BIKITA, ZIMBABWE – Evelyn Mareke doesn’t care about the global carbon footprint. She cares about her cows. This is the situation in many rural homes following the Zimbabwe lithium mining crisis.
From her doorstep in the hills of Bikita, the massive grey dust clouds from the lithium mine look like progress to a politician in Harare. To Evelyn, they look like a funeral. Since the mine expanded to feed the world’s hunger for Electric Vehicles (EVs), her local wells have turned to mud, and the “White Gold” under her feet has become a curse for her kitchen table.
Zimbabwe holds Africa’s largest lithium reserves. By early 2026, the government’s ban on raw ore exports has forced a massive industrial shift. Now, companies aren’t just digging rocks; they are building massive processing plants right in the heart of parched rural communities. It’s a bold economic move, but it has a thirsty secret: lithium is a water vampire.
The 2-Million-Litre Thirst
To turn raw rock into battery-grade Lithium Sulphate, you need water. Lots of it.
Industry data is staggering. A single concentrator plant can gulp down nearly 2 million litres of water to produce just one ton of lithium. In a district like Bikita, which is currently sweating through a brutal La Niña drought, every drop used to wash a mineral is a drop stolen from a farmer’s garden.
“We used to have a river,” says one village elder, pointing toward a dry, sandy bed. “Now we have a mine.”
A Fine for a Tyre
The tension hit a breaking point at the Matezva Dam. For generations, this was where the village drank, washed, and fished. Then, in late 2025, the water changed. It turned a murky, chemical grey. The fish didn’t just die; they floated to the top in thousands.
When the Environmental Management Agency (EMA) investigated, they found the mine had been leaking “effluent” directly into the dam. Their response? A $5,000 fine.
Think about that. A company exporting half a billion dollars worth of minerals was fined the price of a single truck tyre for poisoning a community’s entire water supply. It isn’t a penalty; it’s a “license to pollute.” They pay the fee, they keep the water running for the machines, and they keep the profit moving.
The Buhera Conflict: A Case Study in Broken Promises
While Bikita captures the headlines, the situation in nearby Buhera serves as a chilling warning. Here, 41 families were recently displaced to make way for the Sabi Star lithium mine. Their story is not one of “progress,” but of cultural erasure.
Under the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, these families were entitled to “Free, Prior, and Informed Consent.” In reality, they describe a climate of fear. According to research from the University of Queensland, many villagers were told that if they did not accept the company’s terms, they would “lose everything” with zero compensation.
The families were eventually moved to homes that many describe as “glorified chicken coops”—smaller than promised and built with inferior materials. More importantly, they lost access to ancestral graves. For the Shona people, being separated from the burial sites of their elders is a spiritual catastrophe.
The Invisible Burden: Why This is a Women’s Crisis
We cannot talk about the water crisis without talking about the women of Masvingo. In rural Zimbabwe, the “water burden” is almost entirely gendered.
When a mine diverts a stream, a mining executive sees a line item. A woman like Evelyn Mareke sees three extra hours of unpaid labour added to her day.
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The Walk: Women are waking up at 3:00 AM to beat the queues at the few remaining clean boreholes.
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The Health Risk: As the primary handlers of water for cooking, women are the first to develop the skin rashes and stomach ailments associated with mining “effluent.”
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The Economic Hit: Many women run small “market gardens.” Without water, they have no crops to sell, stripping them of their only source of independent income.
A Century of the Same Story?
To understand 2026, we have to look back. Zimbabwe’s mining laws are a relic of the colonial 1961 Mines and Minerals Act. This law was designed to ensure that mining interests always trumped the rights of black smallholder farmers.
The fact that this law still dictates the “Green Revolution” in 2026 is the ultimate irony. We are using colonial-era legal hammers to build a 21st-century “sustainable” future. Until the Zimbabwean Parliament passes the long-delayed Mines and Minerals Amendment Bill, every “Green” investment will continue to be built on a foundation of 1960s-style land grabs.
The Unfiltered Truth
If the AU’s 2026 goal of “Water Security” is going to be anything more than a slogan, the rules have to change.
Zimbabwe’s “Mines and Minerals Act” still treats a farmer’s land as secondary to a miner’s permit. Until a villager has the legal right to say “No” to a mine that threatens their water, the “White Gold” will continue to bleed the country dry.
The world wants clean cars. But how clean is a car if the lithium in its battery left a Zimbabwean child thirsty?
