HARARE,
ZIMBABWE
—
The
vendors
rarely
see
it
coming.
The
municipal
police,
some
in
plainclothes
and
others
in
uniform,
move
through
the
crowd
silent
and
unnoticed.
When
they
finally
strike,
panic
erupts.
Vendors
scatter,
trampling
their
goods
and
grabbing
what
they
can.
A
few
are
arrested.
Their
wares
are
seized
and
tossed
into
the
back
of
a
police
truck.
“They
have
no
mercy
at
all.
Once
they
take
your
stock,
you’ll
never
get
it
back,”
says
Saul
Nhema,
an
informal
vendor
who
has
been
selling
vegetables
for
three
months
after
losing
his
job
as
a
construction
worker.
On
the
day
of
this
interview,
the
municipal
police
had
already
raided
these
informal
vendors
selling
along
Park
Street
in
Harare’s
central
business
district
twice.
As
Global
Press
Journal
reporters
interviewed
Nhema,
they
struck
again.
He
grabbed
his
stock
and
fled
in
the
middle
of
the
interview.
The
Harare
City
Council
has
for
years
waged
such
crackdowns
on
vendors,
often
destroying
goods
and
deploying
heavy
police
forces.
Local
government
insists
these
crackdowns
are
necessary
to
enforce
city
bylaws,
citing
vending
from
illegal
spots,
littering
and
health
concerns.
Yet
the
scale
and
intensity
of
recent
operations,
backed
by
expanding
police
presence
and
significant
public
spending,
have
raised
questions.
Critics
argue
that
the
government
is
wasting
scarce
resources
targeting
informal
vendors
all
while
it
struggles
to
provide
city
residents
with
basic
services,
such
as
clean water.
In
2024,
the
council’s
revenue
stood
at
just
US$3
million.
But
policing
costs
for
these
crackdowns
exceeded
US$24
million,
eight
times
the
council’s
income.
In
2025,
the
council
escalated
its
crackdown
by
creating
a
specialized
police
unit
to
target
vendors,
further
deepening
the
financial
strain
with
a
slight
budget
increase
—
and
pushing
the
total
to
around
12
times
its
income,
which
is
projected
to
fall
to
just
US$2
million.
As
the
council’s
income
dwindles,
the
central
government
shoulders
much
of
the
financial
burden.
Linda
Mujuru,
GPJ
Zimbabwe
Gamuchirai
Masiyiwa,
GPJ
Zimbabwe
Zvikomborero
Guvheya
serves
customers
while
Saul
Nhema
arranges
vegetables
at
their
vending
posts
along
a
Harare
sidewalk.
Informal
vendors
like
Guvheya
and
Nhema
play
a
vital
role
in
Zimbabwe’s
struggling
economy
but
face
frequent
raids,
bribe
demands
and
constant
threats
from
municipal
police
crackdowns.
Global
Press
Journal
made
numerous
requests
for
an
interview
with
the
mayor.
He
did
not
respond.
The
additional
cost
of
the
special
police
unit
is
hard
to
justify,
given
the
potential
benefits
of
supporting
informal
vendors,
says
Reuben
Akili,
director
of
the
Combined
Harare
Residents
Association.
“If
we
examine
the
funds
allocated
for
enforcement
covering
salaries,
fuel
and
operational
costs,
those
resources
could
have
been
redirected
toward
rehabilitating
markets
or
public
restrooms
in
the
city,”
Akili
says.
The
informal
sector
already
sustains
over
80%
of
Zimbabwe’s
population
and
contributes
nearly
72%
to
the
country’s
gross
domestic
product.
Street
vendors
dominate
the
sector
in
many
African
countries,
accounting
for
over
85%
of
jobs,
many
held
by
women.
In
Zimbabwe,
the
vendors
are
becoming
increasingly
critical,
as
the
country’s
currency
crisis
forces
many
retail
shops
to
shut
down.
Despite
this
central
role
in
many
economies
across
the
continent,
vendors
face
common
struggles.
Many
work
in
hostile,
unregulated
spaces,
and
they
are
routinely
evicted
under
the
pretext
of
urban
order
or
dismissed
as
a
threat
to
the
health
of
formal
economies.
A
special
municipal
police
unit
to
push
out
this
critical
population
in
Harare
will
only
inflate
the
city’s
workforce,
which
ultimately
burdens
taxpayers,
Akili
says.
Instead,
he
says
the
council
should
build
infrastructure
where
vendors
can
comfortably
work.
Gamuchirai
Masiyiwa,
GPJ
Zimbabwe
An
aerial
view
shows
a
municipal
police
truck
carrying
goods
confiscated
from
vendors.
Vendors
who
are
arrested
during
crackdowns
often
lose
their
stock
permanently,
with
little
recourse
to
reclaim
their
goods.
There
are
some
designated
spaces
within
the
central
business
district,
but
many
vendors
shun
these,
citing
the
high
cost
of
renting
stalls
and
a
lack
of
foot
traffic,
which
limits
their
ability
to
attract
customers.
Additionally,
these
spaces
require
a
formal
business
license,
which
costs
between
US$400
and
US$800
per
year.
In
an
economy
that
has
struggled
for
decades,
this
cost
is
prohibitive
for
many.
The
council
must
strike
a
balance
between
tackling
these
issues
without
undermining
the
livelihoods
of
those
who
depend
on
the
informal
economy,
says
Samuel
Wadzai,
director
of
Vendors
Initiative
for
Social
and
Economic
Transformation,
a
nonprofit
that
represents
vendors.
Raids
haven’t
been
effective,
he
says,
not
even
when
a
former
minister
of
local
government
requested
deployment
of
the
army
to
push
out
vendors.
“Despite
this
central
role
in
many
economies
across
the
continent,
vendors
face
common
struggles.
Many
work
in
hostile,
unregulated
spaces,
and
they
are
routinely
evicted
under
the
pretext
of
urban
order
or
dismissed
as
a
threat
to
the
health
of
formal
economies.”
“Did
that
result
in
any
significant
change
in
terms
of
the
challenges
that
we
are
seeing?
I
think
it’s
a
big
no,”
Wadzai
says.
At
times,
vendors
resort
to
bribing
officers
to
avoid
the
disruption
of
evictions.
Jesman
Guvheya
has
worked
as
an
informal
vendor
for
two
years.
The
widowed
mother
of
five
says
the
police
sometimes
demand
US$1
a
day
from
each
vendor.
“But
there
can
be
three
or
four
groups
that
move
at
different
times
per
day
and
you
may
end
up
paying
4
US
dollars
to
avoid
being
raided,”
she
says.
And
that
bribe
is
never
a
guarantee
one
will
trade
without
interruption.
The
police
could
swoop
in
and
confiscate
everything,
even
after
a
vendor
has
paid
the
bribe.
“Sometimes
we
are
left
with
little
stock
that
we
will
have
secured
elsewhere,”
she
says,
preparing
to
flee
from
police
she
has
just
spotted.
Although
Guvheya
escaped
arrest
that
day,
her
son,
also
a
street
vendor,
wasn’t
as
fortunate.
The
council
police
apprehended
him,
and
she
had
to
follow
the
truck
to
pay
a
bribe
so
he
could
be
freed.
Kathryn
