Isn't it strange that someone living in squalor in Mbare would sing that Mnangagwa is doing a good job?

Zimbabwe is a country full of mysteries.

This morning, I watched a feature on the state-controlled broadcaster ZBC showing ZANU-PF women from the Mbare Chimurenga Choir singing glowing praises of President Emmerson Mnangagwa. 

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With energetic choreography and rehearsed enthusiasm, they extolled his "visionary leadership" and applauded what they described as his impressive record of development. 

In song, they excitedly listed what they perceived as tangible achievements: makavaka - you built the expanded Robert Gabriel Mugabe International Airport, Trababalas makavaka - you built the Trabablas Traffic Interchange, makavaka - you built the new Parliament of Zimbabwe building.

Even if one were to ignore the factual inaccuracies - such as the reality that the new Parliament building in Mt Hampden was not constructed by the Mnangagwa administration but donated by the People's Republic of China - that is beside the point. 

What struck me most, and what I find endlessly fascinating, if not deeply troubling, is the contradiction at the heart of this spectacle. 

The women singing these praises come from Mbare, one of the most impoverished and neglected communities in Zimbabwe. 

They are celebrating "development" they themselves have never experienced.

Who can honestly deny that life in Mbare, as in many parts of Zimbabwe neglected by those in authority, is deplorable, dehumanising, and unfit for decent human existence? 

Families there are crammed into dilapidated dwellings that should have been condemned decades ago. 

In some cases, three or four families share a single room. 

Basic services are either erratic or completely absent. 

Residents can go for years without running water. 

Toilets are shared by dozens of people and are often blocked, overflowing, and hazardous to health. 

Earlier this year, the area was hit by a devastating bed bug infestation, a public health crisis that exposed the state's total neglect of the poorest citizens.

This is the daily reality of the very people singing about national "development." 

Most live in abject poverty, surviving hand to mouth through informal trading, vending, piece jobs, and, for some, far more desperate and less dignified means such as prostitution or crime. 

These are not choices made freely, but strategies forced upon people by an economy that has collapsed under years of mismanagement, corruption, and elite plunder.

So as I watched these women dance themselves into a frenzy, I could not help but ask: what development are they celebrating? 

What exactly has changed in their lives?

 I am fairly certain that once the cameras stopped rolling and the recording was done, they returned to the same overcrowded rooms, the same empty cupboards, the same shared toilets, and the same daily humiliation of poverty. 

Is this the "Zimbabwe is open for business" dream they are singing about?

This is where we must confront an uncomfortable truth. 

Much of this praise has little to do with genuine belief and everything to do with survival. 

In places like Mbare, and many others across the country, political loyalty has become transactional. 

People do what they must to get by. 

This is the logic of kungwavhangwavha—hustling, improvising, and bending one's principles simply to survive another day. 

Singing and dancing for the ruling party becomes less an expression of conviction and more a coping mechanism in a brutal economic environment.

It is no coincidence that this very choir has reportedly been invited to State House on several occasions and rewarded with food hampers. 

In a country where hunger is widespread and dignity has been systematically stripped away, food has become a powerful political weapon. 

Praising the Mnangagwa regime in exchange for handouts has become an increasingly common survival strategy for many Zimbabweans.

We have seen this before. 

Who can forget the now-infamous "Sapatina Sapatina" apostolic sect member who recorded himself at State House, overwhelmed with joy after receiving two pieces of chicken and chips—food he dramatically described as kudya kwengirozi, "food of angels"? 

That moment, widely shared and mocked, was not just comical; it was tragic. 

It laid bare how low expectations have fallen, and how easily hunger can be manipulated into loyalty.

This also explains why ZANU-PF rallies are almost always well attended. 

Yes, coercion plays a role, particularly in rural areas. 

But just as significant is the promise, or at least the hope, of food, clothing, or some other handout. 

For millions living below the poverty datum line, attending a rally is not about ideology; it is about the possibility of a meal.

That is why I was not particularly shocked when ZANU-PF Secretary for Commissariat Munyaradzi Machacha recently claimed that the party had registered 437,000 defectors from the opposition. 

In a country where nearly 80 percent of the population lives in poverty, joining ZANU-PF has become a rational survival strategy. 

Party membership is increasingly seen as a gateway to food aid, vending stalls, housing stands, or protection from harassment by authorities. 

This is not mass political conversion; it is economic desperation.

The supposed groundswell of support for President Mnangagwa is therefore deeply misleading. 

It is not rooted in belief, hope, or satisfaction with governance. 

It is transactional, opportunistic, and fragile. 

That is why, if I were President Mnangagwa, I would be deeply afraid of genuinely free and fair elections. 

Many of those who sing his praises, wear party regalia, or march under banners such as "4 ED" would not hesitate to vote him out if given a real and secret opportunity to do so.

I am certain he knows this. 

It explains, in part, the regime's obvious discomfort with popular mandates and its reluctance to test public opinion through mechanisms such as a constitutional referendum to extend presidential term limits beyond 2028. 

Mnangagwa understands that the loyalty he commands is shallow and conditional. 

It is loyalty born of hunger, not hope.

That is the ultimate tragedy of the Mbare Chimurenga Choir's performance. 

It is not evidence of success, but of failure. 

It is a mirror reflecting a country where citizens have been reduced to praising their own suffering in exchange for survival. 

In such a context, it makes no rational sense for someone living in grinding poverty to sincerely claim that Zimbabwe has been "developed." 

And if they do, we must ask not what they believe - but what they need in order to eat.

© Tendai Ruben Mbofana is a social justice advocate and writer. Please feel free to WhatsApp or Call: +263715667700 | +263782283975, or email: mbofana.tendairuben73@gmail.com, or visit website: https://mbofanatendairuben.news.blog/