Opinion / Columnist
So, Mr Chivayo, what exactly do you do?
19 Dec 2025 at 09:19hrs |
1157 Views
There are certainly questions that deserve answers.
In today's issue of the Zimbabwe Independent, Wicknell Chivayo claimed, in an interview, that corruption investigations had caused 'severe and irreparable damage' to his business interests.
To directly receive articles from Tendai Ruben Mbofana, please join his WhatsApp Channel on: https://whatsapp.com/channel/0029VaqprWCIyPtRnKpkHe08
It is a serious claim, one that demands serious scrutiny.
Yet the most basic question remains stubbornly unanswered: what exactly are these business interests that have allegedly been so gravely harmed?
Beyond a list of company names, Zimbabweans have been left none the wiser.
And that, in itself, is the heart of the problem.
In any normal economy, a businessman who feels wronged by investigations would respond with clarity, facts, and evidence of real economic activity.
They would point to factories, offices, projects completed, services delivered, workers employed, taxes paid.
They would show how uncertainty has disrupted supply chains, scared off clients, or stalled production.
Instead, in Chivayo's case, we are asked to believe that corruption probes - notably the ZACC inquiry and the South African Financial Intelligence Centre investigation - have destroyed business interests that were never clearly visible or publicly verifiable in the first place.
Take Intratrek Holdings, often presented as his flagship company.
For most Zimbabweans, Intratrek is not associated with tangible achievements, but with a single, infamous episode: the Gwanda solar power project.
Awarded millions of dollars and widely publicised as a solution to Zimbabwe's energy woes, it never materialised.
No power plant, no electricity, no lasting infrastructure.
If Intratrek is evidence of Chivayo's legitimate business credentials, it is a troubling example.
A failed project funded by public money is hardly a victim of corruption investigations; if anything, it raises more questions about competence, accountability, and intent.
Beyond Intratrek, the rest of Chivayo's corporate universe seems to exist largely on paper.
Names such as Edenbreeze, Dolintel Trading, Asibambeki Platinum Group, Agile Venture Capital, and others surfaced not through announcements of new factories, innovations, or job creation, but through a South African financial intelligence investigation.
These companies became known because they received unexplained millions of rand from Ren-Form CC, a South African firm that itself had just received a staggering R1.1 billion from Zimbabwe's Treasury ostensibly for election materials.
This is not how legitimate businesses typically enter the public consciousness.
A genuine entrepreneur usually wants their companies to be known.
Visibility is good for business.
It attracts customers, partners, investors, and credibility.
It reassures banks and lenders.
It builds a brand.
Yet Chivayo's companies are conspicuously absent from the normal markers of economic life.
Where are they located?
What do they produce?
What services do they offer?
Who are their clients, outside of opaque government-linked transactions?
How many people do they employ, and under what conditions?
These are not hostile questions; they are the most basic inquiries any serious businessman should be eager to answer.
Instead, we are confronted with a strange inversion of logic.
We are told that investigations have damaged Chivayo's reputation and business interests, yet those interests were largely unknown before the investigations.
It is not probes that introduced Zimbabweans to Edenbreeze or Dolintel; it was the revelation of suspicious money flows.
It is not corruption allegations that made these companies mysterious; it is their own silence and lack of visible activity.
If there is damage, one must ask: damage to what, exactly?
Chivayo's defenders might argue that not all businesses are public-facing, that some operate quietly in specialised niches.
That may be true in theory.
But it collapses under the weight of the sums involved and the lifestyle displayed.
We are not talking about modest enterprises quietly minding their business.
We are talking about companies allegedly handling tens or hundreds of millions of rand, while their beneficial owner publicly flaunts extraordinary wealth: luxury cars, a private jet, lavish gifts of cash and vehicles to individuals, and a lifestyle that would be impressive even by global elite standards.
Such wealth demands explanation, not reverence.
Besides, Zimbabweans have every right to demand answers, especially when public funds—money that should be financing hospitals, schools, and vital infrastructure - are suspected to be siphoned through these shady companies.
