🧵 The Killing of Solomon Mujuru — How to Erase a General in Zimbabwe
1/
Beatrice, 16 Aug 2011.
In the dead of night, flames consumed the farmhouse of General Solomon Mujuru — war hero, liberation commander, first black army chief, husband to Vice President Joice Mujuru.
When the fire died, there was little left but ash, a few bones, and unanswered questions.
The State said: smoke inhalation.
Zimbabweans, hardened by decades of “accidental” deaths in politics, knew better.
This looked like the latest entry in a long ledger of assassinations dressed up as misfortune.
1/
Beatrice, 16 Aug 2011.
In the dead of night, flames consumed the farmhouse of General Solomon Mujuru — war hero, liberation commander, first black army chief, husband to Vice President Joice Mujuru.
When the fire died, there was little left but ash, a few bones, and unanswered questions.
The State said: smoke inhalation.
Zimbabweans, hardened by decades of “accidental” deaths in politics, knew better.
This looked like the latest entry in a long ledger of assassinations dressed up as misfortune.
2/
Mujuru was no ordinary politician. He was the kingmaker.
A guerrilla legend known as Rex Nhongo, he’d fought from the front, commanded with charm and menace, and made friends in every trench of the liberation war.
The man who once secured Robert Mugabe’s grip on ZANU… was now backing his wife in a bitter succession battle against Emmerson Mnangagwa — a fight that had split the party down the middle.
At stake: the presidency, the diamonds, the machinery of state.
In a party where rivals vanish, factional warfare isn’t fought with ballots — it’s fought with bullets, poison, and, sometimes… fire.
Mujuru was no ordinary politician. He was the kingmaker.
A guerrilla legend known as Rex Nhongo, he’d fought from the front, commanded with charm and menace, and made friends in every trench of the liberation war.
The man who once secured Robert Mugabe’s grip on ZANU… was now backing his wife in a bitter succession battle against Emmerson Mnangagwa — a fight that had split the party down the middle.
At stake: the presidency, the diamonds, the machinery of state.
In a party where rivals vanish, factional warfare isn’t fought with ballots — it’s fought with bullets, poison, and, sometimes… fire.
3/
Hours before the blaze: whisky at the Beatrice Motel. A mysterious phone call — “serious,” said a witness — wipes the smile off his face.
A 10-minute drive to the farm takes 40. Groceries, meds, and phone left in the car. Unlocked. Keys — gone.
These weren’t the actions of a man settling in for the night. They looked like the loose ends of someone walking into danger.
Hours before the blaze: whisky at the Beatrice Motel. A mysterious phone call — “serious,” said a witness — wipes the smile off his face.
A 10-minute drive to the farm takes 40. Groceries, meds, and phone left in the car. Unlocked. Keys — gone.
These weren’t the actions of a man settling in for the night. They looked like the loose ends of someone walking into danger.
4/
Witnesses say they heard gunshots before midnight.
His guards? Asleep. Radios broken for weeks. No airtime. Instead of breaking in, they ran 3km to find out where his bedroom was.
“We were guarding ourselves,” his maid told the inquest.
Security failures that night weren’t just sloppy — they were catastrophic. Or perhaps… convenient.
Witnesses say they heard gunshots before midnight.
His guards? Asleep. Radios broken for weeks. No airtime. Instead of breaking in, they ran 3km to find out where his bedroom was.
“We were guarding ourselves,” his maid told the inquest.
Security failures that night weren’t just sloppy — they were catastrophic. Or perhaps… convenient.
5/
Beatrice police had no vehicle. A white farmer had to drive them to the scene.
The fire brigade arrived over an hour later — without water.
By then, Mujuru’s body lay face-down, engulfed in an unnatural blue flame that “became ferocious when water was poured on it.”
Two hours to burn to ash — yet cremations take 11+. Carpet beneath barely scorched. Missing organs. DNA done after burial.
Beatrice police had no vehicle. A white farmer had to drive them to the scene.
The fire brigade arrived over an hour later — without water.
By then, Mujuru’s body lay face-down, engulfed in an unnatural blue flame that “became ferocious when water was poured on it.”
Two hours to burn to ash — yet cremations take 11+. Carpet beneath barely scorched. Missing organs. DNA done after burial.
6/
The crime scene was chaos. Evidence stuffed into shopping bags. Scene trampled.
Fire had two origins — bedroom & lounge. Harare fire chief: “Two sources usually point to arson.”
South African forensics said handling was “below professional standards” — a polite way of saying: they botched it, maybe on purpose.
The crime scene was chaos. Evidence stuffed into shopping bags. Scene trampled.
Fire had two origins — bedroom & lounge. Harare fire chief: “Two sources usually point to arson.”
South African forensics said handling was “below professional standards” — a polite way of saying: they botched it, maybe on purpose.
7/
In Harare’s corridors, suspicion spread like smoke.
“The most obvious beneficiaries,” whispered insiders, “were in Mnangagwa’s faction.”
Others pointed at Mugabe himself — rumours said he feared Mujuru’s reach: a soldier’s authority, a politician’s cunning, a knack for quiet persuasion in smoky rooms.
This wasn’t just murder. It was a factional power play.
In Harare’s corridors, suspicion spread like smoke.
“The most obvious beneficiaries,” whispered insiders, “were in Mnangagwa’s faction.”
Others pointed at Mugabe himself — rumours said he feared Mujuru’s reach: a soldier’s authority, a politician’s cunning, a knack for quiet persuasion in smoky rooms.
This wasn’t just murder. It was a factional power play.
8/
Mujuru lived like a soldier even in politics — direct, blunt, comfortable in rough places. He liked whisky, detested flattery, and could break tension with a laugh before delivering a lethal political blow.
That kind of man doesn’t just vanish in smoke. Someone made sure of it.
Mujuru lived like a soldier even in politics — direct, blunt, comfortable in rough places. He liked whisky, detested flattery, and could break tension with a laugh before delivering a lethal political blow.
That kind of man doesn’t just vanish in smoke. Someone made sure of it.
9/
The inquest was theatre. Forty-two witnesses, contradictions everywhere: drunk or sober? Alone or with a man? Died in fire or before? Guns by the body — burnt.
Magistrate’s verdict: no foul play.
In ZANU-PF, that verdict isn’t reassurance — it’s confirmation that the truth is untouchable.
The inquest was theatre. Forty-two witnesses, contradictions everywhere: drunk or sober? Alone or with a man? Died in fire or before? Guns by the body — burnt.
Magistrate’s verdict: no foul play.
In ZANU-PF, that verdict isn’t reassurance — it’s confirmation that the truth is untouchable.
10/
At Heroes Acre, Joice Mujuru stood before the crowd, black-clad, stone-faced. She buried her husband with full state honours — knowing the party she served might have ordered his death.
In Zimbabwe’s politics, grief is private. Survival is public.
And in ZANU-PF’s succession wars…
Even a general can be reduced to ash.
At Heroes Acre, Joice Mujuru stood before the crowd, black-clad, stone-faced. She buried her husband with full state honours — knowing the party she served might have ordered his death.
In Zimbabwe’s politics, grief is private. Survival is public.
And in ZANU-PF’s succession wars…
Even a general can be reduced to ash.
11/ Sources:
KRONOS-44-a3 (2020), Parliamentary Inquest Report (2012), eyewitness testimony from inquest records.
KRONOS-44-a3 (2020), Parliamentary Inquest Report (2012), eyewitness testimony from inquest records.
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