Source: SIYASO: WHERE SCRAP METAL KEEPS THE CITY RUNNING – herald
Emmanuel Kafe
Investigations Reporter
DEEP inside Siyaso, Mbare’s sprawling industrial maze, men and women work with fire, hammer and intuition — fixing car engines, welding gates and crafting makeshift parts from scrap metal.
With no formal training, no safety gear and often no electricity, these artisans keep Harare’s economy alive even after formal industry is struggling.
In the thick of black smoke and the clang of hammers, 28-year-old Tawanda “Engineer” Chidodo wipes sweat from his brow as he leans over a stripped-down car engine.
A tangle of wires, bolts and scrap surrounds him, but to him, it is an orchestra.
“I never went to any engineering school. I learnt by watching others. Now, people bring engines from as far as Chitungwiza,” he says.
For Chidodo and thousands like him, Siyaso, once dismissed as a chaotic backyard market, has become Harare’s unofficial industrial park.
The business hub dates back to the 1950s, when it emerged as a home industry zone for informal artisans.
Over the years, it grew into a major engineering and metalwork hub.
The Siyaso co-operative collapsed in 2005 during Operation Murambatsvina but was revived in 2007.
Today, it remains one of Harare’s busiest informal industrial centres.
Every narrow lane here buzzes with innovation. There are welders fabricating scotch carts, mechanics rebuilding gearboxes and artisans making wheelbarrows from discarded oil drums.
Others manufacture stoves, braai stands and makeshift ploughs for rural farmers. Nothing goes to waste.
A city sustained by scrap
Most of Siyaso’s materials are scavenged from scrapyards and broken-down cars or discarded machinery.
“You see this gearbox?” says Sekuru Nyandoro, a 53-year-old retired mechanic, who now mentors young welders. “It came from a junk Mazda. We cleaned it, replaced some bearings and now it works. That is what keeps us going; we fix what the factory cannot.”
Trucks and handcarts roll in daily, offloading heaps of old engines, iron sheets and car shells.
A few parts are bought from formal dealers, but most come from informal collectors who strip wrecks or raid dumpsites for reusable metal.
It is a supply chain built entirely outside the law and entirely necessary for survival.
Siyaso’s artisans charge between US$10 and US$200 per job, depending on its complexity.
It is not much, but it is enough to feed families and keep hope alive in a city where not everyone is in formal employment.
The heart beat of Mbare
Siyaso’s roots stretch deep into the history of Mbare itself, one of Harare’s oldest high-density suburbs.
The name “Siyaso” comes from a Shona expression meaning “leave it as it is”, a phrase that fittingly captures the area’s rough-and-ready spirit.
Over the decades, it has evolved from a modest backyard trading post into a vast, unregulated industrial hub supplying nearly everything the city’s working class needs.
The facility’s proximity to Mbare Musika, Zimbabwe’s busiest produce market, has turned the area into a self-sustaining economic ecosystem.
Farmers offload vegetables at Mbare Musika in the morning and later buy scotch carts, hoes and wheelbarrows from Siyaso’s craftspeople.
Economists estimate that over US$1 million circulates daily through Mbare’s informal economy, with Siyaso and nearby Magaba markets accounting for a significant share.
It is a staggering figure for a place where every dollar is earned by hand and hammer.
Yet, as the Reserve Bank of Zimbabwe once noted, much of this money never reaches the formal banking system.
Here, transactions are done in cash, trust and handshakes, a parallel economy that runs beneath the radar, but keeps the city moving.
Danger beneath the sparks
Behind the hum of enterprise lies danger.
Sparks fly yet some artisans go about their work without goggles; open flames lick through oil-stained floors. Electrical cables snake across puddles and the air is thick with fumes from burning paint and oil.
Fires are common.
“Last month, we lost two sheds when a fuel drum caught fire. We tried to save what we could, but there are no extinguishers here,” says Memory Nhoruoyo, one of the few women welders at the place.
None of the workers have insurance.
Very few have protective equipment.
Injuries, burns, eye damage and deep cuts are part of the job. And when someone gets hurt, their co-workers chip in for medicine or a hospital visit.
Despite these hardships, the pride runs deep.
“If we stop, Harare stops. Kombis, wheelbarrows, stoves, gates, all these things, pass through Siyaso,” says Nhoruoyo.
Innovation
Economists say Siyaso represents both the collapse and rebirth of Zimbabwe’s manufacturing sector.
“Siyaso is the shadow of Willowvale and ZISCO (Zimbabwe Iron and Steel Company),” notes Dr Tonderai Chabva, an economic analyst.
“Where factories once stood idle, informal industry has stepped in, using skill instead of capital. But without support or regulation, that potential remains trapped in survival mode.”
Harare City Council officials admit that Siyaso operates in a legal grey zone.
The city’s mayor, Mr Jacob Mafume, says most traders lack licences, yet their contribution is undeniable.
“We cannot simply demolish Siyaso. It sustains livelihoods and fills critical gaps. The challenge is how to formalise it without killing its creativity,” argues Mr Mafume.
Women Affairs, Community, Small and Medium Enterprises Development Minister Monica Mutsvangwa agreed noting that Government efforts are underway to register informal traders and provide workspaces and digital payment systems.
“We want to bring Siyaso into the formal system — to train artisans, improve safety and promote innovation,” she said.
At a corner shed, a group of young men huddle around a makeshift generator cobbled from a washing machine motor, an old fan belt and a car alternator.
It sputters into life, powering a single bulb that flickers over their workspace.
“We make do. We do not wait for ZESA. We create our own solutions,” says 22-year-old Blessing Hove.
Their innovations are crude, but functional, a reflection of necessity breeding ingenuity.
Some Siyaso engineers have even begun producing small farm implements for rural buyers using local materials.
“What we do here could easily become small industries. We just need tools, training and recognition,” reckons Nyandoro.
Spirit of survival
As dusk settles, hammers fall silent and smoke rises above the crowded sheds. Men pack away spanners; women sweep up metal shavings. The day ends, but the heartbeat of Siyaso continues, a mix of grit, talent and survival instinct.
Here, amid the clang and chaos, Zimbabwe’s unheralded engineers prove that innovation does not always come from laboratories or universities.
Sometimes, it comes from the heat of a welding torch and the courage to create something from nothing. And in that defiance, in the smoke, sparks and sweat of Siyaso, lies the enduring story of a nation that aims for innovation.
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