Online Reporter
Miriam Tose Majome
Correspondent
At Mupedzanhamo traffic lights, Mbare’s daily struggle is palpable.
Vendors, kombis and pedestrians mingle haphazardly in the noisy melee. At Harare (Pioneer) Cemetery, situated within Mbare West Cemetery, just a stone’s throw away from the road to the flyover bridge, a far quieter, yet deeply jarring scene unfolds.
It’s more remarkable than usual this week that Zimbabwe celebrates its independence from colonial rule. Men are openly relieving themselves on the graves of Zimbabwe’s colonial pioneers.
The irony is thick: the men and women buried here once wielded immense power, shaping the brutal colonial system that oppressed the very people who now saunter carelessly across the cemetery.
The Pioneer Cemetery, a relic of Rhodesia’s founding, lies in disrepair. The perimeter walls and fences are broken, and heaps of uncollected rubbish pile up. There, the sanctity of the dead means nothing.
The tombstones are just obstructions that intersperse the myriad of footpaths criss-crossing the cemetery.
Yet, this neglect is more than just an indictment of urban decay — it is a historical paradox.
The pioneers who colonised this land, displacing and subjugating its people, now lie in the squalor they helped create, their graves subject to the indignity of a community they once despised.
A Cemetery of Colonial Contradictions
The Pioneer Cemetery, established in the late 19th century, holds the remains of members of the Pioneer Column — the armed settlers who marched north in 1890 under Cecil John Rhodes’ British South Africa Company (BSAC) to claim the area beyond the Limpopo River.
These men, an assortment of adventurers and fortune-seekers, became the architects of Rhodesia’s racial hierarchy.
They chose to bury each other far from the leafy, spacious and luxurious suburbs to the north and east that they carved out for themselves to live.
It was when they died that they were shunted across town to lie permanently below the feet of black people.
Mbare, then known as Harare Township, was one of the first segregated settlements, designed to house black labourers under strict control.
The pioneers enforced harsh laws, subjecting Africans to pass systems, forced labour and violent suppression.
Yet today, their final resting place is in the heart of a community that endured some of the worst of that brutality. Mbare residents were given the custodianship of their oppressors’ bones.
The Law of the Dead
Under Zimbabwean law, the desecration of graves is a criminal offence.
The Cemeteries Act Chapter (5.05), the Burial and Cremation Act (Chapter 5.03), and the National Museums and Monuments Act Chapter (25:11) collectively provide for the protection of burial sites, particularly those of historical significance.
Section 50 of the Criminal Law Code also criminalises the violation of graves, with penalties including fines and imprisonment. Wilful or negligent damage, desecration, or disturbance of any grave, tombstone, or other memorial in a cemetery is prohibited.
Cemetery managers and owners, including trustees who are supposed to be appointed by the minister responsible for public cemeteries, have the duty to maintain the graveyards in a decent and respectful manner. Yet, enforcement of the law is non-existent.
The Harare City Council, responsible for maintaining cemeteries in its municipality, has allowed the Pioneer Cemetery to fall into ruin. The broken walls invite not just human excrement and litter but also vandalism.
The irony is that while these graves legally demand respect, the history they represent complicates public sympathy. However, the complicated history aside, in African culture, grave sites and burial grounds are sacred and revered.
Graves are deemed frightening, and no one dares saunter into burial sites lightly. However, this is the exact opposite of the situation obtaining at Pioneer Cemetery. It is very normal to walk casually and loiter around the cemetery.
For Mbare residents, the cemetery is neither hallowed ground nor a site of reverence — it is just another neglected open space in a neighbourhood starved of basic services.
People pass through the cemetery without a second thought, unaware or unconcerned about the graves and whose bones lie beneath.
This indifference is itself a historical reversal.
The pioneers who built their wealth on black labour now rely on the descendants of the oppressed to guard their remains.
There is some poetic justice in it, and also a tragedy.
The desecration reflects not just a failure of maintenance, but a broader societal disconnect from history, whether painful or prideful.
Preserving the Cemetery
Preserving the cemetery is not about honouring colonial oppressors. It is about acknowledging history in its full complexity and instilling communal discipline and respect for public facilities.
The Pioneer Cemetery is an artefact of Zimbabwe’s past, and its decay mirrors the neglect of many heritage sites and public amenities.
The Harare City Council must repair the perimeter walls, install proper signage, and ensure regular maintenance. A partnership with the National Museums and Monuments could provide funding and oversight.
Managed properly, the cemetery could actually be a tourist site and generate revenue for the city from history students and history pundits.
The remains of Mother Patrick, the much-revered nun who founded Harare’s first school, Dominican Convent, are buried there together with many other key pioneers with familiar names.
Historical plaques explaining the cemetery’s significance — both as a colonial relic and a lesson in power’s transience — could foster interest, especially on important days, such as Independence Day.
Involving the community and employing residents in the site’s upkeep could transform it from a wasteland into an educational and employment space bridging the past and present.
Police and local authorities must treat grave desecration seriously, no matter who is buried there, and apply the existing laws to deter vandalism and violation of public amenities.
The Pioneer Cemetery is a mirror to our collective national memory, so perhaps its current state is a reflection of our chequered relationship with our colonial past.
The men and women buried there shaped a system that dehumanised black Zimbabweans — yet their neglect today speaks less of vengeance than of collective amnesia.
If we allow history to rot in open graves, we lose the chance to confront it.
The pioneers’ bones may not deserve reverence, but they do demand recognition—not as heroes, but as reminders of a past that still shadows the present. The Harare City Council must act before the last traces of this history, however painful, are washed away—not by time or human excrement but by indifference.
Miriam Tose Majome is a lawyer and a Commissioner with the Zimbabwe Media Commission. She writes in her personal capacity and can be contacted at [email protected].
