Opinion / Columnist
Zimbabwe: A country where a Ferrari can't travel!
05 Jun 2025 at 22:30hrs | Views
We live in a curious country.
In traversing Zimbabwe's diverse and often rugged landscapes, one cannot help but notice the overwhelming presence of Sport Utility Vehicles (SUVs).
From the bustling city streets of Harare and Bulawayo to the dusty small towns in remote corners of the country, these robust vehicles dominate the roads.
This widespread preference for SUVs, especially among the well-heeled and politically connected, raises an intriguing question: Why are Zimbabweans so enamored with these vehicles?
The answer lies not merely in aesthetics or status, as many might assume, but in raw necessity.
Zimbabwe's road infrastructure, much of which was built during the colonial era or in the early years following independence in 1980, has suffered from decades of chronic neglect and underinvestment.
To directly receive articles from Tendai Ruben Mbofana, please join his WhatsApp Channel on: https://whatsapp.com/channel/0029VaqprWCIyPtRnKpkHe08
The once-praised road network - considered among the best in Africa in the 1980s - has crumbled into a shameful state of disrepair.
Deep potholes, collapsed bridges, narrow shoulders, and entire stretches of impassable terrain are now commonplace.
From the Bulawayo–Victoria Falls Highway to the Nkayi and Binga roads, and even the inner streets of Mbare, Glen View, and Chitungwiza, the situation is often indistinguishable from scenes out of a war zone.
In such conditions, owning a low-clearance luxury vehicle like a Ferrari, Lamborghini, or Rolls-Royce simply doesn't make practical sense.
As magnificent as these cars are, they were not designed to crawl over crater-sized potholes, maneuver through gravel roads, or ford seasonal gullies formed by years of neglect.
This explains why, despite the existence of ultra-wealthy individuals in Zimbabwe, you rarely see them flaunting such sedans on local roads.
Instead, they opt for SUVs.
These offer high ground clearance, powerful suspension, and off-road capability - all essential traits for survival on Zimbabwean roads.
Flamboyant and controversial businessman Wicknell Chivayo has become the poster child for this SUV craze.
His garage and gift list read like a catalogue of some of the world's most expensive 4x4s. Among the high-end vehicles in his collection are a Rolls-Royce Cullinan, Mercedes-Benz G63 Brabus, and a Maybach GLS600.
He has handed out 2022 Mercedes-Benz GLE350d 4Matic SUVs, Toyota Fortuner 2.4Ds, and Land Cruiser LC300s to pastors, musicians, family members, and other associates - vehicles often worth over US$100,000 each.
His obsession is not arbitrary; it is symptomatic of a broader Zimbabwean reality.
Even President Emmerson Mnangagwa's official convoy is a rolling fleet of blacked-out SUVs.
These are not simply security-related choices but also a reflection of the state of the country's roads - even heads of state need reinforced vehicles to survive the terrain.
Gone are the days of sleek limousines cruising smoothly down freshly tarred boulevards.
In Zimbabwe, power rides high above the potholes.
While sedans still populate the roads, they are mostly driven by struggling ordinary citizens like myself, who are left to nurse damaged suspension systems and burst tyres from daily encounters with damaged roads.
I often joke with my wife that the day I have money, I will not buy a flashy sports car - I will get myself a Land Rover Discovery.
Not because I want to climb mountains or drive through the Amazon jungle, but because that's the only way to comfortably get from Redcliff to Harare without needing chiropractic attention at the end of the trip.
Yet, there is something deeper and more disturbing about this SUV obsession.
It is not only about convenience.
It is also a loud, damning indictment of the Zimbabwean elite's apathy towards public infrastructure and community wellbeing.
What boggles the mind is how even in the plushest suburbs of Harare - Borrowdale, Greystone Park, Gunhill - the roads are just as appalling.
These are neighborhoods filled with millionaires and senior government officials.
Yet, they live amid uncollected garbage, dry water taps, and roads that resemble abandoned mining paths.
Why don't these well-to-do residents pool resources to fix their roads, as is common in many functional societies?
The answer is unsettling.
Zimbabwe's ruling elite - politicians, tenderpreneurs, cronies, and their enablers - appear to have adopted a philosophy of self-preservation at the expense of national development.
As long as their own personal circumstances are secure - boreholes to supply water, solar panels for electricity, SUVs to conquer potholes - they see no urgent need to fix the broader system.
