If one’s days are numbered, why waste them gifting the rich instead of lifting the poor?

The recent revelations by Madzibaba Moses are deeply disturbing.

He claimed that Wicknell Chivayo’s multi-million-dollar spending spree was triggered by a prophetic warning that his time on earth was strictly limited.

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If true, it exposes a profound crisis in Zimbabwe’s moral compass. Surely, why would someone who believed their days were numbered waste those few remaining moments on vanity? Why go on an aggressive drive to scatter a fortune by gifting already well-to-do, influential public figures with luxury SUVs, Mercedes-Benz Maybachs, and hundreds of thousands of dollars?

Is this really what we as Zimbabweans now regard as important, and is this what should define our legacy when we leave? I know there are those who will argue that a person can do whatever they want with their own money. Granted, that is true on paper. But there are two fundamental issues we need to honestly consider before dismissing this as private choice. The first is that, quite honestly, Chivayo’s wealth was profoundly questionable. He eventually left this earth without ever accounting for where he earned these immense riches. Despite repeatedly claiming to be a businessman and aspiring to be the youngest multi-billionaire, he could never openly lay down what these businesses actually were, what products or services they provided, where they operated, or how many people they employed.

An online search yields names of corporate entities—Intratrek Zimbabwe, IMC Construction Kenya, IMC Communications, and Trintas Energy—yet an exhaustive investigation clearly indicates these entities never performed tangible work. They operated as shell companies thriving on securing public tenders at highly inflated prices, only to subcontract to actual firms, or worse, deliver nothing at all.

Consider the infamous $178.2 million 100 MW solar power plant project in Gwanda. Intratrek received a $5.6 million advance payment for pre-commencement works—including site clearing, feasibility studies, and access roads—yet virtually nothing was ever done. Look at the R800 million (about $42 million) allegedly deposited into accounts linked to Chivayo by South Africa’s Ren-Form CC, right after it received R1.1 billion from Zimbabwe’s Treasury for inflated election materials.

South African authorities flagged these suspicious transactions for corruption, yet Chivayo never explained them. Beyond this lie numerous unverified accusations of gold smuggling using private jets. Whatever the case, it is undeniable that these were public funds. It was not his money; it was Zimbabweans’ money. It was our money. As taxpayers, we have every right to question how that capital was spent. If he chose to distribute this ill-gotten wealth to influential individuals simply because “his days were numbered,” we have every right to be enraged.

This is money that should have equipped under-resourced public hospitals where thousands lose their lives annually for lack of basic medication and equipment. It is money that should have built classrooms for our children, who are currently forced to learn under trees without books, science equipment, or desks. Secondly, morality plays a pivotal role. Even if, for the sake of argument, this wealth had been earned through honest work, the example set by totally ignoring the poor remains deeply concerning.

Zimbabwe is home to a legitimate billionaire, telecommunications mogul Strive Masiyiwa, whose fortune is recognized by Forbes. Though Masiyiwa has every right to spend his money as he pleases, he never flaunts it on vanity. Through the Higherlife Foundation, established in 1996 with his wife Tsitsi, he has supported over 400,000 learners from early childhood to doctoral levels through scholarships, teacher development, and healthcare. On the ground, their Capernaum and Joshua Nkomo scholarships cover total tuition for thousands of orphans and gifted students.

In public health, the foundation has equipped maternity wards with critical-care medical equipment and trained thousands of health professionals to protect mothers and newborns. These are not fleeting social media stunts, but sustained investments that strengthen the very fabric of our society. That is genuine philanthropy—quiet, structured, and devoid of social media drama or grandstanding invitations like “go and see Victor.”

Somewhere in Zimbabwe today, a child who might never have entered a classroom is now an engineer, doctor, lawyer, or entrepreneur. Somewhere in a public hospital, a mother and her newborn are alive because a maternity ward had the medical equipment and trained staff to save them. That is the moral fiber we must cultivate. We must give our people skills, education, and capacity to thrive.

There is something fundamentally wrong with a society that normalizes handing keys to a $450,000 Maybach to a famous celebrity while children sit on cold stones in the rain to learn. If someone truly knew their days were numbered, shouldn’t they have chosen to finally do what was right? True legacy is measured by the lives we lift up, not the vanity we fund.

***Tendai Ruben Mbofana is a social justice advocate and writer. Please feel free to contact him on +263715667700 or ***mbofana.tendairuben73@gmail.com

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