In the crowded township of Kuwadzana, on the outskirts of Harare, the women of the Kuchemana Burial Society gather beneath an avocado tree. Their matching T-shirts and floral skirts suggest a social club. In reality, they are quietly reshaping one of Zimbabwe’s oldest traditions.

Burial societies emerged in the early 20th century, when migrant workers banded together to guarantee dignified funerals far from home. In a culture where a “proper” send-off demands food, music and crowds, failing to bury a loved one well can bring lasting shame. Families often slide into debt to meet expectations.

“A funeral is quite an intense and emotional thing,” says Dr Jacob Mokhutso, a senior lecturer in theology and religion at the University of Pretoria. “You would want to do whatever it takes to ensure that they’re buried in a dignified manner.”

For decades, burial societies focused almost entirely on that final ritual. Members contributed small monthly fees, then mobilised when death struck: cooking, comforting, paying for coffins and transport. But as Zimbabwe’s economy has deteriorated and formal jobs vanished, these groups have begun to reinvent themselves as lifelines for the living.

When 29-year-old Melisa Kasu’s mother died unexpectedly, Kuchemana members arrived with sacks of corn meal, huge cooking pots and firewood. They stayed to cook and host mourners. Kasu inherited her mother’s membership and soon discovered the society was doing far more than burying the dead.

Kuchemana, whose name means “mourning one another” in Shona, now runs a savings club and grocery scheme alongside funeral support. Its 40 members, aged 23 to 72, each pay a modest monthly subscription. For a death in the family, they receive groceries, cooking help and a cash payout. On top of that, members contribute to a collective fund that offers small loans at interest, with profits shared annually.

“We have moved on from focusing on just mourning and burying each other,” says secretary Nyadzisayi Mirisawu. “We have developed a saving initiative as well as grocery contributions.”

At meetings, death is often a footnote. Women sing, debate and pitch business ideas, from poultry projects to detergent-making. Kasu used her payout and a small loan to buy gas tanks and a scale, launching a neighbourhood gas-selling business that now covers her groceries and basic needs.

In a country where funeral insurance is more common than health insurance, and where most people work informally, burial societies endure not only because they are affordable, but because they offer something commercial insurers cannot: solidarity, shared risk and a sense of belonging that extends well beyond the grave.