The ruling,
handed down by Justice Regis Dembure, marks the latest chapter in a bruising
legal saga that has pitted former lovers against each other in a high-stakes
wrangle over a $600,000 divorce debt.
At the heart of
the storm was a building nestled along Kaguvi Street in the capital—a once
shared symbol of matrimonial success, now a contested asset in the ruins of a
failed marriage.
Abigail Makono,
a prominent figure in local business circles, had approached the court seeking
to set aside a writ of execution obtained by her ex-husband, Charles Nyengerai
Makono—a former police officer turned businessman.
Their love may
have withered, but their legal ties remained entangled in red tape and court
orders.
In a consent
order issued by the court on January 1, 2025, Abigail was mandated to pay her
ex-husband the staggering sum of $600,000 within four months.
But as the
deadline came and went, the payment never materialised. Charles, unmoved by
sentiment and armed with the force of the law, moved swiftly to enforce the
judgment.
He obtained a
writ of execution to attach Abigail’s property—including Number 78 Kaguvi
Street property—to recover the debt.
But Abigail was
not ready to surrender without a fight.
Her legal
representative, Panashe Eric Chivhenge, rose with fervour before the court,
arguing that the writ was fundamentally flawed. His first salvo was procedural:
he claimed the writ improperly combined movable and immovable property. Yet, in
a curious twist, this argument was later abandoned, like a sinking ship in the
tempest of legal logic.
Undeterred,
Chivhenge pivoted to a second line of defence, asserting that Charles was, in
fact, executing against his own property.
The Kaguvi
Street property, he argued, remained jointly registered in both their
names—making it immune from seizure.
His third and
perhaps most impassioned argument struck at the core of the consent order’s
execution.
Chivhenge
contended that Charles had himself breached the court’s directions by failing
to sign crucial property transfer documents.
Without these
signatures, Abigail could not fulfill her end of the bargain. Her obligation to
pay, he argued, was conditional upon Charles’s compliance—a compliance that, in
her view, never came.
But Charles’s
legal counsel, Advocate Givemore Madzoka, rose to dismantle these arguments
with clinical precision.
The consent
order, he submitted, was crystal clear and unequivocally binding. The Kaguvi
Street property, he noted, had been awarded to Abigail months earlier, making
it fair game for execution.
He further
revealed that Charles had, in fact, signed and delivered all necessary transfer
documents in June 2025—well before the matter reached the court.
Abigail, he
added, had never made a written demand for the documents as required. In the
eyes of the law, silence can be deafening.
Justice
Dembure, presiding with solemn authority, found no merit in Abigail’s claims.
Citing established legal principles, he ruled that court orders are sacred
instruments—not to be whimsically disputed or creatively reinterpreted.
“The court
order is binding and must be given effect to,” the judge pronounced.
“The applicant
defaulted on her obligation to pay $600,000, and the writ issued to enforce the
judgment is unimpeachable.”
In a scornful
reprimand, the judge condemned Abigail’s arguments as “frivolous
technicalities” and accused her of attempting to obstruct justice through delay
tactics.
“Her case was
clearly an abuse of court process, meant to delay or frustrate enforcement of
the order,” Justice Dembure added.
In a final
blow, the court dismissed Abigail’s application with punitive costs on a legal
practitioner-client scale—a rare and stinging penalty that underscores the
court’s view of her conduct as “vexatious and reckless.”
As the gavel
fell, it marked an unceremonious end to Abigail Makono’s campaign to shield her
property from the consequences of a broken legal promise.
The building on
Kaguvi Street—now a liability—will go under the hammer, a silent witness to a
love turned litigious. H Metro
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