HARARE,
ZIMBABWE
—
Eliza
Mandove
was
a
child
when
her
brother
was
killed
during
Zimbabwe’s
war
for
independence.
She
was
beaten
during
the
same
attack
and
sustained
injuries
to
her
hands
and
legs.
Now
46,
Mandove
has
no
motor
function
in
her
left
hand
and
struggles
to
walk
and
carry
heavy
loads.
She
suffers
from
chronic
headaches.
She
can’t
work
in
the
fields.
Her
husband
once
farmed,
but
years
of
drought
and
erratic
rainfall
have
led
to
diminishing
yields.
Aid
from
the
United
States
was
crucial.
It
kept
Mandove’s
family
of
seven
fed.
In
January,
that
food
aid
abruptly
stopped.
On
his
first
day
in
office,
US
President
Donald
Trump
signed
an
executive
order
that
ended
nearly
all
foreign
aid.
Mandove
and
her
family
—
and
many
others
—
were
left
with
very
little.
The
end
of
US
foreign
aid
was
abrupt.
In
Zimbabwe,
the
sudden
suspension
put
many
at
immediate
risk
of hunger.
In
Uganda,
health
workers
told
patients
to
collect
their
antiretroviral
drugs
before
clinics shut
down.
In
Bangladesh,
tuberculosis
specialists
were
immediately laid
off,
leaving
people
with
that
illness
without
care.
Stories
like
this
emerged
around
the
world.
The
sudden
pullout
has
left
a
crisis
behind.
The
aid
had
been
a
lifeline
for
millions
since
the
United
States
Agency
for
International
Development,
the
US
foreign
aid
agency,
was
formed
in
1961.
At
the
same
time,
it
failed
to
transform
the
economies
and
governance
of
low-income
countries.
In
the
worst
cases,
it
enabled
corruption.
In
Zimbabwe
alone,
nearly
US$7
billion
in
US
aid
poured
in
between
1980
and
2025.
But
in
the
four
decades
since
its
independence
from
colonial
rule,
the
country’s
per
capita
gross
domestic
product
has fallen
by
almost 10%.
It
is
poorer
today
than
it
was
then.
Foreign
aid,
in
most
cases,
feeds
people
and
offers
them
medical
aid
one
day
at
a
time.
Investment
from
China,
on
the
other
hand,
continues
to
sweep
across
the
continent.
Overall,
that
investment
is
creating
stable
jobs
and
infrastructure
that
has
the
potential
to
upend
decades
of
reliance
on
that
aid.
The
question
now
in
Zimbabwe,
as
in
other
African
countries,
is
whether
this
new
era
will
be
the
one
that,
at
last,
brings
economic
transformation.
Turning
that
corner
won’t
be
easy,
says
Persistence
Gwanyanya,
a
member
of
the
monetary
policy
committee
of
the
Reserve
Bank
of
Zimbabwe.
Reliance
on
aid
led
to
the
country’s
leadership
being
“a
bit
relaxed”
when
it
comes
to
economic
responsibility.
“Donors
were
coming
in
to
fill
the
gap,”
he
says.
Now,
he
adds,
is
the
time
for
change.
“We
just
have
to
live
within
our
budget,”
he
says.
“We
need
to
be
more
accountable.”
‘There
was
no
food’
Zimbabwe
was
one
of
the
last
African
countries
to
gain
its
independence
from
European
colonial
occupation.
In
1980,
following
a
bitter
civil
war,
a
revolutionary
movement
led
by
Robert
Mugabe
succeeded
in
overthrowing
a
white
minority
government
that
had
itself
seceded
from
the
British
empire
in
1965.
The
country
benefited
from
infrastructure
built
under
the
white-controlled
government
that,
for
a
while,
sustained
society.
“Our
parents
could
take
care
of
us
with
ease,”
says
Tellmore
Mutize,
63,
a
dressmaker
from
Harare
who
reached
adulthood
just
as
the
country
gained
independence.
There
were
jobs,
she
says.
Groceries
were
cheap,
and
schools
were
free.
When
she
gave
birth
to
her
first
child
in
a
public
hospital
in
1980,
she
paid
nothing
and
received
top-quality
care.
When
she
had
twins
five
years
later,
the
experience
was
much
the
same.
