Graduate Vendors – A matter of life and debt

The Harare City Council has moved to evict multitudes of vendors who ply their trade in the city centre. Waza blogger Daphne Jena urges caution, as many livelihoods are at stake.

By Daphne Jena

During their marches against relocation from the city centre, I saw a picture of a vendor holding up a placard that read “I am a graduate vendor”.

This was not just a picture by a creative vendor who decided to spice up the march. The picture carried a message of utmost desperation.

The brave faces in newspapers and social media show how far the vendors are willing to go to defend their forte. This time, the march determined if a family would have food on the table tomorrow; it determined if a father would have US$1 to go back home to his children with five bundles or covo as relish for supper.

The march determined if a mother was going to buy the next single diaper for the baby who would be strapped on her back the next day for the whole day as she moved around selling boiled potatoes in a plastic bucket to her fellow vendors along the streets of Harare.

A matter of life and debt

This time, my brother knew that whatever happened after the march should allow him to pay for the bale of second hand clothes he just received from Mozambique. It was a do or die situation; a matter of life and debt. It still is.

This is how I looked at that picture, not because I want to, but because that is what is. The increase in people who are selling almost anything to each other on the streets is not about overpopulation, or lack of goods in the shops. It is because that is the only way people can make a living.

No option

Even if you were lucky to get two hectares from the land reform programme, the main buyer- the Grain Marketing Board -has warned you to surrender your grain at your own risk because it is broke.

If you have the grain to sell you are lucky, because that means the gods saved you from the drought. If you have some, the maize will still will not pay for your hospital bills, so you have to sell it on the streets in exchange for cash.

You cannot even boast about the job you got through your uncle, who bribed the Human Resources manager of a security company, because you have not been paid for the last six months, and you are not sure whether to call yourself a worker or a volunteer.

So if you are to pay this month’s rent, you have to sell airtime vouchers that people will buy like hot cakes even as they are complaining that the service providers are fleecing them.

The high turnover of those vouchers, with a 10 cents profit each, will ensure that by the end of the day you can buy that necessary litre of paraffin; if you are to have any supper that night. It is not subject to debate, it is cast in stone that vending will see you through the day and probably the year.

What we have been reduced to

The constant reminders through the news or social media messages that vendors said ‘we will not go’, are just a reminder of how we have run out of options. It is not because we do not like the available options: there are no options.

If someone calls themselves a graduate vendor, it is a confession that they have decided to turn to the only option there is. Not so long ago Zimbabweans held mass stay-aways from formal employment in order to make a statement on what they were unhappy about.

This was because a good number of them were still employed. They demanded for jobs because there could see the potential of companies growing and even new ones being established. This is not the case in 2015.

The only possible way

The way that each Zimbabwean is willing to fight for the his/her one square metre space on the street is similar to the way anyone would battle for their life. Vending has become the only possible way for most to make a living.

Not even the length of day can accommodate the need for people to be on the streets advertising their different goods. That is why even as early as 5 am and as late as 11pm someone is on the street, hoping that a passer-by will part with a few coins to buy a tin of baked beans or an overflowing cup of dried Kapenta fish.

One can sell food because people need to eat, one can sell clothes because people need to be clothed, one can sell soap because people need to bath. Even if one fails to sell anything, one complains about poverty with dignity because there is still proof they are trying to do something about their situation.

We need solutions not ultimatums

Instead of giving people ultimatums the government should be working towards solution based alternatives. Chasing people off the streets is not going to take away the need for food or the need for a decent livelihood.

Dictating fees for vending spaces is not going to make the money miraculously available. Instead, provide spaces big enough to for all in need of the space, provide ablution facilities to ensure a disease-free operating space. Provide spaces with security for storage of goods overnight. Provide lighting that is needed for the night. Manage the allocated spaces like responsible authorities, and not like greedy land barons.

This is the immediate possible solution to the issue of poverty right now. Re-opening closed mines and factories will only take years because too much trust has been lost. It will take years to restore investor confidence in potential business people if we intend to restore it.

But, in order to survive until that day when Zimbabwe will become an economy again, people need something to hold on to. Vending is all they have so handle it with care, people’s lives are at stake.

Waza is proud to feature as part of its content local bloggers who have a knack for expressing their unique perspectives, independent thoughts and engaging stories. The opinions expressed here are those of the author.

This article first appeared on Waza who are proud to feature as part of their content, local bloggers who have a knack for expressing their unique perspectives, independent thoughts and engaging stories. 

The opinions expressed here are those of the author.