12 hours ago
Why Zimbabwe's 'Zvigananda' don't appear on any credible list of the wealthy?
It is always a curious spectacle watching some of the country's most controversial and flamboyant businessmen parading unimaginable wealth on social media—draped in designer labels, cruising in fleets of top-of-the-range luxury vehicles, flying aboard private jets, and throwing wads of hard currency around as if confetti at a wedding.
To the uninformed eye, these individuals may easily be mistaken for Africa's richest tycoons.
Yet, strikingly and tellingly, their names are nowhere to be found on any credible international or regional lists of the wealthy—be it billionaires or even multimillionaires.
They are absent from global rankings like Forbes, Bloomberg, or even serious African business publications that track notable high-net-worth individuals.
This stark discrepancy begs an important question: why are Zimbabwe's so-called 'Zvigananda'—a colloquial term for shadowy, politically connected elites—consistently missing from these lists?
The answer is not only revealing, but deeply troubling.
To begin with, the likes of Kudakwashe Tagwirei and Wicknell Chivayo—among others frequently accused of being at the center of questionable state contracts and government-linked financial scandals—have never been acknowledged by any serious wealth-tracking institutions.
This includes not just billionaires' lists, but also those that profile legitimate multimillionaires with traceable, documentable asset bases.
This is despite their outward display of extravagant wealth that far surpasses the means of even many high-earning businesspeople.
The reason is simple: wealth that cannot be independently verified, traced, or backed by legitimate enterprise does not qualify under the rigorous criteria used to assess the world's richest or most financially successful individuals.
Credible rankings rely on transparent, verifiable data.
These include publicly listed companies with audited financials, assets that can be quantified and valued, and clearly defined ownership structures.
Those who make these lists typically hold shares in successful global or regional companies, maintain diversified investments across multiple markets, and have transparent business records.
The wealth of individuals like Aliko Dangote, Strive Masiyiwa, and Nassef Sawiris—who dominate Africa's financial rankings—is documented, declared, and open to scrutiny.
Their value is measured not by flashy spending but by equity in productive ventures—factories, mines, retail empires, and manufacturing giants.
In stark contrast, the wealth associated with Zimbabwe's corruption-tainted elite is often opaque, murky, and shrouded in controversy.
Much of it is alleged to be rooted in inflated government tenders, illicit fuel deals, gold smuggling syndicates, and other shadowy state-linked schemes that do not generate traceable, legitimate revenue.
These are transactions where value is siphoned rather than created—where public resources are looted, not invested.
As such, the money flows quietly through offshore accounts, shell companies, and front organizations, deliberately concealed from the kind of financial scrutiny required to determine real net worth.
This speaks to a fundamental reality: true wealth is not measured by what someone spends or flaunts, but by what they own—clearly, legally, and publicly.
Zimbabwe's so-called 'tycoons' often act more like showmen than serious entrepreneurs.
They do not control multinational corporations or innovative tech start-ups.
They rarely employ thousands of workers or contribute significantly to national development through tax or infrastructure.
Instead, they occupy a parasitic role—extracting from the state without giving back, while living off proximity to political power.
There is also the strong possibility that many of these individuals do not even truly own the businesses or assets they claim to possess.
In politically captured economies like Zimbabwe's, it is not uncommon for elites to use proxies and fronts to camouflage real ownership.
Some of these flamboyant figures may be nothing more than convenient public faces—used to shield more powerful actors within government who do not want their hands seen in controversial dealings.
It would explain why their names appear on contracts, but their grip on actual assets remains shaky or temporary.
In the world of corruption, deniability is currency.
Moreover, legitimate wealthy individuals have no reason to fear exposure.
In fact, many welcome the visibility that comes with being listed on Forbes, Bloomberg, or The Africa Report, as it builds investor confidence and enhances their business profile.
In contrast, Zimbabwe's politically connected 'Zvigananda' are often the subject of anti-corruption investigations, parliamentary inquiries, and investigative journalism exposés.
They have every incentive to hide their assets, understate their holdings, or operate in the shadows.
Declaring themselves wealthy might invite international scrutiny, sanctions, or tax audits—risks they are unwilling to take.
This culture of secrecy and flamboyant deception has created a dangerous illusion.
It convinces the masses that success can be attained through political loyalty and corruption rather than innovation and hard work.
It glamorizes theft, ridicules honest enterprise, and replaces economic patriotism with a scramble for personal enrichment.
Yet beneath the glitz lies an emptiness—because the wealth displayed is neither stable, nor sustainable, nor respected.
It is even more absurd that individuals like Wicknell Chivayo have recently gone as far as publicly taunting that they will be billionaires by 2030.
Yet, as things stand today, Chivayo is not even listed on any credible platform as a verified millionaire—let alone on any watchlist of rising global wealth.
His flamboyant lifestyle may dominate social media, but without transparent ownership of real, productive businesses or verifiable financial assets, such claims are nothing more than theatrical delusions.
The very systems that compile and recognize legitimate wealth—like Forbes, Bloomberg, or reputable African financial indices—require more than designer clothes and gifting expensive cars.
They demand evidence of sustainable, audited enterprise, which Chivayo has never publicly demonstrated.
As long as his so-called riches remain rooted in shady procurement deals, opaque transactions, and a parasitic relationship with political power, he will never be acknowledged among the continent's truly wealthy.
Even at the level of economic logic, most of these individuals would not qualify as genuine multimillionaires, let alone billionaires.
Their wealth is not invested in large-scale productive sectors like agriculture, mining, manufacturing, or exports that generate long-term returns.
Instead, it is funneled into consumption, luxury, and speculation.
There are no billion-dollar companies being built, no stock exchange listings, no IPOs, no philanthropic foundations, and certainly no traceable tax contributions to national coffers.
What exists is a revolving door of patronage—where access to contracts, forex allocations, or national resources is contingent on remaining in the good graces of those in political power.
Ultimately, the absence of Zimbabwe's 'Zvigananda' from any credible list of the wealthy is not a coincidence.
It is a mirror reflecting the kind of economy we have built—one in which power, not productivity, determines prosperity; where corruption is rewarded more than competence; and where the image of wealth is crafted not in boardrooms, but in backrooms.
This is the cost of political patronage and institutionalized corruption.
A country with so much potential has been reduced to a playground for a few flashy individuals who mistake state looting for business acumen.
Until Zimbabwe builds a genuine economic system—based on accountability, transparency, innovation, and rule of law—our richest citizens will remain invisible to the world's wealth trackers, and our economy will continue to serve the few at the expense of the many.
Real multimillionaires and billionaires don't need to show off—they build legacies that speak for them.
What we have instead are illusionists, cloaked in Gucci and Versace, projecting the image of wealth while hiding the rot beneath.© Copyright The Zimbabwean. All rights reserved. Provided by SyndiGate Media Inc. (
