Siya-so
The young man approaches us as we drive slowly before we stop near the chaos-ridden entrance at Siya-so, the cauldron of Harare’s enterprising home-industries.
“Toita sei, Mdhara? Moda chii nhasi, mdhara wangu?” he enquires, in a manner that suggests we are already familiar, like the good salesman that he obviously is. He might not have attended marketing school, but the laws of the bustling market here at Magaba have produced a sharp and aggressive salesman. Within a few seconds, more of his type join the stampede, each promising a better deal than the other. They have no idea what I want, but still, they offer to find it anyway, and at a good price, too, they promise.
Actually, we are not here to buy anything. We are waiting for someone who is meeting us here. So we say nothing in return, fearing a conversation would only attract more of them. Why raise their hopes unnecessarily? It’s far kinder to show no interest. But this strategy does not deter them. After all, it’s the hope of making a deal that keeps them going, whatever the odds.
But others start speculating. “They could be CIOs,” one says in a hushed voice – suspecting were could state agents. Fear is as pervasive as the heat at this time of the year.
It’s blazing hot, so we pull down the windows. Suddenly, they are all quiet. You can see fear in their eyes. A few scamper away. I smile a smile that says we are harmless. There are sighs of relief all round.
“Mdhara manga matipinza fear!” quips one chap and we all laugh. He says they felt intimidated.
We were not there to buy anything, I explain politely. We were waiting for someone. That does little to deter them. No opportunity goes unmissed here. When a client is there he must not be left alone. They still insist that we buy something.
“Tengerai mfana wenyu mdhara, mainini venyu vatambura kumba uku,” pleads one chap in a brotherly tone. He says the wife will be happy if he manages to make some sales. I’m almost tempted, but I’m saved when the person we are waiting for arrives. I hand him twenty dollars as we depart and the whole group erupts in screams of delight. “Tapinda, Tapinda!” they scream, as if the twenty dollars was for all of them. They were happy for their fellow trader. That’s the spirit of Siya-so.
Siya-so, (leave it like that or let it be) is probably the busiest marketplace in Harare. There, they make everything and sell everything. Old, worn out tyres are re-patterned, washed and polished until they look almost new. An unfamiliar eye would be deceived. A man was selling a pack of 12 tissue rolls for a dollar. Why are they so cheap, I asked. I wouldn’t buy them, even if I was desperate said one of the boys.
“Yah, kutsvaga dollar mdhara,” says another. “Pakaipa!” he quips, followed a loud burst of laughter.
I’m advised to be careful when I buy bottled water off the streets. “Some of it is coming straight from Mukuvisi”, says one, referring to the severely polluted river that runs through Harare. People are doing all sorts to make money.
These grim tales are indicative of an increasingly dire situation in Harare and across Zimbabwe. After years of an unlikely romance with the US dollar, the relationship has become estranged. The US dollar is hard to find. “Dollar harisi kubatika zvekumhanya,” they say, indicating that it’s hard to get hold of cash these days.
And hard is an understatement. In some places, people are spending nights in bank queues, only to get a small bag of 50 bond coins, which the government says amount to USD50. Bond coins have been in use since last year and have been tolerated as change, not as the main form of currency.
Halloween trick or treat
But on the night of 31 October, Halloween to large populations around the world, Harare had its own version of trick or treating. After months of prevarication and uncertainty, President Mugabe chose this day to sign his latest decree, which announced the arrival of Bond Notes, a new currency in all but name, which has already been rejected before it starts circulating. Like an unwelcome baby, the Bond Note faces a bleak and miserable life of rejection and no love.
The government says it will ease the cash crisis but there’s no long term plan. It insists that the Bond Note is equal to the US dollar. No one believes government. “On what basis does a bond note which cannot be traded outside Zimbabwe be equal to the US dollar?” asked one chap. I had no answer. “It doesn’t make sense. I cannot explain it” I replied. “It’s like someone saying if you have a cow and he draws a cow on a piece of paper, he says we both have cows now. Then he will take your cow and in exchange he will give you his cow on a piece of paper. How can that work?” asked another chap. I said I could not question his impeccable reasoning. “The government wants to take all our cows and in return they are asking us to carry its cows on a piece of paper and still claim that we have cows!” he added.
