From private jet to plastic bags: Wicknell’s life teaches us how arrogance can humble us

Tendai Ruben Mbofana

Three days after his horrific demise, controversial tenderpreneur Wicknell Chivayo still dominates Zimbabwe’s public discourse.

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He lost his life, together with his wife Lulu, her aide, and two pilots, in a tragic helicopter crash near Marondera shortly after leaving his rural home.

The fact that his name remains on the lips of every Zimbabwean is not at all surprising.

This is a man—love him or hate him—who hogged the public spotlight for years, defining his existence through a flamboyant lifestyle and the unashamed flaunting of his wealth.

He was never shy about showing the world his latest acquisitions, from high-end luxury vehicles and stacks of raw cash to a new private jet and a grand mansion in South Africa.

He relished posting pictures of himself—often accompanied by his wife—inside his Gulfstream G550, informing the public where he was flying and in which corner of the globe he would be dining.

His public gifting of cars and cash to influential figures, including religious leaders, musicians, and political loyalists, quickly became his signature hallmark.

He needed everyone to see that he was rich—not just rich, but filthy rich.

And that is precisely where the problems started.

Inevitably, Zimbabweans had to ask the obvious question

Where was he getting this seemingly endless torrent of cash, particularly for someone with no known viable commercial operations?

When pressed, he pointed to Intratrek Zimbabwe, IMC Communications, IMC Construction Kenya, or Trintas Energy.

Yet beyond small offices scattered here and there, not even his staunchest defenders could identify what work these companies actually performed.

Intratrek Zimbabwe, for instance, was awarded a US$172.8 million contract without going to tender to construct a solar power facility across 262 hectares in Gwanda.

The Zimbabwe Power Company (ZPC) released US$5.6 million for pre-commencement works.

By 2018, parliamentary and media inspections revealed an abandoned site overgrown with bushes, featuring nothing more than basic clearings and structural skeletons, prompting ZPC to cancel the contract.

Then came the R800 million (about US$42 million) deposited into accounts linked to Chivayo by South Africa’s Ren-Form CC immediately after it received R1.1 billion from Zimbabwe’s Treasury for inflated election material.

The transactions were later flagged as highly suspicious by South African authorities.

More recently, unconfirmed allegations surfaced from investigative writer Adam Rhys Lurie.

He claimed that Chivayo operated as a key financial operative behind a US$4 billion illicit weapons pipeline supplying Sudan’s Rapid Support Forces, funded through gold-smuggling involving regional elites.

Lurie even linked these claims to the crash, suggesting sabotage to silence a man who knew too much.

When hound by questions about his sources of wealth, Chivayo offered insults instead of transparency.

Around the world, wealthy individuals declare their financial state.

In Zimbabwe, for instance, we know telecommunications mogul Strive Masiyiwa’s net worth, which currently stands at US$2.2 billion, according to Forbes.

We are also aware that his wealth declined between April and July when his newly listed Econet InfraCo fell 31% on the Victoria Falls Stock Exchange.

That transparency is expected of legitimate business.

But Chivayo’s money never appeared invested anywhere; he simply paraded ready stacks of cash.

Anyone who questioned him was dismissed as jealous or “broke.”

Just recently, he crudely told a critic that the absolute most they would achieve in their lifetime was an erection.

For Chivayo, arrogance was a fatal flaw.

He operated under the conviction that money was the sole measure of human worth.

In truth, wealth seemed to be the only metric that gave his life purpose.

Anyone without it was dismissed as utterly insignificant.

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Money was his instrument of power, and he derived immense pleasure from rendering others beholden to him.

He relished the sight of influential figures abasing themselves for cars and cash.

He found quiet satisfaction in watching ordinary citizens humiliate themselves, begging for his favor in hopes of a handout.

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This illusion of absolute authority corrupted his mind.

He began to view himself as an untouchable titan in Zimbabwean society.

Ultimately, his vanity crossed into outright sacrilege.

He claimed the sacred title “Mukuru weMazuva”—the Ancient of Days—a name reserved exclusively for Almighty Jehovah God.

Yet the poetic irony of how it ended is impossible to ignore.

Following the horrific crash and fuel explosion, recovery teams had to collect his torn, charred remains into black plastic refuse bags.

This was how “Mukuru weMazuva” departed this earth: in rubbish bags.

I do not celebrate this tragedy, but I cannot ignore the lesson.

I lost my mother exactly a year ago, on October 4.

Though a humble nurse, she died peacefully in a hospital bed.

Identifying her body at Gweru Provincial Hospital mortuary was painful, but what I treasured was how peaceful she appeared.

That is real dignity.

Chivayo lived in arrogance—believing anyone without a private jet was a loser—yet died in a field like a wild animal, his body gathered in plastic bags.

Given the choice, I would far prefer a humble, modest life that ends in quiet dignity.

That is a lesson we must all take to heart.

Chivayo’s fate serves as a stark warning to anyone tempted by the intoxicating illusion of unbridled wealth and power.

True human worth is never measured by the luxury of our transport, the size of our bank balances, or the spectacle of our earthly ostentation.

When the final curtain falls, arrogance guarantees nothing but a tragic humbling.

Real greatness resides in humility, quiet integrity, and a life lived in service to others.

That is the enduring truth we must all take to heart.

As we watch a whole man collected in plastic bags, can we not say it plainly?

After all is said and done, Wicknell died poor.

• *Tendai Ruben Mbofana is a social justice advocate and writer. Please feel free to contact him on +263715667700 or *

  mbofana.tendairuben73@gmail.com