daniel chigunwe
Timothy Pemba
In today’s Zimbabwean middle-class society, a troubling trend has emerged: parents are opting for elite schools, often choosing them primarily for the promise of a polished English-speaking environment.
This choice, though seemingly beneficial on the surface, may create a generation estranged from its roots, a generation taught to value foreign ideals over indigenous ones.
As these children grow, they grapple with the inability to relate to their grandparents, elders and even parents, disconnected from the rich heritage and cultural wisdom that have sustained our people for centuries. Are we, perhaps unwittingly, nourishing a snake that may one day devour us all?
This issue is not just about language or accent; it is a far-reaching problem rooted in the legacy of colonialism.
Many of these so-called “prestigious” schools trace their origins back to colonial structures and institutions designed to enforce a mindset that equated English with modernity, success and superiority.
The same schools, which once devalued indigenous knowledge, continue to serve as gatekeepers of success for Zimbabwe’s middle class.
And so, in a tragic irony, decades after independence, we find ourselves surrendering our children to institutions still operating within a colonial framework. We have come to believe that these schools, which ignore or even denigrate our cultural identity, are necessary for our children’s future.
The irony here is sharp. How did we come to a place where we ask those who once dehumanised us, who saw our ancestors as inferior, to now shape the minds and futures of our children?
By choosing English as the primary medium of education, we inadvertently tell our children that their languages, Shona, Ndebele or any other indigenous tongue are insufficient. This is no minor issue; language shapes thought, culture and identity.
When we teach our children to communicate and think solely in English, we are also teaching them to see their world, their culture and ultimately themselves through a foreign lens. In essence, this educational path alienates them from their heritage and community.
The tragedy runs even deeper. Language is not just a tool for communication; it is a vessel of culture, a way of understanding the world through the values, emotions and wisdom of our ancestors. Through language, our stories, philosophies and moral codes are passed down.
When our children are educated primarily in English, they learn to feel, think and aspire within a framework that distances them from their history and community.
They are schooled in foreign ideals, yet ironically deprived of the deep connection to self and community that true education should provide.
The effects of this disconnection are profound. As children pass through these colonial-rooted institutions, they learn that their culture, language and values are less than those of the West.
They emerge from these schools alienated not only from their families and communities but also from themselves.
They learn to look down on the beliefs, customs and traditions that shaped their parents and grandparents.
They may even grow embarrassed by their cultural heritage, dismissing it as outdated or irrelevant. In this way, the colonial attitudes of the past live on, passed down unwittingly within Zimbabwean society.
Consider, for example, the state of literature in Zimbabwe. When was the last time a novel written in Shona or Ndebele made headlines or even made it onto the reading list of one of these elite schools?
Local languages are marginalised and with that the creative output that could nourish a sense of cultural pride and continuity is also sidelined.
Children who grow up disconnected from their cultural heritage are left without the anchors of identity.
They may achieve academic success, but their identities are hollow, lacking the depth and context that only comes from cultural continuity.
Without pride in our own stories, languages and histories, what kind of Zimbabwean identity are we cultivating?
In a broader sense, this disconnection impacts the psychological well-being of young Zimbabweans. How often have we heard young people in Zimbabwe speak of self-doubt, of feeling “not good enough”?
Much of this stems from an educational system that implicitly tells them that their heritage, language and culture are inferior. They may excel academically, but they are left with an internal void a sense of self-worth that is tied not to their own culture but to a foreign ideal they may never fully achieve.
This self-alienation is a lingering wound from colonialism, a wound we continue to deepen when we fail to provide a culturally relevant education.
Imagine visiting Japan and finding Japanese people who cannot speak Japanese, or going to China to discover a generation ashamed of their traditions. In Zimbabwe, we face just such a reality.
Our children are growing up disconnected from their languages, unable to communicate deeply with their own families.
Many middle-class Zimbabwean parents believe they are giving their children the best education by enrolling them in elite, English-speaking schools. But at what cost?
If we are to reclaim our children’s futures, we must take a hard look at the systems in place and make intentional choices to value our heritage. Education should not serve as a tool for alienation; rather, it should be a bridge connecting generations.
A Zimbabwean education that respects and incorporates Shona, Ndebele, and other indigenous languages into its curriculum would allow children to understand themselves better, instilling pride in who they are and where they come from.
This shift requires both courage and intentionality. It means valuing and demanding curricula prioritising Zimbabwe’s cultural heritage. Schools should teach not only English but also the stories, histories and philosophies of our people.
It means parents must recognise that their children’s future success depends not solely on English proficiency but on a holistic education that strengthens identity, pride and community.
We stand at a crossroads. Suppose we continue to prioritise an education that divorces our children from their culture. In that case, we risk raising a generation adrift, caught in a cycle of self-doubt, cultural amnesia, and identity crises.
But we have the power to change this course. We can choose to hit the head of the snake to confront this legacy of colonial education and create a system that uplifts, rather than erodes, our sense of self.
Zimbabwe has a rich heritage that can empower our youths if we make it central to their education.
Language, history and cultural practices are not obstacles to progress; they are our greatest assets. They are what make us resilient, grounded and proud. And they are the foundation upon which we can build a future that respects and preserves our identity.
Timothy Pemba is a student of the Decolonisation of Africa with a deep interest in the continent’s socio-economic transformation and its role in the global landscape. He writes in his capacity; that opinions expressed do not reflect the views of any organisations he may be associated with. He can be contacted via email at [email protected]
Bongani Ndlovu