“EVERYONE finds selling on the streets the easiest way to survive, but you have to be creative.” Noel Ngwenya, 44, from Chivi, Masvingo, spends his working days in downtown Bulawayo, the country’s second largest city, with a loudhailer advertising a unique service.
He collects torn or soiled foreign currency notes that have been rejected by supermarkets and other traders — mostly US dollars or South African rand, which are both legal tender in Zimbabwe. Ngwenya pays his clients 50 percent of the value of whichever note they bring — so they get US$1 for a torn US$2 note or 100 rand for a torn 200 rand note.
“Things are worse after Covid-19, it’s like everyone is now on the road selling something since there is almost no formal employment in the industries,” he says.
Zimbabwe’s rate of inflation has been falling since August 2022 when it hit a staggering 285 percent. However, in March this year it was still running at 87.6 percent, forcing Zimbabweans to find creative ways to survive.
A recent International Labour Organisation Harare report says 76 percent of employment in Zimbabwe is now in the informal sector, in other words, selling goods or services without registering with the authorities.
The informal economy, massive bank charges and distrust of the banking sector mean Zimbabweans prefer to deal in cash or mobile money. Ngwenya describes himself as an agent for middlemen who have contacts in the US, South Africa or local banks, where they exchange the torn or soiled cash for good notes.
They provide him with an operating float each time they pick up the torn notes and pay him a commission. A married father-of-five, Ngwenya supplements his unpredictable trade by selling fruit and roasted corn on the side.
“Things used to be good, but these days business is slow,” he says. “Sometimes you can be lucky and have someone bring you a torn US$100, some days you have to make do with the US$1 and US$2 notes.”
Decades of corruption and economic woes have led to the deterioration of the national and inner city road infrastructure. This presents an opportunity for Mayibongwe Khumalo, 25, from Cowdray Park, a sprawling suburb about 25km west of Bulawayo. He is one of many people who patch up potholes around the city in return for small change from grateful or sympathetic motorists.
“We fill up potholes because we see them inconveniencing drivers. I’m broke and I wish I could get money, but I don’t want to beg like a blind man,” Khumalo explains.
“We have so many blind people in Bulawayo that motorists are no longer touched by their plight. I am an able-bodied person and no one is going to throw money at me. I believe by fixing the roads, those who see value in what I’m doing will give me something. On a good day, like today, I’ve made US$9 and 100 rand and hundreds of Zimbabwe dollars.
“It means I won’t go back home to my family emptyhanded. My three children and wife are able to get by and tomorrow is another day.” Khumalo has worked as a minibus driver and a tout and occasionally dabbles in music as a backing dancer for a popular musician who performs tjibilika — fastpaced music influenced by Congolese rumba, accompanying songs about social issues. Of Zimbabwe’s estimated 5.2 million traders in the informal economy, 65 percent are women.
The government wants to formalise this growing sector of the economy as part of a national strategy to increase tax revenues. It is clamping down on small businesses, sending law enforcement officers to inspect trading licences and fine those who are non-compliant.
Sukoluhle Christine Malima, 36, runs a restaurant in an old caravan trailer at a public transport terminus in Bulawayo. She says it’s impossible to save enough money to register as a business, so she is often forced to pay US$4 fines.
Buying bank notes to survive high inflation “My plan is to raise money for my trading licence, but the constant arrests and increased competition have made things harder. Each time you set aside some cash, the police come to check for licences and you have to pay the inevitable fine.”
Malima sells Sadza and a piece of chicken stew for US$1 per plate to minibus drivers and other vendors. “I buy a broiler chicken for US$6 and cut into 12 pieces, which produce 12 plates of Sadza and chicken, giving me US$12 per day.
From there I deduct US$1 for mealie meal, US$1.50 for cooking oil and another US$1.50 for tomatoes and onions, so my profit is around US$2 or US$1.50 per day, which I try and save for my licence. But then the police come again and I am back to square one.” As the popular saying on Zimbabwean social media puts it: “The Zimbabwean dream is to leave Zimbabwe.” — BBC