Harare Vendors Caught Between By-Laws and the Fight to Survive

By mid-morning, Harare’s streets are busy with the usual rhythm of commerce.

But for the vendors spread along the pavements there is another rhythm, one of constant vigilance.

Their eyes dart between customers and the road. A man arranging his merchandise on the pavement suddenly pauses to scan the street. A woman selling clothes looks over her shoulder before continuing with a sale.

They are watching for law enforcement agents.

Some patrol in uniform, while others move through the crowds in plain clothes making it difficult for vendors to know who is a customer and who may be part of an enforcement team.

Then there is the municipal truck.

Old and seemingly held together by years of use, the municipal truck has become a familiar sight during enforcement operations.

Vendors know its driver, a man they call Bhuru and his arrival can instantly change the mood on the pavement.

A warning travels through the crowd.

“Varikuuya!” — They are coming.

Within seconds, the pavement begins to empty.

A trader grabs his stock. Another folds a pile of clothes. Someone else hurriedly gathers mobile phone chargers and accessories.

For some, there is nowhere to run.

They remain behind, facing the officers and the possibility that their goods could be confiscated.

This is the reality confronting Harare’s informal traders as authorities intensify efforts to remove vendors from undesignated trading areas under the operation code-named Chenesa.

The operation follows a government directive giving illegal vendors until 9 September to leave unauthorised trading sites with authorities warning that a zero-tolerance clean-up operation would follow.

The directive, however, acknowledges informal trading as a livelihood while insisting that it must take place within municipal by-laws and designated markets.

For vendors, that distinction is at the heart of the problem.

They say they are not opposed to trading legally. Their concern is whether the designated spaces can provide them with the customers and income they need to survive.

What begins as an enforcement exercise can quickly become confrontational.

Several operations have resulted in nasty exchanges between vendors and law enforcement agents with tempers flaring as officers attempt to clear trading spaces and traders try to protect their stock.

On the streets, words are exchanged and on Saturday, chaos erupted as stones were thrown between municipal officers and traders at corner First Street and Speke Avenue resulting in the damage of a plate glass window at a retail shop.

Some vendors accused officers of throwing stones.

At times, the confrontation attracts curious onlookers, turning what began as a routine operation into a spectacle.

One vendor said the uncertainty surrounding enforcement had made street trading increasingly stressful.

“We know that there are laws but sometimes the way they come to us creates problems. They should first create the designated points and give conducive terms and conditions that are viable before can go,” said one vendor who identified herself as Tafadzwa

Another trader said losing stock was more devastating than simply being chased away.

“If they tell us to move, where do we go? We have bought these goods with our money. If they take them, we lose everything. Tomorrow we still have to feed our families.” Said another

Municipal officials have previously maintained that enforcement is necessary to restore order in the central business district and prevent vendors from obstructing pavements, roads and other public spaces.

The arrival of enforcement officers has created a peculiar choreography. A shout from one vendor is enough to alert dozens of others. The trader closest to the road becomes an early-warning system.

One person runs.

Another follows.

Within moments, goods that had been carefully arranged for sale are being stuffed into bags and boxes.

Some traders retreat into buildings or side streets, waiting for the operation to pass before returning.

“Where do they want us to go?” is a question frequently heard from traders.

The response from authorities is equally straightforward: trade in designated areas.

But the disagreement lies in what happens when a vendor moves to a designated market and discovers that the customers have remained on the street.

For many vendors, location is everything.

A designated market may be legal but the busiest streets provide something that formal trading spaces cannot easily replicate — thousands of potential customers passing within metres of their goods.

A commuter rushing to work may buy tomatoes from a roadside vendor because it is convenient.

A pedestrian may purchase a phone charger while walking through the city.

A shopper may stop for clothes simply because they have been displayed along a busy pavement.

Moving the trader away from that foot traffic can therefore mean moving them away from their income.

One vendor said “We are not here because we want to make the city dirty. We are here because people buy from us here. If you take us somewhere where there are no customers, how are we going to survive?”

Another trader said enforcement should be accompanied by meaningful alternatives.

“If they want us to leave, they must show us where we can trade and make money. We cannot survive simply because we have been given a place to stand. There must be customers.”

For some traders, vending is the last available source of income.

Formal employment remains out of reach for many while the cost of living continues to put pressure on household incomes.

The pavement, in this sense becomes both workplace and lifeline.

A vendor’s stock may represent years of effort, borrowed money or the savings of an entire family.

When goods are confiscated, the financial consequences can stretch far beyond a single day’s trading.

Yet the authorities face their own pressures.

Harare’s central business district has struggled with congestion, waste management and the occupation of public spaces.

The government argues that informal trading can continue but within an organised framework.

That leaves the city facing a difficult balancing act: how to enforce regulations without destroying livelihoods, and how to protect livelihoods without allowing the city centre to become unmanageable.

Chenesa is therefore more than a campaign to clear pavements. It is a confrontation between two competing realities.

For authorities, the streets are public spaces that must be regulated and for vendors, those same streets are workplaces where daily income is earned.

Neither reality disappears when an enforcement truck arrives. The vendor still has a family to support. The officer still has regulations to enforce and the pavement remains caught between the two.

As the municipal truck moves through Harare and vendors continue to scan the streets for plain-clothes officers, the cat-and-mouse game continues.

For some, it ends when law enforcement agents retire for the day and for others it resumes the following morning.

The goods are unpacked, merchandise is spread on the streets and eyes begin scanning the street again.

Like an ostrich burying its head in the sand at the first sign of danger, the vendors momentarily retreat from their trade only to emerge again when the threat appears to have passed.

Their heads turn, their eyes scan the streets and their hands hover over their goods, ready to gather everything at a moment’s notice.

Then they spot it — the familiar municipal truck.

For a moment, the pavement falls into a strange silence. Vendors look around, weighing whether to stay, run or risk losing their stock.

The truck inches closer and the scramble begins again.

It is a routine that has become part of Harare’s streets, the authorities enforcing the by-laws, the vendors fighting to survive, and both sides locked in a cycle that seems to have no easy end.

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