Besides, Zimbabweans have been bitten before and the wounds are still fresh. Back in 2008-9, when the Zimbabwe Dollar crashed and went into oblivion under the weight of world record hyperinflation, after which government introduced a multi-currency regime, ordinary Zimbabweans lost their life savings and pensions. They have never been compensated, whether by government or by private sector companies. They see government and private financial institutions still running and their senior officials enjoying prosperous lives, and yet they are told their savings were wiped away. They have not forgotten. They trust government and they don’t trust financial institutions.
Reading the illegal decree that announced the Bond Note, it is clear that the government’s intention is to re-introduce local currency, despite strenuous denials over the past few months. The decree refers to the Bond Note as legal tender and the Minister of Finance’s statement speaks in strong language that use and acceptance of the Bond Note will be mandatory, a far cry from earlier promises made by the central bank Governor that it would be optional. These policy inconsistencies and language of force are some of government’s heaviest liabilities in a persistently uneasy relationship with citizens. Citizens know their government will say one thing today and a completely different one the next day.
Bond Notes and Imagined Realities
Government’s mistake is that it takes citizens and laws of the market for granted. It uses coercion, even where consensus is more desirable. It uses force, even when it’s counterproductive. Bond Notes cannot be forced upon the market. Eventually, it will devise its own mechanisms to circumvent the government imposition. In essence, to use Yuval Harari’s language, money is imagined reality. It’s a product of human imagination, rather than a law of nature. It is unlike the force of gravity which is an objective reality. You don’t have to believe in gravity for it to exist. Even if you stop believing in gravity, it will still exist. Money, on the other hand, is an imagined reality that relies heavily on people’s belief in its existence and value. Whether or not a particular currency is strong depends on how much the imagined reality it represents is believed. Strong money represents an imagined reality that is widely believed by many people. On the other hand, if the imagined reality doesn’t have any takers, the money will be weak.
This is what awaits the Bond Note long before it has even circulated. The government is trying to create an imagined reality through the agency of the bond note. But it’s an imagined reality that has few, if any, takers. Consequently, government’s imagined reality that one Bond Note is equal to one US dollar is doomed to fail. It is a weak imagined reality that has no solid foundation and no one actually believes it. Not even those who are introducing it believe it. Perhaps the first test for all ministers, senior civil servants, RBZ Governor and senior staff take their wages and benefits in Bond Notes and lead by example. But these are people who prefer foreign schools for the kids and foreign hospitals, while condemning the rest of the population to decrepit schools and empty clinics.
In fact, way before the Bond Note has arrived, signs on the market are ominous and it would be surprising if it has already lost significant value. A story is told of a trader who recently advertised a piece of work for USD2,000 cash but the price for a bank transfer was quoted at USD6,000. The trader prefers cash, but if he has to take a bank transfer which he cannot easily access, he would rather buy the risk by multiplying the price three times. Likewise, it is likely that in future, there will be a parallel market with different prices quoted in US dollars and Bond Notes.
The end result is that those who have access to US dollars will thrive. Unsurprisingly, there is a small community that is eagerly waiting for the Bond Note, as vultures wait for carrion. Vultures have a digestive system that can contain rotting flesh. Likewise, this rapacious class thrives on the rotting carcass that is Zimbabwe’s economy. The majority of them are in government and the private sector and they abandoned the moral compass a long time ago.
