HARARE – The morning sun over Mbare’s Mupedzanhamo market does not just bring light; it brings a familiar, cold dread for the thousands of traders who call these dusty servitudes their office. For decades, the informal sector has been the beating heart of Zimbabwe, a resilient lungs that breathes life into an economy where formal jobs have long since withered. However, a new cloud is gathering over the “roadside entrepreneurs” who keep the country running. The Cabinet has officially approved the National Formalisation Strategy and the National Employment Policy (2026–2030), a move that sounds professional, even progressive, on glossy government letterheads. But on the ground, among the second-hand clothes bales and the vegetable crates, it feels like nothing less than a declaration of war.
For the self-employed Zimbabwean, “formalisation” has become a word synonymous with “taxation without representation.” While the government frames this new policy as a pathway to “social security, labour rights, and inclusive growth,” the cynical reality is that it looks like a desperate grab for taxes from a population that the state has failed to provide for. With an estimated 80% to 90% of the workforce operating outside the formal economy, the state’s eyes are firmly fixed on the “hustle.” The new policy sets out ten ambitious objectives, including the enforcement of labour laws and enterprise development, but it fails to address the fundamental question: if the government couldn’t create jobs in the formal sector, why does it think it can regulate the survival strategies of the poor?
The flashpoint of this struggle remains the Mupedzanhamo Flea Market in Mbare. Despite being officially closed for long periods, vendors have repeatedly “illegally” occupied the area, leading to violent clashes with municipal police and the ZRP. “Illegal vendors have trooped back around Mupedzanhamo Market area in Mbare, Harare, encroaching the road servitude and causing congestion,” reported the Herald recently. But for the vendors, there is no such thing as an “illegal” need to eat. The “urban renewal” projects touted by city authorities often result in the demolition of these makeshift kiosks to make way for “elite-owned” malls and “orderly” bus termini that the average trader cannot afford to rent.
The conspiracy of these “urban renewal” projects is thinly veiled. While the poor are pushed further into the periphery, prime land is often partitioned for well-connected individuals to build modern shopping complexes. These malls do not cater to the “Mupedzanhamo” trader; they are designed for the formal businesses that the government has pledged to strengthen through “increased procurement of local goods and services.” It is a classic case of the state picking winners and losers, where the “losers” are the millions of self-employed Zimbabweans who have built their own livelihoods from the ground up without a single cent of government support.
The financial machinery of this “war” is already being assembled. The Zimbabwe Revenue Authority (ZIMRA) has introduced a new electronic remittance system specifically designed to simplify the tax payment process for informal operators. While ZIMRA officials speak of “widening the tax base” and “enhancing compliance,” the traders see a predatory system. New taxes and levies that became effective on January 1, 2026, are already biting hard. “Informal traders frequently face corruption and harassment, significantly impeding their ability to conduct business legally,” notes a recent economic analysis. When a vendor is asked to pay a presumptive tax but still has to pay a bribe to a municipal officer to avoid having their goods confiscated, the “formalisation” looks less like a service and more like a double-taxation trap.
Looking across the continent, the Zimbabwean approach seems fraught with the same risks that have plagued other African nations. In Rwanda, the push to formalise the informal sector in Kigali has seen significant success in terms of “order,” but at a high social cost. Street vendors in Kigali often complain about the lack of transparency and the “fairness” of regulations that favour modern retail over traditional artisanal trades. Similarly, in Kenya, where the NSSF Act aims to bring informal workers into the social protection net, the transition has been slow. While 81% of Kenya’s non-agricultural jobs are informal, digital reforms are only just beginning to bridge the gap. The difference, however, is that Kenya and Rwanda have shown some commitment to providing actual social benefits in exchange for formalisation. In Zimbabwe, the “social protection” promised in the 2026–2030 policy feels like a distant mirage.
The hidden cost of this formalisation is the erosion of the only safety net most Zimbabweans have: their independence. By forcing a vendor into a formal structure, the government is effectively putting a leash on their mobility. A “formalised” trader must have a fixed address, a bank account, and a tax clearance certificate—all of which require a level of stability that the Zimbabwean economy simply does not provide. If a trader’s goods are seized during a “cleanup” operation, their formal status will not put food on the table. In fact, the “enforcement and compliance” measures mentioned in the Cabinet briefing suggest that the state is more interested in policing the poor than empowering them.
The policy documents emphasize “targeted skills training” and “enterprise development,” but where is the capital? A vendor at Makoni in Chitungwiza doesn’t need a “skills training” workshop on how to sell tomatoes; they need affordable credit, reliable transport, and a market space that isn’t controlled by political “space barons.” The Cabinet’s approval of these policies without a clear, funded plan for micro-credit and infrastructure is a recipe for disaster. It is an attempt to impose a First World regulatory framework on a Third World survival economy.
Furthermore, the “National Employment Policy” focuses on aligning education with economic requirements to reduce youth unemployment. While this sounds noble, it ignores the reality that most university graduates are already in the informal sector, selling airtime or driving “mushikashika” (illegal taxis) because the formal economy has nothing for them. Formalising their “hustle” doesn’t create a job; it simply creates a taxpayer. For a young Zimbabwean who has spent years studying only to end up on the street, being told they now need to pay the government for the “privilege” of self-employment is a bitter pill to swallow.
The social struggle for survival is intensified by the rising cost of living. In South Africa, a similar neglect of informal traders in economic policy has shown that rising costs quickly “erode their ability to sustain livelihoods.” Zimbabweans are facing even harsher conditions, with a volatile currency and infrastructure that is crumbling. When the government warns of “prosecution over sharing of fatal accident images” or “enforcement of highway regulations,” it is often seen as a way to control the narrative of failure. The “war” on vendors is part of this broader control mechanism—a way to bring the “unruly” informal masses under the thumb of the state.
As we move deeper into 2026, the “ED2030” slogan and the push for constitutional amendments to extend presidential terms suggest a government that is more concerned with its own longevity than the welfare of its citizens. The formalisation of the informal sector is a key piece of this puzzle. A formalised population is a documented population, and a documented population is easier to monitor and tax. For the millions of Zimbabweans who have survived by staying “under the radar,” the new Cabinet policies are a signal that the radar is being upgraded.
In conclusion, the “National Formalisation Strategy” is not the olive branch it claims to be. It is a calculated move to extract value from the only functioning part of the Zimbabwean economy. For the “roadside entrepreneurs,” the “Mupedzanhamo” traders, and the “self-employed” graduates, the message from the Cabinet is clear: your survival is now a taxable event. Unless the government can offer more than just “skills training” and “compliance measures,” this policy will not lead to inclusive growth. Instead, it will lead to more social unrest, as a population that has already lost so much fights to keep the only thing they have left—their right to hustle. This isn’t just a business story; it is the final frontier in the struggle for the soul of the Zimbabwean economy. The hidden cost of this “war” will be paid in the sweat and tears of those who have already given everything to keep this country standing.
