MUTASA – In the lush, emerald-green stretches of the Honde Valley, where the mist clings to the Eastern Highlands and the air is heavy with the scent of ripening bananas, a different kind of atmosphere has settled over one household. It is an atmosphere of cold silence, a decade-long emotional drought that has finally spilled over into the sacred halls of Chief Mutasa’s community court.
The case of Febby Chikomba and Winston Chimbunde is more than just a domestic dispute; it is a window into the complex, often painful intersections of polygamy, property rights, and the evolving legal landscape of rural Zimbabwe. Last Saturday, the court heard a testimony that laid bare the intimate fractures of a thirty-two-year marriage, highlighting a woman’s struggle to reclaim her dignity after what she describes as eleven years of “sex drought” and systematic abandonment.
A Marriage Divided
Febby Chikomba, a woman of advanced age whose hands bear the callouses of decades spent tending to the valley’s famous banana plantations, stood before Chief Mutasa to seek redress. Her grievance was as personal as it was profound.
“We were last intimate in 2014. For all these years, he has not been romantic to me. It is like I do not exist,” Chikomba told the court, with a voice laden with the weight of years of neglect.
The couple’s union began in 1994, a time when the Honde Valley was cementing its reputation as the fruit basket of Zimbabwe. For nearly a decade, they built a life together, but the foundation began to crumble in 2003. That was the year Winston Chimbunde decided to take a second wife.
“After he married another woman, he started abusing me,” Chikomba testified. She detailed a gradual but deliberate shift in her husband’s affections and resources. What began as a strained relationship eventually hardened into a total cessation of their physical and emotional bond. By 2014, the intimacy that defines a marriage had vanished entirely.
“Since then, he has concentrated on his new wife,” she added, describing a life where she remained a wife in name only, while her husband’s “new flame” occupied the centre of his world.
The Economics of Betrayal
In the Honde Valley, bananas are more than just food; they are currency. Recent data suggests that over 4,000 households in the region depend on banana farming for more than a third of their income, often bringing in upwards of US$200 per month—a significant sum in rural Zimbabwe.
Chikomba was one of these industrious farmers. She told the court how she had worked tirelessly, using the proceeds from her banana sales to purchase several residential stands, planning for a secure future for herself and her children. However, she alleged that Chimbunde treated her hard-earned assets as his own personal treasury.
“I would grow my bananas, and they would spend the money together with the new woman,” she said, pointing to the financial exploitation that often accompanies domestic abandonment in polygamous setups.
The betrayal extended beyond bank notes. Chikomba accused her husband of selling some of the residential properties without her knowledge or consent. Most recently, she discovered that 15,000 bricks she had painstakingly moulded—a back-breaking task often undertaken by women to build or extend their homes—had been sold off.
“He sold my bricks without my knowledge,” she pleaded with the court.
Chimbunde, for his part, did not deny the sale but offered a justification that many in the court found telling of his attitude toward his wives’ labour. “Yes, I sold the bricks because both my wives contributed moulding them. I sold them because I knew that I would make more bricks for them whenever they wanted them,” he argued.
The Symbolic Rejection
The emotional distance between the couple reached a nadir when Chimbunde began to reject the most basic symbols of domestic partnership. Chikomba recounted how he refused to eat the food she prepared and eventually moved all his belongings out of her house.
Perhaps the most stinging blow came during a time of deep personal grief. “My mother died, but Chimbunde did not attend her funeral,” Chikomba said. In Zimbabwean culture, the failure of a son-in-law to attend the funeral of his mother-in-law is a grave insult, signalling a total breakdown of familial respect.
When Chikomba’s father and brothers confronted Chimbunde to ask why he was no longer acting like a son-in-law, his response was a single United States dollar. To Chikomba and her family, this was not just a currency note; it was gupuro—the traditional Shona divorce token.
“He gave them a dollar as my divorce token,” she told the court.