Symptoms forgetting problems
As usual, the circus around Bond Notes is a microcosm of the macrocosm in which the Zimbabwean government invariably pays attention to symptoms, as opposed to the source of problems. Yes, the country is facing serious cash shortages, but that is not because the US dollar is playing a naughty game of hide and seek. The truth is government’s policies were reckless. It adopted the US dollar but forgot to shut the stable door, which resulted in the country becoming a cash machine for the region. I was shocked at the amount of cash withdrawals that Zimbabwean banks were permitting on any given day both at cash machines and in the banking halls. It was excessive and controls were lax. Both the government and banks were utterly reckless. Unsurprisingly, neighbours with international bank cards made Zimbabwean banks their cash machines. By the time the Zimbabwe government and banks introduced strict cash withdrawal limits, not only where they unreasonably low, but the horses had already bolted.
But even that is not the problem. Zimbabwe’s problems are bigger. First, there is little productivity in the key economic sectors and second, Zimbabwe is facing a crisis of legitimacy and confidence in the eyes of the investor community. Without production, exports are poor and foreign currency receipts are minuscule. With high political risk, partly due to an ageing leadership and an increasingly uncertain and abrasive succession process, Zimbabwe has struggled to attract serious investors. The Bond Notes will only serve to dissuade rather than attract investors – who wants to come and invest in a country with a Mickey Mouse currency? Where policies change without notice? Where presidential decrees are used to by-pass the normal legislative process, with all its safeguards?
It is incredibly hard to understand why ZANU PF has a penchant to shoot itself in the foot. ZANU PF boasts a two thirds majority in Parliament. It can pass any law it wants. It could have passed the Bond Notes law using the normal legislative procedure. It knew many months ago that it was going to introduce Bond Notes. The fact is, ZANU PF did not have to pass a presidential decree to do something they could have done through Parliament. Yet they chose the decree route, with all its illegalities and negative connotations. Either Mugabe is ill-advised or they are just as arrogant as ever.
In truth, Zimbabwe’s economic problems are symptomatic of a major political problem: People doubt its new currency, but their bigger doubt is over their government. They lost trust in their government and its ability to manage a currency. They lost so much but the government did nothing to help them recover their losses. Now it’s experimenting with their livelihoods again and people are sceptical.
Incorrigibly corrupt
The government is incorrigibly corrupt. Public funds are abused and government drags its feet when it comes to enforcement of rules against senior ZANU PF officials. The big news in town was the continuing saga around Professor Jonathan Moyo and the alleged abuse of the Zimbabwe Manpower Development Fund (ZIMDEF), a public fund paid for by industry, and whose major purpose is to support apprentices and college students on industrial attachment. Moyo allegedly bought bicycles for chiefs in his constituency, computers for Grace Mugabe’s rallies, support for ZANU PF’s so-called Million Man March, and fuel for ZANU PF Youth League programmes, among other things. The Zimbabwe Anti-Corruption Commission, the country’s corruption watchdog alleges that Moyo and his deputy, Godfrey Gandawa abused ZIMDEF for personal purposes.
In defence, Moyo accuses ZACC of carrying out a political agenda and of being used by Vice President Mnangagwa and his faction to fight factional battles in the race to succeed President Mugabe. For two weeks, he has played ping-pong with ZACC, which he claimed was trying to arrest him. An ally, Vice President Mphoko came to his aid, claiming Moyo could only be arrested with Mugabe’s approval. It does seem that Mugabe gave his approval. In a sense Mphoko was right, because it is only after Mugabe has intervened that Moyo has finally been arrested, which shows ZACC’s weakness as it could not act without Mugabe’s word. At the weekend, Mugabe finally spoke on the matter and said there were no sacred cows, a move which left Moyo without cover. For quite some time, it seemed Grace Mugabe played mother hen to Moyo and the rest of the G40 crew. But now, mother hen seems to have abandoned her children. Without mother hen to protect, the eagles are going for the kill. The G40 seems to be fast losing the succession war.
But still, old wisdom reminds us with Mugabe’s factional games, it’s never over until the fat lady sings. He has the power to sack or at least suspend Moyo while he is being investigated and tried. That he has not done so suggests a man who is once again up to his old tricks of giving hope to one faction while seemingly humiliating the other.
