Privilege can be poisonous is not handled with care.
There is a haunting sense of déjà vu sweeping through the corridors of Zimbabwean social media—a spectacle of glitter and gold that feels like a poorly timed rerun of a show we have all seen before.
At the center of this modern display is the daughter of tenderpreneur Paul Tungwarara, whose digital footprint is increasingly defined by the kind of unashamed flaunting of wealth that leaves a bitter taste in the mouths of a struggling populace.
From the glossy lenses of Instagram and TikTok, we see a world of extravagant shopping sprees, high-end designer labels, and what are framed as opulent donations—gestures that, rather than appearing as genuine philanthropy, come across as performative displays of an almost royal entitlement.
It is a display that ignores the stark and painful reality of the ordinary Zimbabwean, whose daily existence is a battle against inflation, crumbling infrastructure, and a desperate lack of basic services.
While the majority of the nation wonders where their next meal will come from or how they will pay for school fees, we are treated to a digital parade of “privilege” that borders on the obscene.
This isn’t just about the money itself—it is about the spirit in which it is showcased.
It is about a burgeoning sense of untouchability that seems to suggest that because one’s father has proximity to power and “presidential schemes,” the rules of humility, sensitivity, and groundedness no longer apply.
History, however, is a cruel and uncompromising teacher, and Paul Tungwarara would do well to look back at the cautionary tales written in the names of Bellarmine Chatunga and Robert Junior.
These were the “princes” of Zimbabwe for nearly four decades.
They grew up in the same bubble of perceived invincibility, where wealth was not something earned through the grit and sweat of labor but something that was simply deserved by virtue of their surname.
They were raised in an environment where the suffering of the masses was a distant noise, muffled by the thick walls of state mansions and the roar of expensive sports car engines.
They believed they were beyond the reach of the law and the consequences of their actions.
The results of that upbringing are now laid bare for the world to see in the most tragic fashion.
As of today, Bellarmine Chatunga languishes in a South African prison cell, stripped of his designer watches and his entourage, facing the grim reality of attempted murder charges and a laundry list of legal battles.
The “untouchable” has been touched by the cold hand of justice in a foreign land where his father’s ghost carries no weight.
Robert Junior’s path has been similarly marred by controversy and a lack of clear purpose.
Their downfall was not a sudden accident—it was the inevitable conclusion of a life built on a hollow foundation.
When wealth is viewed as an inherent right rather than a responsibility, and when it is never tied to the value of honest work, the moral compass begins to spin aimlessly.
This is the very path that Tungwarara is currently carving out for his young, impressionable daughter.
By parading her before the nation as a conduit for multi-thousand-dollar donations and encouraging a lifestyle of flagrant consumption, he is doing her no favors.
He is feeding a sense of entitlement that will eventually collide with reality.
There is something profoundly sad about watching a young person being led to believe that the world is a playground designed solely for their amusement, especially when that playground is built on the ruins of a national economy.
The parallels between the Mugabes and the Tungwarara phenomenon extend beyond just the behavior of the children—they speak to the very nature of the wealth itself.
We are all too aware of the opaque multi-million-dollar public tenders that have fueled the Tungwarara rise.
From the controversial and heavily scrutinized State House perimeter wall project to various so-called “Presidential Schemes” that have been shrouded in scandal and questions of transparency, the source of this wealth feels disconnected from the marketplace of merit.
When wealth is acquired under unclear circumstances through political patronage and non-competitive tenders, it is seldom handled with the wisdom and care that comes from genuine enterprise.
Money that has been sweated for—dollar by single dollar—carries a special weight.
It carries the memory of the sleepless nights, the risk, the failures, and the perseverance required to build something from the ground up.
Such wealth is rarely thrown around or used as a weapon of social intimidation because the owner understands its true cost.
This is precisely why we do not see the daughters of telecommunications mogul Strive Masiyiwa engaging in the same unseemly behavior.
Strive Masiyiwa is the wealthiest man in Zimbabwe and one of the top ten African billionaires, yet his children, Elizabeth Tanya and Vimbai, are known for their grounded nature and professional drive.
Elizabeth Tanya Masiyiwa leads the Higherlife Foundation and Delta Philanthropies, focusing on systemic change and education, while Vimbai Masiyiwa has carved out her own space as a successful businesswoman and co-founder of Batoka Africa.
They represent a different breed of wealth—one that was born from the hard-fought battles of their father against a state that tried to block him at every turn.
Their foundation was built on the reality of work and the responsibility of legacy.
They do not need to flaunt shopping bags on TikTok to prove their worth because their value is tied to their contributions and their character.
In contrast, the path Tungwarara has chosen for his daughter is a “golden cage” of privilege that offers no long-term security.
He is setting her up to be a target of public resentment and a victim of her own lack of boundaries.
We can never place all the blame on the parents for how our children turn out in life, as that can be a matter of personal choice regardless of the parents’ good efforts to do the right thing and instill correct principles.
However, we also cannot dismiss or ignore when the poor foundation we set for our children eventually leads them down a path of self-destruction.
It is even more tragic when this poor foundation was once framed as privilege and a good life.
If the foundation you provide for your child is one of “easy come, easy go” and a belief that they are fundamentally better than the people they pass on the street, you are not giving them a good life.
You are giving them a death sentence for their character.
It is a tragedy to see a young woman’s potential being swallowed by the vacuum of social media vanity and the stench of unearned opulence.
If Paul Tungwarara truly loves his daughter, he will pull her back from this precipice.
He will teach her that a single dollar earned through honest toil is worth more than a million dollars gained through a “presidential scheme.”
He will tell her that the people of Zimbabwe are not a backdrop for her charity videos, but a resilient and dignified people who deserve respect, not the mockery of seeing their struggles contrasted with her shopping sprees.
If he fails to do this, the ending of the story is already written.
It is written in the court transcripts of South African magistrates and the lonely echoes of the Mugabe boys’ fall from grace.
A poor foundation is still a poor foundation, even when it is covered in gold leaf.
Eventually, the weight of reality will come down, and when it does, the “untouchable” always finds out just how fragile their world really was.
It is a lesson that is much better learned in the quiet of a father’s counsel than in the harsh light of a courtroom or the cold isolation of a prison cell.
● Tendai Ruben Mbofana is a social justice advocate and writer. To directly receive his articles please join his WhatsApp Channel on: https://whatsapp.com/channel/0029VaqprWCIyPtRnKpkHe08
If you value my social justice advocacy and writing, please consider a financial contribution to keep it going. Contact me on WhatsApp: +263 715 667 700 or Email: [email protected]
