Online Reporter
Veronica Gwaze
Zimpapers Sports Hub
A CAREER spanning more than a dozen clubs, countless controversies and a conspicuous absence of major trophies would typically paint a portrait of failure in the world of football.
Yet, in the case of coach Saul Chaminuka, his enigmatic journey, characterised by unpaid dues, contentious management styles and a remarkable ability to evade scrutiny, has created an enduring fascination within the local football landscape.
Despite the questions surrounding his coaching methods, Chaminuka has carved a unique niche in the country’s football history, his enigmatic reputation captivating observers and leaving them intrigued by his unwavering presence in the game.
They call him “Sekuru Saul”, a quiet, almost stoic figure in a sport that often celebrates the loudest.
For three decades, Chaminuka has roamed the Zimbabwean football landscape, a nomad defined less by accolades than by the murmur of mystery that follows him from touchline to touchline.
On paper, he has little to show. No championship medals. No silverware. Not even a complete season at a club in recent memory.
Yet, paradoxically, his name remains highly sought after, an ever relevant piece in a shifting football puzzle.
“My journey has always been that of struggles, passion, pain and heartbreaks. It is a pressure cooker,” he says. “But I have a way of surviving these environments.”
If ever there was a figure summoned in moments of despair, it is Saul Chaminuka.
From Black Rhinos to Bikita Minerals, GreenFuel to Kwekwe United, and now to the cauldron that is Dynamos, Chaminuka has made a career out of emergency appointments — arriving as a last resort, often bringing a flicker of hope before the inevitable storm.
He is described by insiders as a man with tactical intelligence and emotional charisma; the kind of coach who can rally teams in turmoil. Still, his story is riddled with half-seasons, disputed exits and debts left unpaid.
“I understand how to work under pressure and I am sure this is how I have survived the most difficult terrains,” he says.
But he concedes that survival has come at a cost.
When Chaminuka joined Black Rhinos midway through the 2023 season, they were on the brink, one place above the bottom, with just seven points. Under his guidance, their form improved; they started winning. But the surge came too late.
They were relegated on the final day.
“When Black Rhinos got relegated under my watch, I did not view myself as a relegated coach,” he insists.
“We were supposed to survive that year, but heartbreaking things happened. If Dynamos had not lost their last game to Yadah, allegedly in an arrangement meant to save the latter, Rhinos would have survived.”
Next stop: Bikita Minerals, newly promoted and brimming with ambition.
Chaminuka lit a spark, assembling a team anchored by a flamboyant quartet, dubbed “the four-plate stove”: Allan Gadzikwa, Masimba Mambare, Evans Katema and Carlton Munzabwa.
But within three months, unpaid salaries and broken promises turned that flame cold. Players walked away, and so did their coach.
“I wanted to stay, but they were not paying me or the players,” Chaminuka says. “I felt I was letting down the boys I had convinced to play and out of guilt, I left.”
To date, he claims Bikita still owes him.
In May 2024, Chaminuka resurfaced at GreenFuel, replacing Rodwell Dhlakama amid swirling controversy. At the time, he was also linked with TelOne, and the football rumour mill went into overdrive.
“I would have gone to TelOne,” he admits. “But I already had a pre-contract with GreenFuel. They said we cannot lose a coach to a small team and they bid higher. People talked, but they didn’t understand the behind-the-scenes happenings.”
It raised uncomfortable questions: Is Chaminuka loyal to projects, or to the highest bidder?
At Kwekwe United, his most recent stop, he stayed for less than three months.
Despite personally helping to assemble the squad and even using his own money to support club operations, he left again.
“I do not know why clubs disrespect me. Bikita and Kwekwe still owe me,” he says. “At Kwekwe, I made players sign contracts when there was no money, hoping we’d get a sponsor after a few games. But that went down south.”
Today, as Dynamos swim in relegation waters, Chaminuka is once again the man called to steer a ship battered by chaos and fan unrest.
It is perhaps fitting. His journey has never known calm seas.
“When I took the job, I was aware of the pressure,” he says with a chuckle. “My history will tell you, I’m used to pressure.”
For all the noise around his name, the truth about Chaminuka may be less dramatic than the gossip would have you believe.
He has never won major titles. His career is a patchwork of crises, controversies and walkouts. And yet, he is still standing, in a football ecosystem that has devoured more decorated peers.
Perhaps it is not trophies that define Chaminuka’s legacy, but the bruises he has endured. Maybe his legacy lies not in triumph, but in the hard-earned survival through a system that offers loyalty to no one.
In the end, he may not be a champion in the classic sense. But in a land of broken promises, he remains one of the last men still willing to answer the call, even when the ground is already on fire.
Online Reporter