When a government preys on the vulnerable, it loses its soul.
The recent passing of my dearest mother, and the experiences I’ve had to endure—from her long illness to her eventual death and the bureaucratic processes that followed—have exposed to me the grim realities of how unkind, even downright cruel, Zimbabwe’s systems can be toward the bereaved.
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Instead of comforting families and helping them navigate the difficult transition that follows loss, the system often subjects them to a maze of red tape that feels parasitic and exploitative—a form of reaping where the government never sowed.
We understandably spend a great deal of time raising our voices about democracy, human rights, and corruption—issues that are undeniably among the greatest impediments to Zimbabweans’ peace and prosperity.
Yet, in doing so, we often overlook a large segment of our society that suffers in silence: those who have lost loved ones.
Instead of being assisted to transition smoothly, especially in inheriting property rightfully left to them—even through clearly written Wills—they are met with a vulturesque system that demands unreasonably exorbitant fees, which most can never hope to afford.
Zimbabweans who inherit the clay-brick houses, corrugated roofs, and family plots that anchor their lives are being forced into a painful choice: either pay crippling administration, probate, and conveyancing charges to have what is already theirs formally registered, or leave title forever in the name of the dead.
This is not merely a bureaucratic inconvenience — it is an inequality machine that punishes the poor, preserves informality, and gives an unfair advantage to those with money and lawyers.
What should be a simple, dignity-preserving process of transferring a lifetime’s home into the hands of its rightful heirs has become an ordeal that destroys savings, delays ownership security, and in too many cases results in no transfer at all.
The result is clear: Zimbabwe’s inheritance system is prejudicing ordinary citizens.
At the centre of the problem is a simple arithmetic of fees.
In Zimbabwe, the Master of the High Court levies administration fees calculated as a percentage of the gross estate — commonly 4 or 5% — while heirs must also pay estate duty, executor remuneration, conveyancing fees, and other disbursements.
These are not abstract charges on paper; they are real cash demands at a time of grief when families are least able to raise money.
In my own experience, conservative estimates show that transferring a basic family home can cost up to US$7,000 — an amount equal to years of income for most households — in a country where, according to the World Bank, over 80% of the population lives below the poverty datum line.
The statutory 4% Master’s fee is a large part of the reason families face such crippling bills.
Compare this to neighbouring countries and the injustice becomes starker.
In South Africa, while costs still exist, the Master’s fees operate on a sliding scale, with capped executor tariffs that result in far lower up-front costs for small to medium-value estates.
In Botswana, registry charges are nominal, and small estates benefit from simplified, low-cost administration.
Zambia and Kenya also have more predictable and affordable processes, with public guidelines and transparent fee schedules.
In all these systems, the state recognises that death should not become a financial punishment for those left behind.
These differences have real consequences.
Where fees and procedures are so high, heirs with limited means — often widows, seniors, and poor families — are effectively prevented from registering property in their names.
They remain mere occupants, unable to use the property as collateral, access municipal services, or hold utility accounts in their own names.
They cannot legally develop, sell, or bequeath the property without reopening their parent’s estate.
When the next generation inherits, they face the double cost of winding up two estates — their parent’s and grandparent’s — a bureaucratic burden that compounds poverty and keeps much of Zimbabwe’s housing stock in legal limbo.
Families whose homes remain registered in a deceased relative’s name are forced into informal arrangements — paying for services under the old account, relying on verbal agreements, or avoiding formalisation entirely.
This system entrenches inequality: those who can afford lawyers secure ownership; those who cannot remain invisible under the law.
It is morally indefensible that a valid Will, clearly naming a beneficiary, does not trigger an automatic and affordable transfer.
A Will should be a guarantee of transfer, not the beginning of a financial gauntlet.
Yet the current design treats every estate as though it were a contested, complex case — imposing uniform charges regardless of simplicity.
Uniformity in this context is not fairness; it is exploitation disguised as regulation.
What makes this injustice worse is how both the government and some legal practitioners appear complicit in maintaining it through silence and half-truths.
Ordinary citizens are rarely told that there are easier and cheaper ways to ensure property passes smoothly to their heirs.
Few people are informed that it is possible to transfer one’s property while still alive to the intended beneficiary — with the addition of a “no-eviction clause” in the Will.
This clause ensures that, even though the property is now legally in the beneficiary’s name, the original owner cannot be evicted while still alive.
This arrangement, simple and humane, would save families thousands of dollars in administrative costs and spare them the long, painful process of estate registration.
Yet this crucial information is rarely shared.
Instead, lawyers and officials allow citizens to believe that the only lawful path is the posthumous registration of an estate through the Master’s Office — a path riddled with fees, bureaucracy, and delay.
In effect, ignorance is being weaponised for profit.
The failure to educate the public on pre-emptive property transfer strategies reveals a disturbing pattern: a system more interested in generating fees than in protecting the rights and dignity of ordinary citizens.
Reform is both possible and urgent.
Zimbabwe could adopt a simplified “small estates” procedure for modest properties, with capped or sliding Master’s fees, streamlined conveyancing, and reduced documentation when a Will is uncontested.
It should also require lawyers and estate planners to inform clients about alternative arrangements, such as inter vivos transfers with protective clauses.
South Africa, Botswana, and Kenya already offer practical models: lower thresholds, clear exemptions, and public education on inheritance rights.
These are not radical ideas — they are pragmatic steps to align inheritance law with fairness and social justice.
The present system encourages informality, undermines the deeds registry, and traps thousands of families in legal uncertainty.
It also invites future disputes and fraud, since titles that remain in the names of deceased persons are easier to contest or manipulate.
The law’s rigidity has created a shadow property market where paperwork is perpetually incomplete, weakening both private ownership rights and public record integrity.
Justice in inheritance is not just a legal matter; it is a social and economic one.
When the cost of formalising a clear, uncontested transfer of a family home equals several months’ or years’ wages, the law ceases to be a mechanism for fairness and becomes a hidden tax on bereavement.
Zimbabwe’s legislators and the Master’s Office must recognise that inheritance policy should protect the vulnerable, not strip them of dignity through bureaucracy and unaffordable costs.
The purpose of inheritance law should be to ensure that property passes smoothly to those entitled to it.
Yet today, the system forces many Zimbabweans to choose between keeping their deceased parent’s name on the title or selling the family home to cover administrative charges.
This is not justice; it is cruelty by regulation.
Our inheritance system must be reformed so that ordinary citizens can inherit with dignity — not be penalised for it.
TENDAI RUBEN MBOFANA - THE UN-OPPRESSED MIND! 