wayward. While he never stood at a pulpit or declared himself a preacher, Zakaria had an uncanny way of using everyday stories to teach values that mirrored those found in the Bible: love, patience, good conduct, respect and the constant awareness of God’s hand in life.
His choice of the sungura genre, with its fast-paced guitars and association with dancehalls, beerhalls and open-air shows, meant he was always placed on the “secular” shelf.
But listen closely to what he sang and the lines blur instantly.
One does not need to look far into his discography to unearth this spiritual thread.
Tracks like “Mazano” are built around the biblical principles of seeking God’s guidance before making life decisions.
“Mabvi Nemagokora”, a truly praise song that can fit in any church’s praise and worship line-up on a beautiful Sunday morning, reminds people of their duty to thank God for every blessing.
On “Ndiri Mutadzi”, just like other gospel music singers, Zakaria’s lyrics are not different. He is asking God for forgiveness, acknowledging that he is a sinner. The message of asking for forgiveness from God also reverberates on “Chikumbiro”. He also gave us “Tsamba”, a song that likens a person’s life to a letter on which good deeds should be written. These good deeds are what God demands from everyone, so the song goes.
Zakaria chastises those who find going after worldly riches a much more lucrative venture as compared to seeking God on “Sarudza” and sings about the Great Commission on “Vatendi”.
In fact, the majority of Zakaria’s songs had all the ingredients that qualified them as gospel music.
The commitment to biblical and moral teaching is what earned him the affectionate nickname “Madzibaba” and contrary to the assumption that the name directly tied him to the apostolic sects, its roots were simpler and more organic.
Although he was to once become a member of an apostolic sect, Zakaria’s public image in the early ‘90s — clean lifestyle, spiritual vocabulary in songs, calm demeanour and the trademark beard — made fans liken him to the respected elders in apostolic churches.
The nickname also gained a second life as a badge of honour for his mentorship of young musicians, first at Green Mangos, then at Vhuka Boys and later at Khiama Boys, reinforcing the idea of Zakaria as a father figure in the music industry.
Yet the irony is striking: while Zakaria quietly produced decades of spiritually infused music, many gospel fans comfortably embraced gospel musicians like Charles Charamba, Elias Musakwa, the Mahendere Brothers and Chakanetsa Bandimba of the “Jesu Dombo” fame, who often borrowed heavily from sungura rhythms.
Perhaps the difference is that the above singers anchored their identity in explicit Christian imagery, church settings and biblical references, making it easier for churchgoers to accept their guitar-driven sound as “gospel sungura.”
Zakaria, on the other hand, was sacrificed for refusing to shift his identity away from the people in the streets and workplaces who made sungura what it is. He remained a man of the community, not a man of overt ministry, even though his message often mirrored that of pastors and gospel singers.
This disparity raises important questions about how Zimbabwe classifies and values gospel art. Why did the church, for example, affirm Charamba’s sungura-infused gospel, but reject Zakaria’s gospel-infused sun-gura?
The answer seems to lie in presentation rather than substance. Gospel fans tend to prioritise form over message. If a song does not carry choir harmonies, open declarations of Jesus or pulpit associations, it struggles to earn gospel status, even if its moral and spiritual content aligns with Christian teachings.
Zakaria never tried to change his delivery to fit that template and in doing so, he became a victim of gospel gate-keeping.
Yet, as Zimbabwe reflects on his legacy, it becomes clear that his contribution to spiritual and moral discourse deserves recognition far beyond sungura circles.
His music consistently encouraged kindness, responsibility, humility, community harmony and faith in God, values that lie at the heart of gospel music.
Now, in his passing, it becomes easier to see Zakaria for who he truly was: a gospel artist hidden in plain sight. A preacher of morality. A counsellor disguised as a guitarist. A bearer of spiritual wisdom whose teachings simply chose a different rhythm.
If gospel music is defined by message rather than instrumentation, then Zakaria stands shoulder to shoulder with Zimbabwe’s greatest gospel voices.
His legacy challenges Zimbabweans to rethink what gospel music truly is. Is it a genre? A rhythm? A life-style? A label? Or is it the heart and message behind the music?
If gospel music is measured by: songs that uplift, messages that teach wisdom, lyrics that praise God, lyrics that worship God, music that calls for neighbourliness and moral character, a life lived in humility and service and a call to repentance, then Zakaria was undeniably a top gospel music figure.
He may never have worn the pastor’s robe, but he preached in his own way. His pulpit was the stage. His sermon notes were the lyrics, yet his congregation was much bigger — it was the nation and the world.
