By Dorrothy Moyo | ZimEye | On Thursday night, the family of Admire Sibanda, popularly known as Chief Hwenje, reached a heartbreaking conclusion: their son was gone. For them, it wasn’t a fear or a misunderstanding. It was the cold, deliberate actions of ZANU PF that convinced them of his death. “They took his cell phones and then blocked the whole family, which was a clear announcement that he has died,” an uncle told ZimEye. The symbolic act of cutting off all communication was, in their eyes, the final nail in the coffin—Hwenje, the once-loyal voice of ZANU PF’s propaganda machine, had been discarded like a broken tool.
The roots of this grim saga stretch back weeks, when the family of the cancer-stricken singer began raising concerns about his welfare. A nephew of President Emmerson Mnangagwa, Hwenje had served the party with fervent devotion, his songs reverberating through rallies and airwaves as anthems of ZANU PF loyalty. But when his health began to fail, so did the party’s commitment to him. Delays in medical intervention, hollow promises, and a lack of tangible support left his family helpless as his condition worsened.
Last week, after mounting public outcry, ZANU PF hastily arranged to fly Hwenje to Pretoria for treatment. The gesture, while superficially generous, soon revealed itself as hollow. His family was not only excluded from the process but actively barred from accessing him. Phones were confiscated, visits denied, and updates shrouded in secrecy. The family interpreted these moves as an act of erasure—a party that wished to avoid accountability by silencing not only Hwenje but also those closest to him.
In their desperation, the family announced his death. For them, he wasn’t just physically inaccessible—he had been stripped of his humanity, reduced to a political liability. “They’ve taken everything from him: his voice, his agency, his dignity. To us, this is death,” said a senior family member.
But even in their grief, they refused to be silent. As the government’s secrecy deepened, the family’s resolve to expose ZANU PF’s neglect hardened. For them, this wasn’t just about Hwenje’s life—it was a fight against a system that treats loyalty as disposable. Their accusations of negligence and betrayal grew louder, their calls for transparency more urgent.
They treated him as a “dead man walking,” neglecting him until public outrage forced their hand.
A live broadcast has been proposed.
The live broadcast, however, may do little to heal the wounds inflicted by weeks of secrecy and neglect. For Hwenje’s family, this ordeal has been a devastating reminder of how loyalty can be weaponized and discarded in the brutal machinery of politics. “They may show him alive on TV, but the damage is done. We’ve been mourning our son because they made us believe he was already gone,” said one relative.