In most countries, a businessman enjoying such conspicuous success would be quick to tell their story.
They would give interviews explaining how they built their empire, what sectors they operate in, and how they generate value.
They would be eager to inspire others, to be seen as a symbol of entrepreneurial success.
Chivayo, however, seems content to enjoy the trappings of wealth while bristling at questions about its source.
When scrutiny comes, it is dismissed as persecution rather than engaged with through transparency.
This is why the claim of “irreparable damage” rings hollow.
Damage implies the destruction of something solid and real.
Yet what we see are companies whose most notable feature is their role in questionable financial transactions, not in production, innovation, or service delivery.
If these entities are legitimate, why have Zimbabweans never seen them at work?
Why do they not advertise, tender competitively, publish financial statements, or showcase completed projects?
Why do they appear only when public money or politically sensitive contracts are involved?
The suspicion that naturally arises is uncomfortable but unavoidable: are these shell companies, established primarily to receive and move funds rather than to create value?
Are they vehicles for channeling money rather than engines of economic activity?
Chivayo may find such questions offensive, but they are a direct consequence of opacity.
In a country scarred by decades of corruption, secrecy is not neutral; it is incriminating.
If Chivayo is serious about clearing his name, the path is simple, though not easy.
He must come clean. He must tell Zimbabweans what his companies actually do, where they operate, and who they employ.
He must explain, in concrete terms, how failed projects like the Gwanda solar plant fit into his narrative of business success.
He must account for how companies unknown in ordinary commerce came to receive vast sums linked to election procurement.
He must show that his wealth flows from legitimate enterprise, not privileged access and opaque deals.
Until then, the cloud of corruption will remain firmly overhead.
Not because Zimbabweans are unfair or malicious, but because unanswered questions breed distrust.
Reputation is not destroyed by investigation alone; it is destroyed by silence in the face of reasonable inquiry.
So, Mr Chivayo, if you want to be taken seriously as a businessman, answer the simplest question of all: what exactly do you do?
© 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/
In today's issue of the Zimbabwe Independent, Wicknell Chivayo claimed, in an interview, that corruption investigations had caused 'severe and irreparable damage' to his business interests.
To directly receive articles from Tendai Ruben Mbofana, please join his WhatsApp Channel on: https://whatsapp.com/channel/0029VaqprWCIyPtRnKpkHe08
It is a serious claim, one that demands serious scrutiny.
Yet the most basic question remains stubbornly unanswered: what exactly are these business interests that have allegedly been so gravely harmed?
Beyond a list of company names, Zimbabweans have been left none the wiser.
And that, in itself, is the heart of the problem.
In any normal economy, a businessman who feels wronged by investigations would respond with clarity, facts, and evidence of real economic activity.
They would point to factories, offices, projects completed, services delivered, workers employed, taxes paid.
They would show how uncertainty has disrupted supply chains, scared off clients, or stalled production.
Instead, in Chivayo's case, we are asked to believe that corruption probes - notably the ZACC inquiry and the South African Financial Intelligence Centre investigation - have destroyed business interests that were never clearly visible or publicly verifiable in the first place.
Take Intratrek Holdings, often presented as his flagship company.
For most Zimbabweans, Intratrek is not associated with tangible achievements, but with a single, infamous episode: the Gwanda solar power project.
Awarded millions of dollars and widely publicised as a solution to Zimbabwe's energy woes, it never materialised.
No power plant, no electricity, no lasting infrastructure.
If Intratrek is evidence of Chivayo's legitimate business credentials, it is a troubling example.
A failed project funded by public money is hardly a victim of corruption investigations; if anything, it raises more questions about competence, accountability, and intent.
Beyond Intratrek, the rest of Chivayo's corporate universe seems to exist largely on paper.
Names such as Edenbreeze, Dolintel Trading, Asibambeki Platinum Group, Agile Venture Capital, and others surfaced not through announcements of new factories, innovations, or job creation, but through a South African financial intelligence investigation.
