At just 27, Kundai Mudzviti is redefining what it means to build a career in communications. From excelling as a journalism student at NUST to stepping into academia as an Assistant Lecturer, and now shaping the public voice of Fidelity Gold Refinery, her journey is anything but conventional.
In this interview, she reflects on an unplanned path into media, the lessons learned from the newsroom, and the realities of managing communications at the heart of Zimbabwe’s gold sector, all while balancing the demands of career, leadership, and motherhood.
Kundai, you’re only 27, and you’ve already built a career that spans journalism, academia, and corporate communications. Let’s start at the beginning. What drew you to media and communications in the first place? Was there a specific moment or person that made you say, “This is what I want to do with my life”?
To be frank, no one really inspired me. I don’t have that story of a teacher or a mentor who pointed me in this direction. In fact, I wanted to do law. That was the plan. But life happened, and I found myself in journalism instead. Some people say journalists are failed lawyers, and maybe there is some truth to that in my case! But once I arrived in Media, I stayed because I realised I loved the craft. At NUST, I was one of the best students there were only two of us at the top, really, and that excellence opened doors. I became an Assistant Lecturer while still young, and that experience shaped my confidence more than anything else. Suddenly, I was the knowledgeable one in the room. I didn’t have a “Eureka!” moment. I just kept showing up, and the path revealed itself. Law’s loss was communication’s gain.
You’ve stood on both sides of the classroom, as a student at NUST and later as an Assistant Lecturer. What did stepping into that lecture hall teach you about communication that you couldn’t have learned anywhere else? And how does that experience influence how you now communicate with stakeholders at Fidelity?
Oh, this is a good one. At NUST, most of my students were Ndebele speakers. I do not speak Ndebele. English was their second language, and it was the lecture room’s first, but that did not make me the better communicator. If anything, it made me the weaker one, because I had to work harder to be understood. I learned very quickly that communication is always two-way. You cannot just deliver information and walk away. You have to check for understanding. You have to watch faces, read the room, rephrase yourself, and ask questions. That experience taught me humility. It taught me that being “knowledgeable” means nothing if you cannot transfer that knowledge. At Fidelity, I use that lesson every single day. Whether I am explaining a policy to a miner or a compliance issue to a regulator, I never assume I have been understood. I listen for the gaps.
You worked as a Staff Writer at the Financial Gazette, which means you know exactly what journalists are looking for when they knock on a company’s door. How has that experience shaped the way you handle media relations at Fidelity Gold Refinery? What do you understand about a reporter’s pressures that someone who never sat in a newsroom might miss?
At Fingaz, I learned one thing above all else: the diary is king. The editor, Chimakure, if you know him, needs that diary filled. As a journalist, you are under constant pressure to deliver stories, often with impossible deadlines and limited information. Having that background, I understand what a reporter is going through when they call me at 4 pm on a Friday needing a comment. I try by all means to assist, because I know the alternative. And what is the alternative? They will go looking for another source. And that other source might not have the full picture, or might have an agenda. That is how miscommunication happens. That is how a company ends up reading a story that is not quite wrong but not quite right either. I understand that pressure because I lived it. So I respond. Even if I cannot give them everything, I give them something. That is more than many PR people do. The point is, I respect the job because I have done it.
At Danai Heritage Park, you were tasked with positioning a new destination in a competitive market. At Fidelity Gold Refinery, you are managing the public image of an institution at the very heart of Zimbabwe’s gold sector. How is the communications challenge different between selling a leisure destination and managing the reputation of a strategic national asset? What skills carried over?
At Danai, the stakeholders were not high-profile. It was about leisure, about positioning a destination as fun and exciting. You could be informal. You could charm someone over a drink. Charm is a skill, and I learned it at Danai as a social skill. At Fidelity, everything changes. You need to be formal. The stakeholders are different, government regulators, international buyers, and artisanal miners who trust you with their livelihood. The day-to-day involves management, social media, and constant stakeholder engagement. But here is what carried over: knowing what to say at the right time. The social skills I learned at Danai come into play every single day. You just wear a different suit. Also, Danai taught me how to position something new. Fidelity is not new, but its story is constantly evolving. I use the same strategic thinking: identify the target audience, craft the message, and choose the right channel.
Fidelity Gold Refinery sits at a sensitive point in Zimbabwe’s mining value chain. It is currently the national buyer of gold and the refiner before export. How do you navigate the public conversation? What is the most difficult question you’ve been asked as Fidelity’s PR officer, and how did you answer it?
