Peter Moyo
In the northwestern corner of Zimbabwe, where coal dust mingles with the scent of mopane trees, Hwange stands as more than just a mining town or a stopover to the national park. This settlement—wedged between Botswana and Zambia—is a living archive of language, identity, and resilience.
From the rhythmic click of isiNdebele to the lilting tones of ChiNambya, and the near-whispers of the endangered Dombe language, Hwange’s multilingual landscape reflects centuries of migration, colonial disruption, and cultural adaptation.
Historical Roots: Migration and the Making of a Multilingual Town
Hwange’s language diversity didn’t begin with mining—it began with movement. In the 18th century, the Nambya people, linked to the Rozvi empire of Great Zimbabwe, settled in this region, bringing their language and displacing earlier Tonga-speaking communities.
By the early 1900s, British colonialists tapped Hwange’s vast coal reserves, drawing workers from across Southern Africa. Languages like Shona, isiNdebele, and Nyanja filtered in with labourers. The relocation of Ndebele communities in the 1950s and tragic events like the 1972 Wankie Colliery disaster—where workers from Zambia, Mozambique, and Malawi died—further cemented Hwange as a cultural crossroads.
“Every name, every word spoken here carries the dust of someone who came seeking a future underground,” says retired miner Jabulani Mpofu.
Hwange’s Border Town Identity: Where Cultures Collide and Merge
Border towns like Hwange often act as cultural mirrors. Here, proximity to Botswana and Zambia has created a fluid linguistic environment, where residents may speak five or more languages with ease.
Communities like the Tonga and Dombe maintain ties with family across the Zambezi River, while traders and seasonal workers bring in Tswana, Lozi, Lubale and some other Zambian languages
“I speak five languages, but none of them feel foreign,” says Lydia Tembo, a basket weaver. “When customers ask where I’m from, I say: ‘From here, and everywhere.’ That’s what Hwange teaches you.”
This kind of natural multilingualism isn’t just cultural—it’s essential. In Hwange, speaking several languages is how you get by in the market, understand local news, and connect across generational lines.
3. Endangered Voices: The Fight to Save Nambya and Dombe
For decades, Zimbabwe’s language policy focused almost exclusively on English, Shona, and Ndebele—marginalizing smaller languages like ChiNambya and Dombe.
Though the 2013 Constitution officially recognized these “previously marginalized languages,” the path to revitalization has been slow and uneven.
Dombe, in particular, is critically endangered, with fewer fluent speakers remaining—mostly elders. The Nambya language, while more visible, still faces neglect in formal education and mainstream media.
“We got recognition on paper, but on the ground, we’re still silenced,” says Loveness Ngwenya, a local teacher. “Parents ask why their kids should learn Nambya when English gets them jobs. I ask them: Who will tell your grandmother’s story if your child can’t speak her language?”
4. Tourism and Mining: Economic Forces Shaping Language Use
Hwange’s economy revolves around two powerful forces—coal mining and wildlife tourism—both of which shape language trends.
Mining brings in workers from across Zimbabwe and the region, reinforcing the dominance of Shona and English. Meanwhile, the tourism sector often commodifies local culture, spotlighting Nambya songs and dances for visitors while ignoring the deeper cultural roots.
As young people migrate to cities for work, they often shed indigenous languages for more dominant tongues—leaving older generations as the last fluent speakers.
5. Language Revitalization: Grassroots Efforts Keep Culture Alive
Despite these challenges, Hwange’s cultural revival is being driven from the ground up.
The Nambya Cultural Association runs storytelling festivals and school programs. Community radio now includes news bulletins in Tonga and Nambya. At Kune Ngoma Cultural Village, guides narrate Hwange’s history in three or more languages—seamlessly switching to suit their audience.
“Our words carry the memory of this land,” says Thandiwe Moyo, an 72-year-old Dombe elder. “To lose them is to erase who we are.”
Her voice is echoed by a younger generation determined to reclaim their heritage. “When I sing in ChiNambya, I feel my ancestors listening,” says 17-year-old Sibusiso Banda, who’s working on an album that blends traditional lyrics with modern beats. “I want the next generation to dance and understand.”
Conclusion: Hwange as a Microcosm of Zimbabwe’s Identity
As Zimbabwe continues to wrestle with questions of national identity, cultural equity, and development, Hwange stands out as a unique mirror—reflecting the country’s linguistic richness, historical scars, and future hopes.
Here, languages are more than tools for communication—they are vessels of memory, symbols of resistance, and keys to belonging. In a town shaped by coal and crossed by borders, Hwange’s voices—whether sung, spoken, or remembered—refuse to be silenced.
