By Cde Sikhosana Bambazonke

Outspoken former lawmaker Fadzayi Mahere, whose legal acumen can only be bested by her fitness workouts at the gym, is baying Youth Minister Tinoda Machakaire’s blood in a looming legal feud.

Mahere, no stranger to lawsuits or squats, is marching into court like it’s leg day.

This time, she’s flexing not only her glutes but also her constitutional rights — and boy, is Minister Machakaire feeling the burn.

Fresh off two defamation victories that left her opponents legally limping, Mahere is now aiming her sights at Machakaire, who apparently thought citing an outdated law would be a legal slam dunk.

Let’s rewind.

In 2024, Mahere legally outclassed author Petina Gappah, who, on X (formerly Twitter), claimed Mahere used her father’s political influence to gain entry to Cambridge, implied she had an affair with a married man, and suggested she owed her success to connections rather than merit.

Mahere denied the allegations and sued Gappah for US$1 million, citing harm to her career.

The High Court, presided over by Justice Joseph Mafusire, ruled in Mahere’s favour, finding that Gappah’s defamatory statements were persistent and malicious, and awarded Mahere US$18,000 in damages, plus 5% interest per annum and Mahere’s legal costs.

Consequently, after Gappah failed to pay the damages, Mahere’s legal team attached Gappah’s properties, including a BMW valued at US$5,000, a Capri deep freezer (US$200), Defy microwave (US$100), and glass display (US$100), but the total value fell short of the US$18,000 damages.

Then came journalist Edmund Kudzayi, who suggested Mahere caused a millionaire’s divorce and had a Jaguar-sponsored rendezvous.

The court awarded her a cool US$100,000 in damages, making it Zimbabwe’s priciest breakup allegation — and that’s including lobola inflation.

Now, enter Machakaire — youth minister, car mogul, and apparently part-time time-traveller.

In his lawsuit against Mahere, he invoked the Access to Information and Protection of Privacy Act (AIPPA) — a law so dead it makes VHS tapes look cutting-edge.

Mahere’s lawyers, Diza Attorneys, replied with a legal eulogy: “There is no law that prohibits citizens from openly asking public officials questions…”

In fact, they cited Section 67 of the Constitution, which guarantees Zimbabweans the right to political participation and public scrutiny — especially when a minister is allegedly tangled in an US$8 million tax mess and drives more cars than he registers.

Machakaire’s legal team also pulled a move straight out of the medieval scrolls, confusing the Freedom of Information Act (RIP, 2002) with his personal feelings. Mahere’s legal eagles pounced: “You cannot, at once, be a government official hiding behind transparency and a private citizen clutching your pearls.”

Then came the counter-blow.

Mahere accused Machakaire of tweeting things that sounded like the fever dream of a rejected scriptwriter.

Among Machakaire’s claims was that Mahere was a woman of loose morals, a corrupt political spy, and someone who bribes judges.

Mahere’s lawyers fired back faster than a CrossFit timer: “Your client’s false and defamatory statements… have been viewed over 166,000 times.”

They demanded a retraction and apology within 24 hours, or the minister could expect another court session — and possibly another legal spanking.

They even quoted the slander, ensuring the court would be forced to read terms like “skin-bleaching thieving moron” with a straight face.

In a now-viral tweet, Mahere wrote: “Power must be accountable. Even if it drives a Jaguar.”

Machakaire tweeted back: “You want clout. You’ll get court.”

And so the stage is set — a legal showdown where the minister’s old-school tactics meet Mahere’s crossfit constitutionality.

Who wins?

Well, if past victories are anything to go by, someone’s reputation is heading for foreclosure.

Grab your law books. Or better yet, your constitution. This legal fitness match is only just getting started.