By being transparent. I know that sounds like a corporate answer, but I mean it. Fidelity is a company in the public eye. We cannot hide. The only way to manage a difficult public conversation is to tell it as it is. If there is a challenge, we acknowledge it. If there is a misunderstanding, we clarify it. If we have made a promise, we keep it. Transparent communication is not just a policy; it is survival. The most difficult question I have been asked? Someone once asked me directly, “How much gold is smuggled out of Zimbabwe every month?” I could not give a number, because that is not the information we have. But I did not dodge. I explained what Fidelity is doing to formalise the artisanal sector, to create a transparent chain of custody, and to make legal channels more attractive than illegal ones. I told the truth about what we know and what we do not know. The journalist respected that.
You have a Master’s degree in Journalism and Media Studies, but you chose to go into PR rather than stay in the newsroom. Was there a moment of decision? And looking back, do you ever miss being the one asking the questions instead of the one answering them?
I miss asking questions. I miss it very much. I am used to being the one with the notebook, the one chasing the story. A part of me misses it. But the whole of me does not. Does that make sense? I chose this path. When I decided to do my Master’s, I was not choosing more journalism. I was choosing PR. Journalism and Media Studies is not only about the newsroom. My Master’s shaped me to be a PR professional. So no, I don’t regret it. I just sometimes look at a journalist across the table and think, “I know exactly what you are feeling right now.” There was no single moment of decision. It was gradual. But if I had to pick one, it was during my Master’s when I realised I was more interested in strategy and reputation than in breaking news.
At 27, you are likely the youngest person in many of the rooms you now enter, boardrooms, government meetings, and industry forums. How do you command presence and credibility in spaces where you might be the youngest person, and sometimes the only woman? What has surprised you about how senior executives respond to you?
I try to be serious and professional. That is my first line of defence. But here is what I have learned: my senior executives are listening despite my age, despite my gender. In some organisations, people get discriminated against because they are young. Not here. I have been lucky. But I also think it helps that I know what I want. I don’t walk into a room apologising for my age. I walk in prepared. I know my material. I have done my homework. What has surprised me? How willing senior executives are to listen when you speak with clarity and confidence. I expected more pushback. I expected to be dismissed. But most of the time, if you know your stuff, they will hear you. Age becomes irrelevant when you add value.
Fidelity Gold Refinery interacts with a wide range of stakeholders, from government regulators and international buyers to small-scale miners in remote parts of the country. How does your communications strategy change when you are speaking to a gold panner in a rural area versus speaking to a potential investor in London or Dubai? Do you have a different message for each, or a single core message that you adapt?
Completely different. The whole idea is knowing what one wants. I spent a lot of time with korokozas, the artisanal miners, learning what they like, learning their language. A korokoza wants to know that when they bring their gold, they will be paid fairly and on time. Their language is trust and reliability. Their channel is word-of-mouth and local media. An investor wants to know about compliance, about volumes, and about due diligence. Their language is data and process. Their channel is email, reports, and formal presentations. I do not have a different message, Fidelity is a trusted partner to everyone, but I have a different way of delivering that message. The core is the same: we are reliable, we are transparent, we are fair. The packaging changes completely. And the social skills I have come into play every single time.
Let’s look forward. You are 27 with a Master’s degree and a high-profile role at a strategic institution. What is next for Kundai Mudzviti? Do you see yourself staying in corporate communications, or do you have ambitions that would take you back into journalism, or perhaps into a different field entirely? What is the career you are quietly building for yourself?
I see myself rising to higher ranks in corporate communication. I don’t have dreams of leaving this field, I have grown a real passion for it. I can use the skills I have in PR and corporate affairs. I don’t see myself going back to the newsroom. I don’t see myself becoming a lecturer again, at least not full-time. I see myself growing here, in this industry, shaping how organisations speak to the world. And maybe one day, I will be the senior executive who listens to a young woman across the table and takes her seriously. That would be a good legacy. I am quietly building a reputation for excellence, for honesty, and for being the person who can talk to anyone, from a korokoza in a rural village to a minister in a boardroom. That is the career I want. And I am well on my way.
Finally, what do you want people to understand about the woman behind this whole conversation when they see you in town?
I am a mom to a toddler who has endless energy and an infant who thinks 2 am is playtime. I am a wife, a sister, a daughter, and a daughter-in-law. On top of all that, I am my mother’s firstborn child, the deputy parent to my siblings. That means I get the calls when something breaks, when someone needs money, or when a decision needs to be made. So I juggle. Every single day. I try to be present at home and fully present at work, but honestly? Some days I drop a few balls. I pick them up and keep going. Zvakaoma. It is hard. So if you see me in town looking like I haven’t slept, or rushing with a baby on my hip and a phone in my hand, just be kind. Smile at me. Or buy me coffee. I will probably cry.
This article first appeared in edition 86 of the Mining Zimbabwe Magazine
