“A  son of a thief who grew up in the jungle” The making of the Guruve Serial Killer

By Agencies

FOR weeks, Guruve stopped living.

Not because the sun failed to rise, or the rains refused to fall — but because fear had quietly taken over. A fear so thick it silenced laughter, closed shops early and turned neighbours into strangers watching one another with guarded eyes.

Each morning came with relief — we survived the night.
Each evening arrived with dread — will we survive this one?

Once a lively service centre filled with chatter, trade and the easy rhythm of rural life, Guruve became a place of whispers. Footsteps echoed too loudly. Shadows lingered too long. People walked fast, heads down, hearts racing. Silence became the loudest sound of all.

By yesterday, 12 lives had been stolen in just 11 days.

Twelve families shattered.
Twelve stories cut short.
A whole district held hostage by a killer who struck without warning — and vanished like a ghost.

That nightmare eased, slightly, with the arrest of Anymore Zvitsva (32) — a man not from afar, but from within. A neighbour. A fellow villager. Someone people knew.

Relief came, but it was cautious. Healing would be slow.

And the damage? Already done.

For Norest Kambizi (27), the terror became deeply personal. Barely a year into marriage, his life collapsed overnight when he was wrongly arrested and accused of being the killer. His only crime? Visiting his uncle at a dumpsite — a normal day that turned into a nightmare.

He and his uncle spent two days in police cells, accused of horrors they never committed. While they sat behind bars, two more people were murdered in the same pattern, clearing them — but leaving scars that may never heal.

“I still cannot comprehend what exactly happened,” Kambizi said, broken.
“The arrest tore my family apart. Some relatives and friends have disowned me.”

Even now, even with Zvitsva in custody, suspicion follows him like a shadow.

Fear does that. It destroys more than just lives — it destroys trust.

As police and soldiers fanned out with drones, dogs and horses, villagers locked themselves indoors. Fields went untended. Crops were lost. Families slept in groups, clinging to each other at every unfamiliar sound.

Yet the predator was hiding in plain sight.

Villagers describe Zvitsva as a man shaped by neglect and crime. Born to a notorious thief known as Fresher, he grew up in the bush, never went to school, surviving on hunting, stealing and foraging. After his parents died, he withdrew even further — while his siblings tried to integrate, he retreated into isolation.

“He grew up in the jungle,” one villager said quietly.
“Stealing became his life, just like his father.”

Neighbours avoided him. Elders feared him. He was known to carry a machete. Known to tie doors shut when stealing — the same chilling method seen in the murders.

Perhaps the most painful testimony comes from Reason, his niece.

She lost her mother, siblings and nieces — the first five victims.

“He killed my mother because she tried to reprimand him,” she said.
“He threatened her and said he would come for her blood.”

Now, Reason cares for her grandmother’s home — the echoes of loss heavy in every room.

Guruve’s children were traumatised. The festive season passed without joy. Fear replaced celebration.

Now, at last, the district can breathe again.

Slowly. Carefully.

As schools prepare to open and people step back into their fields and streets, Guruve begins the long journey back to normal life — carrying grief, unanswered questions, and a painful reminder of how fear can tear an entire community apart.

This is not just the story of a killer.

It is the story of a district wounded — and struggling to heal.

Credit: Manica Post