I was in Zvishavane town recently, enjoying a slow afternoon at the rank, when the talk of the town reached my ears—some people, in their infinite wisdom, believe that cemeteries should expand as if land were as limitless as the air we breathe. I listened, nodded where necessary, but deep inside, I wondered: Have we, as a people, run out of things to debate?
Even Chamu the Driver, a man of practical wisdom despite his legendary impatience, found this baffling. “Ko, some things don’t need discussion, Edgar. Like washing your hands before eating sadza and derere after changing a car tire. Some things, you just do!” He chuckled as he wiped grease from his fingers with an old rag. And I agreed with him.
But here we are, discussing whether graves should keep multiplying like rabbits, squeezing out space meant for the living. Zvishavane Town Council, showing rare but commendable foresight, has said No! to this absurdity. They have set up a new cemetery at Four Miles in Mabhula, ensuring that burials happen in a planned and orderly manner. One would think this is the end of the story. But no—some still insist that cemeteries must grow like maize fields after the first rains.
Let us return to the books. The Cemeteries Act [Chapter 5:04] is very clear. It governs how burial grounds are established, who manages them, and when they should be closed. It does not, anywhere in its provisions, suggest that cemeteries should expand like a business empire with ambitions of monopoly. It was designed to ensure that towns remain functional, not to transform urban land into one vast graveyard.
So why, then, do some argue as if the land is a limitless resource? Would it not be wiser to focus on living spaces, schools, or even parks where our children can play? Shouldn’t we worry about the potholes that now compete with our roads, or the markets crying for proper structures? No, some want us to believe that graveyards must stretch beyond their borders, as if the dead should dictate the town’s master plan.
Perhaps they wish for a day when council meetings will have to debate whether to build a school or add another row of graves. Perhaps they envision a future where entire neighborhoods are fenced off to accommodate headstones instead of houses. If we keep entertaining such ideas, will we not one day wake up to find that the biggest landowners in Zvishavane are the dead?
Zvishavane Town Council has chosen wisely. There is a time to be buried, yes, but before that, there is a time to live—and we should ensure that space for the living is prioritized. Some things, like washing hands before eating sadza, should not require a debate.