From
Colonialism
to
US
Assistance
Colonialism
left
many
parts
of
Africa
in
shambles
and
with
an
impossible
task:
emerge
from
decades
of
oppressive
foreign
control
to
effectively
manage
natural
resources,
maintain
infrastructure
and
meet
peoples’
health
care,
humanitarian
and
economic
needs.
During
the
Cold
War,
a
decadeslong
showdown
between
the
US
and
Russia,
the
US
wielded
soft
power
and
won
global
influence
with
USAID.
Since
1946,
the
US
has
budgeted
over
US$1.1
trillion
in
foreign
assistance
to
Africa,
for
everything
from
emergency
food
aid
to
HIV/AIDS
relief,
from
early
childhood
education
programs
to
civil
society
development.
Deep
corruption
was
beginning
to
take
root,
and
human
rights
abuses
were
a
real
threat.
Poverty
remained
a
problem.
But
for
many
black
Zimbabweans,
life
was
easier
than
it
had
been
for
generations.
Abundant
rainfall
boosted
agriculture,
reinforcing
Zimbabwe’s
reputation
as
Africa’s
breadbasket.
The
economy
grew
in
bursts,
and
the
health
care
system drew
medical
tourists from
across
Africa.
Then
came
disaster.
The
region’s
worst
drought
set
in
in
1992,
leading
to
a
widespread
food
shortage.
The
price
of
groceries
skyrocketed.
The
drought’s
effects
rippled
through
many
sectors,
including
health
care,
where
hospitals
struggled
to
maintain
adequate
services.
As
crops
dried
up,
so
did
public
spending.
The
World
Bank
began
to
require
countries
receiving
funding
to
agree
to
market
reforms,
often
characterized
by
privatizing
state-owned
industries,
ending
food
subsidies
and
enacting
user
fees
at
hospitals.
Maize
flour
and
cooking
oil
began
to
flow
in
from
donors
like
the
Red
Cross
and
Save
the
Children.
“When
they
came,
we
were
happy
because
in
1992,
there
was
no
food,”
Mutize
says.
Eight
years
later,
Mugabe
began
expropriating
thousands
of
large,
white-owned
farms
dating
from
the
country’s
colonialism
era.
Farm
workers,
villagers
and
veterans
of
Zimbabwe’s
war
for
independence
invaded
those
white-owned
farms,
leading
to
40
deaths
(34
black
Zimbabweans
and
six
white
farmers)
and
countless
assaults.
Eventually,
those
large
farms
were
converted
into
about
170,000
smaller
properties.
Much
of
the
land
was
snatched
up
by
powerful
political
players;
other
parcels
went
to
ordinary
people
who
reveled
in
owning
land
after
generations
of
oppression.
The
chaotic,
rushed
and
violent
nature
of
the
land
reforms
led
to
a
massive
withdrawal
of
international
investment.
Zimbabwe’s
central
bank
began
recklessly
printing
cash.
Hyperinflation
took
root.
Corruption
ballooned.
Public
services
collapsed.
By
the
time
Mutize
was
ready
to
give
birth
to
her
last
child
in
2003,
public
hospitals
had
deteriorated.
She
paid
out
of
pocket
to
give
birth
at
a
private
hospital.
Two-thirds
of
the
population
required
food
aid
in
2002
and
2003.
US
aid quickly
grew,
from
US$42
million
in
2002
to
US$120
million
in
2007
and
US$260
million
in
2009.
Even
so,
between
1999
and
2008,
Zimbabwe’s
GDP
dropped
by
49%
—
the
most
severe
economic
downturn
in
a
country
not
at
war,
according
to
a 2019
report
from
the
African
Development
Bank.
Between
2014
and
2024,
PEPFAR,
a
giant
US
health
program
aimed
at
treating
and
containing
the
spread
of
HIV/AIDS,
supplied
on
average
18%
of
Zimbabwe’s
national
health
budget.
In
2019,
amid
chaotic
inflation
and
massive
cuts
to
the
health
budget,
donor
contributions
to
the
health
budget
were
4.5
times
larger
than
Zimbabwe’s
contribution
to
its
own
health
ministry’s
budget.
Total
US
aid
to
Zimbabwe
peaked
at
US$340
million
in
2022.
In
2024,
the
last
full
year
before
the
US
slashed
foreign
aid,
it
totaled
US$290
million.
Nevertheless,
over
a
third
of
Zimbabweans
continue
to
live
in
poverty:
Around
35%
of
Zimbabwe’s
close
to
17
million
people
live
on
just
US$2.15
per
day.
