The dust has not even settled on the grounds of the Zimbabwe International Trade Fair (ZITF) in Bulawayo, yet the echoes of a single, flamboyant presence continue to reverberate through the corridors of power in Harare. It was not the high-tech exhibitions or the grand speeches that dominated the private conversations of the ruling elite this year. Instead, it was the sight of Wicknell Chivayo—a private citizen with no official government post but an seemingly infinite supply of proximity to power—walking stride for stride with President Emmerson Mnangagwa and the visiting Botswana President, Duma Boko.
For many senior ZANU PF officials, the spectacle was more than just a breach of protocol; it was a public humiliation. As Chivayo was seen touring stands, including Asphalt Botswana and Organic Naturals Skincare, alongside two heads of state, the question on every Zimbabwean’s lips became unavoidable: What official office does this man hold? The silence from the government’s formal communication channels has been deafening, but behind the scenes, the resentment is boiling over. Senior figures within the party, many of whom have spent decades navigating the treacherous waters of Zimbabwean politics, find themselves sidelined by a man whose primary credential appears to be his ability to display ostentatious wealth and claim direct access to the First Family.
The “unseen” hierarchy of the Second Republic has never been more visible than it was during that tour. In a country where diplomatic etiquette is traditionally a carefully choreographed dance of ministers, permanent secretaries, and security details, Chivayo’s presence felt like a disruptive, uninvited solo. To the average observer, he appeared as a de facto diplomatic envoy, a man whose influence transcends the formal structures of the state. This perceived “overstepping” has left veteran politicians, who have spent decades climbing the party ladder, fuming in a silence that is increasingly fragile. The sight of a private businessman overshadowing the Vice President and senior Cabinet ministers at a premier national event is a bitter pill to swallow for those who value the sanctity of institutional order.
The tension reached a breaking point just days before the ZITF appearance when Chivayo announced a staggering US$3.6 million pledge to the nation’s legislators. On Independence Day, April 18, 2026, he declared his intention to channel US$10,000 to each of the 360 Members of Parliament and Senators. He claimed the funds were for “constituency development” and, most provocatively, asserted that the initiative had the direct blessing of President Mnangagwa. “I am acting in good faith,” Chivayo insisted, adding that his intention was to “support national programmes and honour the country’s leadership.”
The reaction from the ZANU PF Youth League was swift and uncharacteristically blunt. On April 20, 2026, John Paradza, the Deputy Secretary for Youth Affairs, issued a statement that effectively drew a line in the sand. “We firmly take a stand against any attempts, real or perceived, to influence any arm of Government,” Paradza stated. He went on to warn that “Parliament cannot be seen as being bought or swayed through donations,” adding that the League would not hesitate to “reprimand anyone bringing the name of the President of Zimbabwe to disrepute.” Paradza further advised Chivayo to focus his developmental efforts directly at the community level rather than through state structures, emphasizing that the government already has sufficient capacity to fund its own development programmes.
This public divergence is a rarity in a party that prides itself on a unified front. It signals a deep-seated discomfort with the way Chivayo’s flamboyant displays of wealth are beginning to soil the image of the presidency. Patrick Chinamasa, the ZANU PF Secretary for Finance and a man not known for minced words, was reportedly even more scathing, describing Chivayo’s actions as “unethical and unprincipled.” Chinamasa has accused Chivayo of bringing the ruling party and President Mnangagwa into disrepute, stating, “I stand solidly behind the Youth League’s position.” The concern is that Chivayo is not just a benefactor but a liability whose presence suggests that the highest office in the land is accessible to the highest bidder.
The body language at ZITF told a story of its own. While President Mnangagwa appeared relaxed in Chivayo’s company, the same could not be said for other senior leaders. Vice President Constantino Chiwenga, a man whose political DNA is rooted in military discipline and institutional order, has often appeared the picture of stoic disapproval during these high-profile “gate-crashing” incidents. Where Mnangagwa’s model of power thrives on informal networks and patronage, Chiwenga’s instinct is towards control and formal hierarchy. Chivayo’s presence at ZITF was a vivid illustration of these two competing models clashing in real-time. The “ZITF drama,” as some have called it, saw Chivayo seemingly overshadowing Chiwenga during the tour, a dynamic that has not gone unnoticed by political analysts.
For the average Zimbabwean, this is not just a matter of “palace gossip.” It has real implications for the country’s international image. When a foreign head of state like President Duma Boko visits, they expect to interact with the formal representatives of the Zimbabwean state. The inclusion of a controversial businessman—whose history is littered with stalled tenders and legal battles—in a high-level diplomatic tour sends a confusing message. It suggests a blurring of the lines between private business interests and public office, a dynamic often referred to as “state capture.” This matters because it erodes the credibility of Zimbabwe’s institutions in the eyes of the international community, potentially deterring the very investment that the ZITF aims to attract.
Chivayo’s history with government contracts is well-documented and remains a sore point for many. The infamous Gwanda Solar Project, which saw US$5.6 million paid upfront to his company, Intratrek Zimbabwe, with little to show for it on the ground for years, remains a symbol of procurement failure. Although he was eventually acquitted in court and even won lawsuits against the Zimbabwe Power Company (ZPC) for breach of contract, the public perception of the deal remains overwhelmingly negative. More recently, his links to a US$60 million tender for election materials in Namibia through Ren-Form CC sparked an international outcry, with Namibian opposition parties raging against the award to a company linked to a man with a criminal record.
In June 2025, reports emerged of a nearly half-billion-dollar contract for cancer treatment equipment involving companies linked to him, further fueling the perception that he is the “go-to” man for massive state deals. This “half-billion dollar cancer contract” has been described by some as another potential looting scheme, raising questions about due diligence in public procurement. These associations, coupled with his penchant for posting photos with various African heads of state—from Kenya’s William Ruto to others across the region—paint a picture of a man who “loves to display his proximity to power” as a form of political and business currency.
Despite his repeated claims that “I am NOT a POLITICIAN and I do not aspire to become one. NEVER !!”, the “conspiracy” that Chivayo is being groomed for a specific political role persists. His proximity to the First Family and his role as a “philanthropist” who bypasses formal channels to deliver resources directly to the people—and now to Parliament—looks remarkably like a political campaign in all but name. To the ZANU PF old guard, he represents a new, unpredictable variable in the party’s complex succession matrix. They fear that his “spectacle of generosity” is actually a calculated move to build a personal power base that could eventually challenge the party’s established hierarchy.
The fallout from the ZITF stunt and the aborted US$3.6 million donation has left Chivayo in a rare position of retreat. Following the backlash from the Youth League and senior party officials, he withdrew the offer to Parliament, expressing “regret over the manner” in which the donation had been presented and acknowledging the concerns raised. However, the damage to the party’s internal cohesion is already done. The incident has exposed a “PR crisis” that the party’s spin doctors are struggling to contain, laying bare the internal contradictions of ZANU PF as it struggles to control its own narrative and its most visible allies.
In the end, the Chivayo phenomenon is a symptom of a deeper struggle within the Second Republic. It is a battle between those who believe in the sanctity of formal institutions and those who see patronage as the most effective tool for maintaining power. As long as Chivayo continues to walk the red carpets of state events, the “bigwigs” in ZANU PF will continue to fume. Their silence is not a sign of acceptance, but a measure of the explosive tension that now defines the heart of Zimbabwean politics. The question is no longer just about what office Wicknell Chivayo holds, but about who truly holds the reins of the state and whether the country’s image can survive such unconventional associations.
