Zimbabwe is going to the Rugby World Cup. I’ll give you a moment to let that sink in. No, not the cricket team. Not the netball queens. The rugby team. The Sables. The same national side that last graced the global stage in 1991 when shorts were shorter, mullets were longer, and our economy could still afford a tackle bag or two.
It’s been 33 years. That’s older than most of the backline. That’s older than my trust issues. That’s older than the GNU. And now, the Zimbabwe Sables are finally back on the world stage after a dramatic qualification run that included surviving a last-minute kick by someone named Tian Swanepoel (probably South African for “dramatic plot device”) and beating Namibia in a final that no one expected us to win except maybe God and Hilton Mudariki’s grandmother.
Let’s rewind.
We Were There Before Cool People Liked Rugby
Zimbabwe played in the very first Rugby World Cup in 1987. Back when you could still drink Mazoe with real sugar and every kid wanted to be Richard Tsimba, the Black Diamond himself. He’s in the World Rugby Hall of Fame, by the way. Alongside Kennedy Tsimba. Which means Zimbabwe has two Hall of Famers, more than Italy has meaningful tournament wins. But after 1991, we kind of disappeared. Some said it was because of poor funding. Others blamed political interference. Most likely it was because someone in ZRU tried to pay players with coupons for roller meal.
From Hot Mess to Hot Prospect
Fast forward to four years ago. The team was full of raw athletes, guys who looked like they could run through walls, but unfortunately also tackled like walls. The basics were missing. The scrum was about as sturdy as a WhatsApp voice note, and the lineout jumps looked more like church altar calls than rugby set-pieces.
But talent was never the issue. Zimbabwe had ballers. What we didn’t have was structure, coaching, and funding. And this is where things get juicy. Instead of overplaying and breaking them, the union pulled a masterstroke. They gave the boys a year off. Not for vibes, well, maybe partly for vibes, but to regroup and rebuild.
Then came 2024. Unbeaten. Let me say that again for the people in the back row of the kombi. UN. BEAT. EN. Better win percentage than the Springboks, the All Blacks, or your local church football team. They didn’t just win, they danced through teams. Literally. You should see Edward Sigauke when he scores. They call him Siggy and he moves like someone who’s always one step ahead of his defender and two steps ahead of your playlist.
Who Are These Guys?
Let’s start with the captain, Hilton Mudariki. Half scrumhalf, half linebacker, all heart. A captain who doesn’t shout at his players but simply tackles the opposing flyhalf so hard their soul enters the shadow realm.
In the centers: Kudzai Mashawi (larger than the average prop, tackles like a Toyota Hilux) and Brandon Madzekenyedzi, who runs with the grace of a ballerina and the confidence of someone who’s just been made administrator of the family WhatsApp group.
On the wings, we have Edward “Siggy” Sigauke. Lightning fast, slippery like a government budget report, and strong enough to drag three defenders into the try zone like unpaid loans.
And then there’s Matthew Mandioma. He’s a hooker by trade, but like all great Zimbabweans, he’s versatile. At one point, he played hooker, flanker, and motivational speaker all in the same match.
Jason Fraser brings serious firepower. A rock-solid loose forward who plays like someone with something to prove and nothing to lose. This guy could probably tackle a crocodile and walk away with the tail as a souvenir.
Tino Mavesere deserves a shrine. I’ve been a fan of this guy since he first started cracking skulls and stealing rucks. They call him the “Driller” for a reason. Every carry is violent, controlled poetry. The man runs like he’s been personally offended by the gain line.
Ian Prior is one of the veteran brains of the squad. An experienced scrumhalf with calm hands, good game management, and the voice of a man who’s been through enough club rugby in Australia to understand that chaos is just part of the game plan.
The bench? Tyron Fagan is what happens when a brick wall joins a gym. He came on and stabilised a scrum that was getting folded like university laundry.
The Miracle in Context
Zimbabwe beat Namibia, a team that’s been to every World Cup since 1999 and usually gets used as a warm-up fixture for Tier One nations. We didn’t just beat them, we outplayed them. And now, this young, energetic, chaotic-good team of mostly under-26-year-olds is heading to the Rugby World Cup.
Let me say that again. The Sables are going to the bloody Rugby World Cup.
For the first time since the Cold War, you will be able to turn on the TV and watch Zimbabwe play rugby at the highest level. And this isn’t charity. This isn’t some fairytale B-side storyline. This is a team that’s worked hard, rebuilt from the ground up, and earned every bit of this spotlight.
Why Should We Care? (Especially From Victoria Falls)
Because sometimes hope isn’t a lie politicians tell before elections. Sometimes it’s 15 guys in tight shirts throwing their bodies at problems and finally getting rewarded for it. From my corner in Victoria Falls, this feels like more than sport. It’s a reminder that Zimbabwe can still build, still compete, and still matter. Even in something as brutally elegant as rugby.
It’s easy to laugh. Lord knows this blog exists because I have nothing better to do than make jokes about national decline and men in podcasts. But this? This is different. This is pride. This is joy. This is actual, honest-to-God progress. And it’s wearing green and white.
Bring On the World
We’re going to get smacked by France. Let’s not lie. Some 140kg Samoan is probably going to run through our midfield like a kombi in fourth gear. But we’ll score tries. We’ll make noise. And for 80 minutes, Zimbabwe will be exactly where it belongs, on the biggest stage in sport, refusing to be ignored.
Let the world tremble. The Sables are back, baby. And we never left. We were just loading.