Former hawkers who have joined forces and set up a shop are now happily doing business. Believe it or not, they’re even happy to pay taxes.

“Look at those mangoes!” The women of Tuzamurane 2020. (photo Timothy Kisambira)

“You won’t find pineapples like these anywhere else,” one of the women shouts. “And have a look at these mangoes,” another chimes in. Before you realize it, you are pulling out your wallet to pay for more fruit than you can possibly eat in a month.

Since quitting the streets a year ago, Maria Rosa Mukashyaka and the 13 other women who make up the Tuzamurane 2020 cooperative, have a lot to smile about.

“Now I don’t have to worry about the police or the local defense confiscating my fruits, or having to cross the entire city looking for customers,” says Mukashyaka, who is the president of the cooperative.

And they’re doing well financially too, even if they’re not earning as much as they would like; but it’s enough to live on and cater for most of their needs. “This beats the streets, where I was never sure if I would make enough to put food on the table,” remarks Domitila Kanziga, one of the cooperative’s members.

Yet the business wasn’t a success from day one. To raise enough money to start the cooperative, they had to contribute 1000 francs per week. “It wasn’t easy because as a hawker you are never sure if you can raise that much with authorities hot on your heels,” Mukashyaka recalls.

Indeed, initially 18 women had agreed to join the cooperative, yet some dropped out exactly because they couldn’t raise the money. Others just changed their mind and opted for the street.

Yet those who managed to hang on, painstakingly looking for funds to start up, finally had enough to hire a place to set up shop. Unfortunately, it was not strategically located and getting clients was hard. Some women started to have their doubts about the project, yet they were left with little choice. “These were hard times, but we could not afford to quit as we had invested all our contributions,” Mukashyaka says.

Wits’ end

At their wits’ end, they turned to the local authorities, who managed to help them secure Frw 2 million. On top of that, the women themselves raised an extra Frw 400,000. That was enough to formally register their business and purchase some basic equipment such as shelves and aprons. Last but not least, they could also move to a spot at Kisimenti shopping center and rent it for seven months.

As a result, Mukashyaka says, they now get enough customers for them to make a decent living and even save a little.

She also notes that not only the cooperative benefits, but the entire nation, because they are now paying taxes. “Before we started, the notion of paying taxes and running a transparent business seemed absurd, but now we are able to do our business without any hindrances,” Mukashyaka explains.

Tuzamurane is not alone in realizing the importance of doing business as a group through formalizing their business.

Association Abahuzamugambi, for instance, groups 10 young men who formerly hawked second-hand clothes and now have a stall at Kimironko market.

“Our lives have completely changed for the better,” says Sylvester Habineza, one of the association’s members, adding that they are especially relieved that they no longer suffer the hustle and tussle of street business.

Unlike Tuzamurane, Abahuzamugambi have not had official assistance. They have raised their capital through monthly contributions of 5000 francs over the course of a year. “It has not been easy at all, but we were determined to end the awful life of hawking,” Habineza says.

Those nasty hawkers!

They have been running their business for one year now, and are making good progress. Whereas they initially had barely enough money to pay for the market stand, today they buy second-hand clothes in bulk.

“At the moment, business is good,” Habineza remarks. “We pay taxes and we don’t have to worry anymore that the police might be around the corner.”

Business is so good that they are even contemplating to get a bank loan and expand their operations. “We are looking at possibilities to increase our business, like opening a second-hand clothes store in the city center,” explains Andre Zigiranyirazo, the chairman of the association.

Strangely, both of these groups of former street vendors working hard to have a better life, bitterly complain about one thing: competition from hawkers.

According to members from both associations, their former colleagues are a nuisance because they don’t compete fairly. “They are just impossible to deal with, because they intercept customers on their way to our shop and sell their products at half the market price,” Mukashayaka of the fruit shop grumbles.

And former clothes hawker Habineza agrees that if it weren’t for the street vendors, their business would prosper even more. “They are illegitimate and don’t pay taxes,” he complains, “so the authorities should protect those who have decided to operate transparent businesses.”

Yet then he softens a bit, remembering his own life on the street, and says: “They should just do like us and form cooperatives or associations and embrace formal business; it’s the only way to make a decent profit.”

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