Tendai Ruben Mbofana
The Zimbabwean landscape has always been a theater of the absurd, where the language of empowerment is frequently weaponized to mask the machinery of dispossession.
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Under the banner of the so-called Second Republic, a new specter now haunts the suburbs of Highfield, the hills of Mutare, and the dusty streets of Redcliff—the digitized and securitized title deed.
On the surface, the government presents this as a grand leap into the twenty-first century, a move to curb the rampant fraud and “land baronism” that has plagued our property market.
Yet, as with most things birthed in the dark corridors of power, the fine print tells a much more sinister story.
This is not just a modernization project; it is a calculated, state-sponsored shakedown that threatens to strip the last remaining vestige of security from millions of citizens.
Statutory Instrument 76 of 2025—the Deeds Registries Regulations—is the weapon of choice here.
It dictates that every Zimbabwean property owner has exactly twenty-four months to replace their existing paper title deeds with new, securitized versions.
Failure to do so will render the original documents “obsolete.”
Think about that for a moment.
A document that has stood for decades as the ultimate legal proof of ownership, a document for which citizens have already paid thousands of dollars in conveyancing fees, stamp duty, and registration costs, is being nullified by the stroke of a pen.
This is a fundamental violation of the sanctity of property rights.
If you have already paid for your deed, why should you be forced to buy it again?
For the ordinary Zimbabwean, this process is nothing short of financial terrorism.
We are talking about a country where nearly eighty percent of the population survives below the poverty datum line.
We are talking about retirees who spent forty years in the civil service or the manufacturing sector, buying their homes during the more stable days of the late eighties and early nineties.
These people are now struggling to afford a single decent meal a day, their pensions eroded by hyperinflation and currency volatility.
Now, the state demands they find hundreds of dollars to “validate” the homes they already own.
Where is a grandmother in Glen Norah supposed to find the money for these new fees?
Is she expected to sell her furniture or starve for months just to obtain a QR code on a piece of plastic that tells her what she already knows—that she owns her house?
The justification for these high costs is nonexistent.
If the government truly cared about the security of these documents, the process would be a simple administrative exchange.
In a sincere democracy, the state would capture the details of the paper deeds into a new digital database at a nominal fee or for free, allowing the owners to keep their original documents as valid proof.
We have seen this logic applied elsewhere.
When the government introduced the new biometric national identity cards the transition was managed without making old identities illegal overnight.
Even with the introduction of new driver’s licenses, the government recognized that the old licenses remained valid.
Why is the rule different for land—the most valuable asset a human being can own?
The answer lies in the shadowy corporate web and the financial architecture that supports this scheme.
The Presidential Title Deeds and Settlement Regularisation Programme is being driven through the “Kwangu | Ngakwami” Trust and the newly minted Digital Land Administration Platform—or DLAP.
These are the “middlemen” of the digital age.
In March 2026, it was revealed that CBZ Holdings—the country’s largest bank, which already enjoys a monopoly on e-passport application fees—acquired a 17.5 percent shareholding in Dokuma.
Dokuma is the Rwandan-founded software company handpicked by the government to digitize the Deeds Office and build the system that will transform hard-copy deeds into electronic versions.
This investment by CBZ creates a blatant and dangerous conflict of interest.
We have a state that mandates a costly digital transition, and a favored bank that not only processes the payments but now owns a significant stake in the company building the digital infrastructure.
It is a closed-loop system of accumulation where the ruling elite and their corporate allies profit from every step of the process.
The involvement of Kudakwashe Tagwirei—a controversial figure with close links to Zimbabwe’s ruling elite, who has been widely reported to have built a significant but not publicly disclosed stake in CBZ Holdings around 2019—further deepens suspicion.
His influence has been central to the bank’s consolidation into a “financial behemoth,” specifically through strategic acquisitions like the 37.79% stake in ZB Financial Holdings executed via CBZ’s Datvest unit.
By positioning CBZ as a dominant force with interests spanning banking, insurance, and mining, Tagwirei has effectively integrated his private interests with the state-mandated digital infrastructure.
By placing CBZ and Dokuma at the heart of our land registry, the “Second Republic” has essentially privatized a core function of national sovereignty.
Furthermore, the legal implications are terrifying.
By declaring old deeds “obsolete,” the government is creating a loophole for massive property theft.
If a pensioner cannot afford the new fee by the 2027 deadline, what happens to their property?
Does it become state land?
Does it become fair game for the well-heeled “land barons” who are already circling our urban centers like vultures?
This policy creates a two-tier society—those who can afford to “buy back” their rights from the state and those who are relegated to a legal limbo.
It is a predatory form of governance that treats the citizen not as a stakeholder to be protected, but as a harvest to be reaped.
If there were a shred of sincerity in this program, the “user pays” principle would be scrapped for those who already hold valid titles.
The focus would be on those in informal settlements who have never had titles, providing them with a path to ownership that is subsidized and accessible.
Instead, the government has chosen to penalize the most law-abiding segment of society—those who followed the rules, paid their dues, and hold the very paper deeds the Registrar now plans to “destroy or dispose of.”
This is not progress; it is a regression into a feudal state where the king demands a new tribute for the land you have already tilled for a lifetime.
We must call this what it is—extortion wrapped in the shiny foil of “digitization.”
A secure database should be a service provided by a responsible government to its people, not a luxury product sold back to them under duress.
Until the authorities remove these extortionate fees, decouple the process from elite-linked monopolies, and allow for a fair transition, the “securitized title deed” will be remembered as the final betrayal of the Zimbabwean homeowner.
The silence of the masses is a ticking time bomb; for when the deadline passes, millions may find that the roof over their heads no longer belongs to them in the eyes of a heartless digital system.
- 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
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