By Tawanda Chenana

WE, in the village, are sustained by the land. In a village a farmer stoops in his field checking his crop. This is not his first season planting tomatoes, or cabbages, or chillies. He knows the soil. He has the water for production. He knows how to coax life out of even the most reluctant seed. What he does not know, what he cannot know, is whether anyone will buy what he grows.

This farmer is not alone. His story is shared by hundreds of producers in communities across the country. Many horticulture farmers wake up every day to tend to crops operating on hope and not sure of the reception of their crops on the market.

In a time where data travels at the speed of light, where markets are abuzz with activity, and global consumers clamour for fresh, diverse, healthy produce, it is a cruel paradox that those who grow it still work with blindfolds on. These farmers plant not based on demand, but on habit, on tradition, on hearsay. A neighbour says tomatoes  fetched a good price last year, so everyone plants tomatoes. A middleman promised to buy chillies, so entire communities plant chillies, only to have prices collapse when supply exceeds demand, when that same middleman disappears or buyers change their minds.

This is not just poor planning. It is not laziness or lack of ambition. It is a system that has for too long left the producer at the mercy of markets they cannot see, cannot influence, and cannot reach. It is a legacy of disconnection, of isolated farms, uncoordinated efforts and hopes pinned on luck instead of contracts. It is the gamble at the heart of rural and small-scale farming, one played by necessity, not choice.

But we must ask ourselves, in this era of satellites, smartphones, and instant connectivity, why is farming still a gamble?

The 21st century offers tools our ancestors could not dream of. Real-time price data is available to anyone with a basic phone. Apps tell us what buyers want, when, and where. Urban populations, expanding by the hour, are hungry for fresh vegetables, fruits, herbs and spices. Exporters are looking for passion fruit, okra, avocados, ginger, basil. Consumers in cities want the very crops grown in remote villages, but without the systems to connect supply to demand, without the trust that markets will be there when the harvest is ready, farmers remain trapped.

And so, they plant with fingers crossed. They grow with no guarantees. They harvest with dread in their throats, wondering if they will be forced to sell at giveaway prices, if they will repay their ‘loans’, if their children will go to school this term.

This must change. And it can.

The shift is not impossible. It begins with a change in mindset. It begins when farmers stop asking, “What should I plant?” and start asking, “Who needs what, and when?” It begins when planting becomes the final step, not the first, when market research, buyer engagement and pricing conversations come before a seed ever touches soil.

Imagine a rural village where farmers grow broccoli not because it’s easy, but because a buyer 300 kilometres away has agreed to pay a fixed price every week. Imagine those same farmers coordinating to deliver on time, meeting quality standards, and receiving payment through mobile money within a day of harvest. Imagine the pride in delivering produce already sold, rather than bargaining at the roadside under the sun. Imagine farming with purpose, with certainty.

This vision is not a fantasy. It is already happening in pockets around the world. In Kenya, women-led cooperatives supply green beans to European buyers through aggregators. They follow strict schedules and specifications, and are rewarded with higher incomes, training, and stability. In India, farmer producer companies grow specialty chillies for spice manufacturers under pre-agreed contracts. In Uganda, pineapple farmers work with juice companies, adjusting their planting cycles to ensure year-round supply and consistent income.

These farmers are not luckier. They are not richer. They are simply connected —through technology, through cooperatives, through market partnerships. They are no longer guessing. They are planning.

But too many still wait. Still hope. Still pray that this season will be better, that this year their harvest will fetch a good price. And when it doesn’t, they plant less next season. They delay repairs. They give up.

It doesn’t have to be this way.

If you are a farmer reading this, know that your labour is not the problem. Your discipline, your deep understanding of the land, all of that is your strength. What you need is not to work harder, but to work smarter. Start with the buyer. Ask questions before you plant. Who wants this? How much do they need? What quality do they expect? What price are they willing to pay and can that be agreed in writing?

Do not do this alone. Find others. Form groups. Join cooperatives. When many farmers join hands, they can meet larger orders, share costs, invest in transport and storage and negotiate better terms. Talk to extension officers. Use the apps available to you. Ask experts for help connecting with markets. Reach out to companies who buy what you grow. Insist on transparency.

And if you are a buyer, a supermarket, a processor, or an exporter, stop sourcing in secrecy. Don’t show up at harvest time and expect miracles. Work with farmers before the season begins. Offer training. Share demand forecasts. Enter into fair agreements. Invest in relationships, not just transactions.

Relevant authorities and experts  too must rise to the moment. Infrastructure is not just about roads, it’s about connecting the rural farmer to the global economy. Policies must reward those who organise production around demand. Education must teach farming as a business, not a survival tactic. Extension services must shift from just telling farmers what to do, to listening to what the market says and translating that back to producers.

This is not only a technical challenge, it is a moral one. Because every time a farmer watches their produce rot, we as a society have failed. Every time a child goes to bed hungry in a home with unsold vegetables, we have broken the link between abundance and access.

Farming is not charity. It is not a back-up career. It is the very foundation of our existence. And those who farm deserve more than luck. They deserve systems that work. They deserve fair prices and predictable buyers.

Let us stop romanticising the struggle of rural farmers. Let us stop celebrating resilience while doing nothing to reduce the risks they carry. Let us replace hope with planning, and chance with structure.

There will always be uncertainty in life. Weather, pests, global crises, these are beyond our control. But whether a farmer knows who will buy their produce should not be. That is a choice we can make. That is a system we can build.

So let this be the last season of crossed fingers. Let us end the era of blind planting, of waiting and worrying. Let every farmer stand in their field knowing, not guessing, why they planted what they did, who will buy it, and what they will earn.

Let us lift the burden of uncertainty off their shoulders, so they can walk tall, not just as labourers of the land, but as entrepreneurs, partners, and providers.

Because in the 21st century, to grow without a market is no longer farming.

It is gambling.

And our farmers deserve so much more than that.

Businessman Tawanda Chenana is also a philanthropist and Secretary for Lands for ZANU PF Mashonaland East Province.