The Hustle and the Horror: Life Under Space Barons...

The Hustle and the Horror: Life Under Space Barons at the Bobo-Gazebo Market

Oscar Jeke

A cacophony of shouts, sizzling meat, and haggling fills the air at the Bobo-Gazebo market. Beneath the vibrant tapestry of commerce, however, lurks a sinister truth a tale of exploitation, fear, and a looming health crisis. This unregulated haven, buzzing with the hopes of informal traders, resembles a ticking time bomb, its lack of sanitation mirroring the infamous Mupedzanhamo and threatening a resurgence of the dreaded cholera.

Forget permits, licences, or even basic amenities. Here, the law of the jungle reigns supreme. “Land barons,” shadowy figures allegedly linked to the ruling party, claim dominion over this unclaimed land. Their weapon? Extortion. A mandatory $2 daily fee for a mere patch of ground is just the beginning. Sources, their voices hushed with fear, speak of “other days they come one after the other, this other day they came to collect money for refuse collection which is never done.”

Survival takes precedence over dignity. From dusk till dawn, the market pulsates with activity. “Thigh vending” in the night hours mingles with stalls overflowing with tomatoes, groceries, and fresh meat. ‘It's a hub of activity,” says one resident, their face etched with worry. But this haven holds a dark secret. It’s a notorious blind spot for thieves and murderers, its chaotic nature cloaking their crimes.

A shop owner identified knows the cost of defying the “mafia.” “The refuse fee is common,” he sighs, “but at times they come for the building fee with some even demanding it monthly as rent. We are aware it’s council land, but you can’t do business in fear.” His voice trails off, the weight of helplessness echoing in the air.

A Zanu PF youth leader, anonymity his shield, reveals the chilling truth. “They own the land as it was given to them,” he whispers, “even the stand in this area. People are harassed if they don’t pay, and the worst part is there are no toilets or running water - a recipe for disaster.” He pauses, his voice heavy with concern. “It’s a miracle we haven’t had cholera cases, but the situation requires intervention. In my position, I can't do anything, it’s way above my rank.”

Fear and intimidation silence many. Yet, their eyes plead for help. The Gazebo market, a microcosm of Zimbabwe’s struggles, pulsates with the fight for survival, but at a devastating cost. The question hangs heavy: will authorities intervene before the fragile balance between hustle and horror explodes, leaving behind a trail of broken dreams and lost lives? The future of the market, and its people, hangs precariously in the balance.