Stalled
progress
Economists
in
Africa
and
throughout
the
world
have
struggled
to
understand
why
so
much
aid
hasn’t
brought
about
structural
transformation.
Though
health
aid
has
had
some
big
successes
—
new
HIV
infections
in
Zimbabwe,
for
example, declined
more
than
tenfold from
a
high
in
the
early
1990s
—
the
Zimbabwean
economy
is
chronically
unstable.
In
February,
Elon
Musk,
the
unelected
man
who
was
tasked
with
dramatically
downsizing
the
US
government,
claimed
that
USAID
was
corrupt.
But
there’s
scant
evidence
of
widespread
corruption
in
USAID
projects
in
Zimbabwe.
In
58
audits
of
USAID
projects
in
Zimbabwe,
commissioned
by
the
USAID
Office
of
Inspector
General
between
2017
and
2024,
three
projects
were
flagged
for
having
“unsupported
costs”
totaling
US$660,000.
In
at
least
two
of
those
examples,
the
corruption
was
at
the
local
level,
not
within
USAID.
The
real
corruption
is
in
Zimbabwe’s
halls
of
power.
In
2024,
the
US
sanctioned
President
Emmerson
Mnangagwa
and
10
other
Zimbabwean
leaders
for
corruption
and
human
rights
abuses.
The
announcement
from
the
US
Department
of
Treasury,
which
implements
such
sanctions,
noted
that
Mnangagwa,
his
wife
and
senior
government
leaders
are
engaged
in
corruption
related
to
gold
and
diamond
smuggling
networks,
as
well
as
a
host
of
other
illicit
financial
schemes
and
human
rights
abuses.
And
that’s
just
a
small
sampling
of
the
known
corruption.
“We
need
to
deal
with
some
nefarious
activities
that
have
been
resulting
in
the
leakages
of
the
revenue
from
the
fiscus,”
says
Gwanyanya.
“We
need
to
be
more
efficient
as
a
government.
We
need
to
be
more
efficient
in
terms
of
operations
…
but
also
in
terms
of
dealing
with
the
wastages
and
leakages.”
That
corruption
ripples
down
into
daily
life.
Bribery
is
rife.
New
mothers
have
to
bribe
nurses
to
get official
birth
cards
for
their
infants.
Ruling
political
party
leaders give
away
land
to
their
supporters.
The
black
market
is
now
the backbone
of
the
local
economy.
Everything
happening
in
Zimbabwe
now
is
a
part
of
the
economic
crisis
that
began
in
the
1990s,
says
Eldred
Masunungure,
a
retired
University
of
Zimbabwe
political
scientist.
“We
are
still
in
that
crisis,”
he
says.
Fragility,
he
says,
has
become
the
country’s
defining
feature:
fragile
politics,
fragile
economy
and
a
fragile
social
order.
When
corruption
is
so
routine,
he
says,
“How
do
you
uproot
that?”
People
are
desperate,
and
those
who
can
leave,
do
so.
Masunungure’s
children
live
in
Canada.
Decades
of
brain
drain have
left
the
country
with
far
fewer
skilled
people
than
it
needs
to
fill
the
void
left
by
aid
agencies.
Some
African
countries
won’t
be
able
to
fill
the
gap,
and
even
with
the
resources,
they
might
struggle
to
manage
services
that
were
previously
run
by
donors,
says
Ken
Opalo,
an
associate
professor
at
the
Walsh
School
of
Foreign
Service
at
Georgetown
University.
That,
he
says,
“is
my
biggest
worry.”
China’s
promise
Economic
transformation
is
possible
—
and
China
could
make
it
happen,
Opalo
says.
“More
than
any
other
donor,
China
has
been
willing
to
partner
with
countries
of
programs
and
projects
that
have
the
potential
to
deliver
structural
economic
transformation,”
he
says.
More
than
70%
of
US
funding
focuses
on
health
and
saving
lives,
while
more
than
70%
of
China’s
investment
goes
toward
infrastructure
projects
like
electricity,
roads
and
bridges
to
drive
economic
growth,
says
Deborah
Bräutigam,
director
of
the
China-Africa
Research
Initiative
at
Johns
Hopkins
University.
China’s
influence
in
Zimbabwe
includes
mining
claims
worth
billions
of
US
dollars
in
the
diamond,
platinum,
coal,
chrome
and
lithium
sectors.