It is a form of elite detachment where the public good is irrelevant if the private good is satisfied.
This attitude is a microcosm of Zimbabwe's tragic decline.
At independence, Zimbabwe was the pride of Africa, hailed by Tanzanian leader Julius Nyerere as the "jewel of Africa."
But that jewel has been aggressively mined by those entrusted with its stewardship.
Billions of dollars in diamond, gold, and platinum revenue have been lost through corruption, illicit financial flows, and gross mismanagement.
Meanwhile, hospitals run without essential medication, schools crumble without textbooks, and the roads - those veins that carry the lifeblood of the economy - are now clogged with decay.
And what does the elite do about it?
They buy more SUVs.
They fly their children to universities in Australia, the UK, and South Africa.
They seek medical treatment in Dubai, India, and Singapore while local clinics cannot even treat diarrhoea.
They privatize their lives - ensuring that no matter how bad things get, they remain insulated.
And they never ask the most important question: what kind of country are we building?
There's something profoundly sad about watching a convoy of luxury SUVs speed down a pothole-ridden road, splashing muddy water into the faces of pedestrians walking along the edge of the tarmac.
It is a picture that perfectly captures Zimbabwe's broken social contract.
Those in power have abandoned the people, and the people have been forced to abandon hope.
Everyone is now just trying to survive - and SUVs have become the symbol of that survivalist mentality.
But this doesn't have to be our story.
Zimbabwe is not a poor country.
It is a country rich in minerals, agriculture, tourism potential, and human capital.
What it lacks is leadership - leadership that puts country before self.
We need leaders who see themselves not as rulers but as stewards; not as consumers of national wealth but as builders of national dignity.
Leaders who are willing to forgo their own comforts for the sake of repairing roads, resuscitating hospitals, modernizing schools, and cleaning our cities.
We must aspire to be a country where every child can go to school without fear of a collapsing roof, where patients don't die because there's no ambulance, and yes - where a Ferrari can drive freely down a beautifully paved highway, not because it represents decadence, but because it symbolizes a nation that has restored functionality, pride, and purpose.
Until then, we remain what we are: a nation where a Ferrari can't travel - not because we can't afford it, but because we've forgotten how to build a road.
● 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 traversing Zimbabwe's diverse and often rugged landscapes, one cannot help but notice the overwhelming presence of Sport Utility Vehicles (SUVs).
From the bustling city streets of Harare and Bulawayo to the dusty small towns in remote corners of the country, these robust vehicles dominate the roads.
This widespread preference for SUVs, especially among the well-heeled and politically connected, raises an intriguing question: Why are Zimbabweans so enamored with these vehicles?
The answer lies not merely in aesthetics or status, as many might assume, but in raw necessity.
Zimbabwe's road infrastructure, much of which was built during the colonial era or in the early years following independence in 1980, has suffered from decades of chronic neglect and underinvestment.
To directly receive articles from Tendai Ruben Mbofana, please join his WhatsApp Channel on: https://whatsapp.com/channel/0029VaqprWCIyPtRnKpkHe08
The once-praised road network - considered among the best in Africa in the 1980s - has crumbled into a shameful state of disrepair.
Deep potholes, collapsed bridges, narrow shoulders, and entire stretches of impassable terrain are now commonplace.
From the Bulawayo–Victoria Falls Highway to the Nkayi and Binga roads, and even the inner streets of Mbare, Glen View, and Chitungwiza, the situation is often indistinguishable from scenes out of a war zone.
In such conditions, owning a low-clearance luxury vehicle like a Ferrari, Lamborghini, or Rolls-Royce simply doesn't make practical sense.
As magnificent as these cars are, they were not designed to crawl over crater-sized potholes, maneuver through gravel roads, or ford seasonal gullies formed by years of neglect.
This explains why, despite the existence of ultra-wealthy individuals in Zimbabwe, you rarely see them flaunting such sedans on local roads.
Instead, they opt for SUVs.
These offer high ground clearance, powerful suspension, and off-road capability - all essential traits for survival on Zimbabwean roads.
Flamboyant and controversial businessman Wicknell Chivayo has become the poster child for this SUV craze.
His garage and gift list read like a catalogue of some of the world's most expensive 4x4s. Among the high-end vehicles in his collection are a Rolls-Royce Cullinan, Mercedes-Benz G63 Brabus, and a Maybach GLS600.