Despite this clear rejection, the complexity of the human heart was on full display. “I love him, but I do not think he still loves me. If he loved me, he would not have given me the divorce token,” Chikomba admitted, a statement that underscored the vulnerability of women who find themselves cast aside after decades of marriage.
A Growing Crisis in the Courts
Chikomba’s struggle for property division is reflective of a broader crisis within the Zimbabwean legal system. She told the court that she had previously approached the magistrates’ court, but the matter had languished.
“At the magistrates’ court, he told them he still loved me and that there was no need to share property. The matter kept dragging until someone advised me to report it here,” she explained.
This “stalling” tactic is increasingly common. Recent reports from the High Court of Zimbabwe indicate a massive surge in divorce filings, with over 500 cases recorded in the first two months of 2026 alone. This backlog often leaves women in unregistered customary unions or polygamous marriages in a legal limbo, where their contributions to the matrimonial estate are difficult to prove or protect.
The legal landscape is shifting, however. A landmark ruling by the Constitutional Court in early 2026 clarified that customary marriages are automatically considered to be “in community of property” unless an antenuptial contract exists. This ruling is intended to protect women like Chikomba from being left homeless after years of contributing to a family’s wealth.
The Defence and the Daughter’s Cry
Winston Chimbunde’s defence was a mix of professed love and a redirection of blame. “I still love my wife,” he insisted to the court, flatly denying that he had abandoned her.
He claimed that the friction in the marriage was due to Chikomba’s mental health. “When she once got mentally challenged, I took her back to her father’s home. I told them I wanted her to be healed first,” he said, referring to an incident in 2019. He claimed they had consulted traditional healers but found no resolution.
He also denied that he had made her homeless, stating, “I am still with her. All of her property and furniture is still at home.”
However, this narrative was sharply contradicted by the couple’s own daughter, Joyleen Chimbunde. Taking the stand, Joyleen accused her father of mistreating her mother for years. She alleged that he had not only been emotionally and physically distant but had also actively blocked her mother from accessing the money generated by the very farming activities she had established.
The Chief’s Wisdom
Chief Mutasa, presiding over the community court, did not mince words. His role in the Mutasa district is often that of a mediator, but also a moral compass for a community grappling with the tensions between tradition and modern rights.
“How would you feel if your sister or daughter came to you with complaints that they are being treated the same way you are treating this woman?” the Chief asked Chimbunde. “Do unto others as you want them to do unto you.”
The Chief emphasised that the purpose of the community court was to strengthen families, not destroy them. However, he was firm on the obligations of a polygamist.
“If you are polygamous, treat all your wives equally. You cannot be staying in her matrimonial house with your second wife while you have chased this woman away,” Chief Mutasa warned.
The court’s ruling was swift and aimed at immediate restoration. Chief Mutasa instructed Chikomba to return to her matrimonial home and ordered Chimbunde to ensure she could live there in peace.
“She should go back to her home, and if it means that you will pitch a tent for your second wife, do that, but this first wife should be at peace at her own home,” the Chief ruled. He also directed Chimbunde to return the proceeds from the sale of the 15,000 bricks to Chikomba.
A Fragile Peace
As the sun set over the mountains of the Honde Valley, the court adjourned, leaving behind a family in transition. While Chief Mutasa expressed hope that the couple could resolve their differences, the reality on the ground remains stark.
Febby Chikomba’s case is a reminder of the thousands of women across Zimbabwe who are fighting similar battles—women who have built homes with their own hands, brick by brick, only to find themselves strangers in their own lives.
The “sex drought” she spoke of was perhaps the most visceral symptom of a deeper malaise: the devaluation of a first wife’s labour and presence in the face of a new attraction. In the Honde Valley, where the soil is rich and the harvest is usually plentiful, the struggle for a fair share of that abundance continues.
For now, Febby Chikomba is going home. Whether that home will once again be a place of peace, or merely a shelter of cold silence, remains to be seen. But in the court of Chief Mutasa, her voice was finally heard, breaking an eleven-year silence that no woman should have to endure.
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