These companies became known because they received unexplained millions of rand from Ren-Form CC, a South African firm that itself had just received a staggering R1.1 billion from Zimbabwe's Treasury ostensibly for election materials.
This is not how legitimate businesses typically enter the public consciousness.
A genuine entrepreneur usually wants their companies to be known.
Visibility is good for business.
It attracts customers, partners, investors, and credibility.
It reassures banks and lenders.
It builds a brand.
Yet Chivayo's companies are conspicuously absent from the normal markers of economic life.
Where are they located?
What do they produce?
What services do they offer?
Who are their clients, outside of opaque government-linked transactions?
How many people do they employ, and under what conditions?
These are not hostile questions; they are the most basic inquiries any serious businessman should be eager to answer.
Instead, we are confronted with a strange inversion of logic.
We are told that investigations have damaged Chivayo's reputation and business interests, yet those interests were largely unknown before the investigations.
It is not probes that introduced Zimbabweans to Edenbreeze or Dolintel; it was the revelation of suspicious money flows.
It is not corruption allegations that made these companies mysterious; it is their own silence and lack of visible activity.
If there is damage, one must ask: damage to what, exactly?
Chivayo's defenders might argue that not all businesses are public-facing, that some operate quietly in specialised niches.
That may be true in theory.
But it collapses under the weight of the sums involved and the lifestyle displayed.
We are not talking about modest enterprises quietly minding their business.
We are talking about companies allegedly handling tens or hundreds of millions of rand, while their beneficial owner publicly flaunts extraordinary wealth: luxury cars, a private jet, lavish gifts of cash and vehicles to individuals, and a lifestyle that would be impressive even by global elite standards.
Such wealth demands explanation, not reverence.
Besides, Zimbabweans have every right to demand answers, especially when public funds—money that should be financing hospitals, schools, and vital infrastructure - are suspected to be siphoned through these shady companies.
In most countries, a businessman enjoying such conspicuous success would be quick to tell their story.
They would give interviews explaining how they built their empire, what sectors they operate in, and how they generate value.
They would be eager to inspire others, to be seen as a symbol of entrepreneurial success.
Chivayo, however, seems content to enjoy the trappings of wealth while bristling at questions about its source.
When scrutiny comes, it is dismissed as persecution rather than engaged with through transparency.
This is why the claim of “irreparable damage” rings hollow.
Damage implies the destruction of something solid and real.
Yet what we see are companies whose most notable feature is their role in questionable financial transactions, not in production, innovation, or service delivery.
If these entities are legitimate, why have Zimbabweans never seen them at work?
Why do they not advertise, tender competitively, publish financial statements, or showcase completed projects?
Why do they appear only when public money or politically sensitive contracts are involved?
The suspicion that naturally arises is uncomfortable but unavoidable: are these shell companies, established primarily to receive and move funds rather than to create value?
Are they vehicles for channeling money rather than engines of economic activity?
Chivayo may find such questions offensive, but they are a direct consequence of opacity.
In a country scarred by decades of corruption, secrecy is not neutral; it is incriminating.
If Chivayo is serious about clearing his name, the path is simple, though not easy.
He must come clean. He must tell Zimbabweans what his companies actually do, where they operate, and who they employ.
He must explain, in concrete terms, how failed projects like the Gwanda solar plant fit into his narrative of business success.
He must account for how companies unknown in ordinary commerce came to receive vast sums linked to election procurement.
He must show that his wealth flows from legitimate enterprise, not privileged access and opaque deals.
Until then, the cloud of corruption will remain firmly overhead.
Not because Zimbabweans are unfair or malicious, but because unanswered questions breed distrust.
Reputation is not destroyed by investigation alone; it is destroyed by silence in the face of reasonable inquiry.
So, Mr Chivayo, if you want to be taken seriously as a businessman, answer the simplest question of all: what exactly do you do?
© 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/
Source - Tendai Ruben Mbofana
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