He has handed out 2022 Mercedes-Benz GLE350d 4Matic SUVs, Toyota Fortuner 2.4Ds, and Land Cruiser LC300s to pastors, musicians, family members, and other associates - vehicles often worth over US$100,000 each.
His obsession is not arbitrary; it is symptomatic of a broader Zimbabwean reality.
Even President Emmerson Mnangagwa's official convoy is a rolling fleet of blacked-out SUVs.
These are not simply security-related choices but also a reflection of the state of the country's roads - even heads of state need reinforced vehicles to survive the terrain.
Gone are the days of sleek limousines cruising smoothly down freshly tarred boulevards.
In Zimbabwe, power rides high above the potholes.
While sedans still populate the roads, they are mostly driven by struggling ordinary citizens like myself, who are left to nurse damaged suspension systems and burst tyres from daily encounters with damaged roads.
I often joke with my wife that the day I have money, I will not buy a flashy sports car - I will get myself a Land Rover Discovery.
Not because I want to climb mountains or drive through the Amazon jungle, but because that's the only way to comfortably get from Redcliff to Harare without needing chiropractic attention at the end of the trip.
Yet, there is something deeper and more disturbing about this SUV obsession.
It is not only about convenience.
It is also a loud, damning indictment of the Zimbabwean elite's apathy towards public infrastructure and community wellbeing.
What boggles the mind is how even in the plushest suburbs of Harare - Borrowdale, Greystone Park, Gunhill - the roads are just as appalling.
These are neighborhoods filled with millionaires and senior government officials.
Yet, they live amid uncollected garbage, dry water taps, and roads that resemble abandoned mining paths.
Why don't these well-to-do residents pool resources to fix their roads, as is common in many functional societies?
The answer is unsettling.
Zimbabwe's ruling elite - politicians, tenderpreneurs, cronies, and their enablers - appear to have adopted a philosophy of self-preservation at the expense of national development.
As long as their own personal circumstances are secure - boreholes to supply water, solar panels for electricity, SUVs to conquer potholes - they see no urgent need to fix the broader system.
It is a form of elite detachment where the public good is irrelevant if the private good is satisfied.
This attitude is a microcosm of Zimbabwe's tragic decline.
At independence, Zimbabwe was the pride of Africa, hailed by Tanzanian leader Julius Nyerere as the "jewel of Africa."
But that jewel has been aggressively mined by those entrusted with its stewardship.
Billions of dollars in diamond, gold, and platinum revenue have been lost through corruption, illicit financial flows, and gross mismanagement.
Meanwhile, hospitals run without essential medication, schools crumble without textbooks, and the roads - those veins that carry the lifeblood of the economy - are now clogged with decay.
And what does the elite do about it?
They buy more SUVs.
They fly their children to universities in Australia, the UK, and South Africa.
They seek medical treatment in Dubai, India, and Singapore while local clinics cannot even treat diarrhoea.
They privatize their lives - ensuring that no matter how bad things get, they remain insulated.
And they never ask the most important question: what kind of country are we building?
There's something profoundly sad about watching a convoy of luxury SUVs speed down a pothole-ridden road, splashing muddy water into the faces of pedestrians walking along the edge of the tarmac.
It is a picture that perfectly captures Zimbabwe's broken social contract.
Those in power have abandoned the people, and the people have been forced to abandon hope.
Everyone is now just trying to survive - and SUVs have become the symbol of that survivalist mentality.
But this doesn't have to be our story.
Zimbabwe is not a poor country.
It is a country rich in minerals, agriculture, tourism potential, and human capital.
What it lacks is leadership - leadership that puts country before self.
We need leaders who see themselves not as rulers but as stewards; not as consumers of national wealth but as builders of national dignity.
Leaders who are willing to forgo their own comforts for the sake of repairing roads, resuscitating hospitals, modernizing schools, and cleaning our cities.
We must aspire to be a country where every child can go to school without fear of a collapsing roof, where patients don't die because there's no ambulance, and yes - where a Ferrari can drive freely down a beautifully paved highway, not because it represents decadence, but because it symbolizes a nation that has restored functionality, pride, and purpose.
Until then, we remain what we are: a nation where a Ferrari can't travel - not because we can't afford it, but because we've forgotten how to build a road.
● 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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