Charity Nkomo
Gender Affairs and Community Reporter,
In Zimbabwean society, the figure of the aunt, known as mainini, tete, or babakazi, once held a sacred role.
She was the silent guide, the trusted counselor, and the bridge between childhood and womanhood. Especially for young girls, she was the go-to person when parents were too uncomfortable to discuss sensitive subjects like puberty, relationships, and sexuality.
But today, that guiding voice is fading—and in some cases, has disappeared altogether.
Across the country, many young women are now growing up without the influence and support of the aunts who once shaped generations. In their place stands the internet: an unfiltered, often misleading space that has become the primary educator on matters once entrusted to elders.
“I have an aunt, but we’re not close. I see her maybe once or twice a year. When I started my period, I had to look it up on the internet because I didn’t know who to talk to. My mom was too awkward to explain much,” says 17-year-old Sandile Moyo.
“We don’t have aunties to talk to; we don’t know them well. So we’re forced to rely on the internet. That’s where we learn about dating and life choices. It’s not always the best source, but it’s what we have,” adds 19-year-old Samantha from Nkulumane.
The aunt of yesterday taught girls about dignity, the dangers of early sex, self-respect, and what qualities to value in a partner—character, kindness, and love. But the aunt of today, where present, often no longer offers that wisdom. In some cases, she has become indifferent or, worse, complicit in poor decisions.
Some aunts now advise girls to prioritize wealth over love, encouraging relationships with older men who offer material benefits rather than meaningful emotional connections. The result is a distorted understanding of love, womanhood, and self-worth.
“Some of these women are not just quiet; they are helping to cover up risky behavior, forming deals with these girls, knowing what they are doing is wrong. It’s not guidance anymore; it’s enabling,” says community elder Mr. Moyo.
The shift isn’t entirely without explanation. Nokuthula Nyathi, a 44-year-old mother, reflects on how today’s social structure has made it difficult for aunts to fulfill their traditional roles.
“In the past, extended families lived close to each other and shared responsibilities. Now, we’re spread across towns, countries even. We don’t have that setup anymore,” says Nyathi. “Even if I wanted to guide my nieces like they did in the old days, it’s hard. There just isn’t enough time.”
The modern Zimbabwean family has become fragmented by urban migration, demanding work schedules, and changing lifestyles. The once tightly woven extended family is now loosely connected, making it harder for traditional wisdom to be passed down. In that gap, social media, influencers, and peers have stepped in—not always with the best intentions or information.
One thing is certain: the so-called Gen Z, often criticized for being too modern or rebellious, is not the problem. The real issue is the silence of the elders who were once expected to guide them. Without those voices, too many young Zimbabweans are left to figure out life, love, and identity on their own—in a world that is not always kind to the unprepared.
Zim GBC News2025