Between
2000
and
2023,
China
loaned
about
US$182
billion
throughout
Africa
—
ranging
from
US$3
billion
to
Zimbabwe
to
US$46
billion
to
oil-rich
Angola
—
according
to
the
Boston
University
Global
Development
Policy
Center.
Most
of
these
loans
were
for
either
energy
or
transportation
projects
—
in
line
with
China’s
US$1
trillion
Belt
and
Road
Initiative
—
and
have
an
average
interest
rate
of
3%,
higher
than
World
Bank
rates
but
lower
than
private
lender
rates
of
6–7%.
China’s
approach
is
often
called
“debt
trap
diplomacy,”
meaning
that
the
intent
is
to
overwhelm
low-income
countries
with
debt
they
can’t
repay.
But
there’s
no
evidence
that
these
Chinese
loans
are
somehow
predatory,
Bräutigam
says.
So
far,
there
are
no
examples
of
China
deliberately
entangling
another
country
in
debt,
then
using
that
debt
to
extract
an
unfair
or
strategic
advantage,
she
adds.
China
has
also
been
keen
to
make
symbolic
donations.
In
2022,
China
built
Zimbabwe
a
parliament
building
at
an
estimated
cost
of
US$120million.
It’s
one
of
15
African
parliament
buildings
that
China
has
either
built
or
refurbished,
though
it’s
the
biggest
and
most
expensive
to
date.
More
investment
from
China
isn’t
necessarily
a
good
thing,
says
Sabiti
Makara,
a
professor
in
the
Department
of
Governance
at
Kabale
University
in
Uganda.
“Seeing
that
America
is
withdrawing
its
influence,
the
Chinese
might
set
new
terms
that
may
render
Africa
dependent
on
them,”
Makara
says.
On
the
ground,
Chinese
investment
brings
jobs.
Chinese
Foreign
Minister
Wang
Yi
said
in
March
at
a
press
conference
that
China
has
created
more
than
1.1
million
jobs
in
Africa
over
the
past
three
years.
But
Zimbabweans
say
those
jobs
aren’t
necessarily
good
ones.
Nathan
Chiwundo
worked
for
a
Chinese
brick
molding
company
in
Harare.
There
were
poor
labor
conditions
and
frequent
regulation
violations,
he
says.
There
were
no
days
off
—
he
worked
weekends
and
public
holidays.
But
jobs
are
rare,
Chiwundo
says,
so
people
will
continue
to
fill
them
if
China
provides
them.
For
regular
people,
he
says,
more
investment
from
China
“will
be
meaningless
if
employees
are
not
well
taken
care
of.”
‘No
need
to
panic’
Zimbabwean
leaders
say
they’ve
been
able
to
respond
to
the
country’s
most
urgent
needs,
despite
the
lack
of
aid.
There
are
enough
antiretroviral
drugs
for
all
who
need
them,
Dr.
Douglas
Mombeshora,
minister
of
health
and
child
care,
told
journalists
at
a
media
workshop
in
April.
Spending
has
also
been
reprioritized
to
care
for
people
who
have
tuberculosis
and
provide
malaria
treatment,
and
US$12
million
has
been
earmarked
to
import
medication.
“There
is
no
need
to
panic,”
he
said.
Gwanyanya,
the
Reserve
Bank
of
Zimbabwe
committee
member,
says
he’s
confident
that
everything
will
work
out.
“We
just
need
to
adjust
to
the
new
reality,”
he
says.
“Otherwise,
we
can’t
survive.”
Mandove,
the
woman
injured
during
the
war
for
independence,
isn’t
so
sure.
US
aid
helped
ensure
that
countless
Zimbabweans
—
and
people
across
the
world
—
had
enough
to
eat.
China
might
invest
in
roads
and
factories,
but
USAID
kept
food
on
tables.
Now,
Mandove
says,
her
family
eats
just
two
meals
a
day,
usually
wheat
with
wild
okra.
It’s
cheaper
than
maize,
the
country’s
staple
food.
Her
youngest
son,
just
10
years
old,
herds
cattle
for
neighbors
to
earn
money.
But
the
family
doesn’t
have
what
it
needs.
“The
food
is
not
enough,”
she
says.
“I
am
usually
hungry.”
Apophia
Agiresaasi,
GPJ,
contributed
reporting
to
this
story.