Disturbingly calm
Yet for all the problems engulfing the country, Harare was disturbingly calm. Vendors went about their business. Everyone seems to be selling something to everyone else. In the nearby dormitory town of Chitungwiza, a man spends all day walking around Chikwanha Shopping Centre carrying a large card-board box carrying several pairs of cheap sunglasses. He approaches our group but there is no interest. We offer him a beer instead. He takes a seat, wipes his brow and takes several gulps in one go. He says he feels refreshed. He would stay but he must do a few more rounds before retiring. All day, he had managed to sell just two pairs of sunglasses – one for cash, the other on credit. Another chap approaches us with a big dish of boiled groundnuts and noting subdued interest he offers us a few to taste, hoping to entice us. There are no takers, so walks away and tries his luck at the next table. Clearly, business is tough here and everywhere else. People have no cash. In some bottle stores here in Zengeza, they owners allow you to swipe your card, but they charge you 5 Rands – a premium for using the card.
There is a new entertainment spot just as you leave Maruta Shopping Centre in Waterfalls. It trades by name Paramount. It relocated from Chikwanha where it operated until mid-2016. Punters claim the relocation was under compulsion of market forces. A new competitor at Chikwanha had taken a huge share of the market and business was low. Still, having once attended the old joint some years back, it is plain that the new location is far superior. Here, hundreds upon hundreds of punters converge, partaking the pleasures of a warm Harare night. If it were a political rally, it would qualify for star rally status. Observing the hordes of punters thoroughly enjoying themselves, seemingly without a care in the world, one is hard-pressed to think Zimbabwe is a country on its knees or that there is actually a radical citizens’ movement agitating for reforms. Here, copious amounts of alcohol are consumed. Then drunk and incapable, they stagger into their cars and the next day, they surprise themselves when they wake up in their beds at home.
We drive to a fuel station at Chisipite Shopping Centre. The fuel attendants are milling around doing nothing. As we try to pull into the station for re-fuelling, one of them signals with his empty palms that there is no fuel. It’s the second fuel station where we have encountered this problem. I hope it’s not a sign of things to come.
As we drove to the airport on Tuesday, we passed through the industrial area, or what used to be Harare’s industrial zone. The images were painful. The buildings showed signs of weariness. Everything here is tired. There is not much activity going on. The old rail tracks have long been abandoned. The only places where you see people are the banks where there are long queues of people trying to withdraw their last US dollars. Some banks are asking customers to sign new contracts with new revised terms and conditions. Ever cunning, the capitalists are trying to cover their backs, while condemning the customer to the mercy of the government’s ill-judged policies. Some are rejected but surprisingly some have been signing these ridiculous terms and conditions. Under public pressure, Stanbic Bank, which had tried to be too clever for its own good was forced to make an embarrassing about turn and withdrew the new terms and conditions. It is a victory for citizens, but the capitalists will try new methods to use ordinary citizens as human shields in government’s economic war.
Beautiful smell of rain
Two things had happened on my last day. The impending arrival of the Bond Note had finally been announced, the decree having been delivered on Halloween. And as I walked from the departure lounge of Harare International Airport to the plane, I smelt the unmistakably sweet scent of rain. Suddenly, I felt nostalgic. There are few smells as beautiful as the smell of African rain. It’s a smell that reminds me of home. It reminds me of the days of youth growing up in the village. When we were herding cattle out in the fields, it was that powerful smell that told us the rain was coming and that it was time to go home. Harare had been very hot in the past week. On the way to the airport, we had spoken about the heat and how things were looking dire. It will rain one day, my brother said, hopefully. I was not sure. “But if we don’t hope it will rain what else can we do?” he asked. “We have to keep hoping”.
There was gap as we stepped onto the plane and when I saw rain trickling through, I deliberately walked underneath. I just wanted to catch a bit of the rain of home before I left. As I took my seat and watched the heavy downpour outside, I remembered my brother’s words. Hope. This is what keeps Zimbabweans going. Hope that it will rain. Hope that something good will happen to the country. Hope that one day, things will get better. What else can we do, if we stop hoping?
waMagaisa
