In the grand tradition of human stupidity, the world finds itself staring at the Democratic Republic of the Congo, where the Kinshasa Central Market—affectionately known as Zando to those who enjoy being stepped on—is preparing to reopen its gates. After five years of what one can only assume was a masterclass in bureaucratic stalling and 'resource relocation,' the market is back. And it is 'elegant.' God help us all. For five long years, the heart of Kinshasa’s trade was a construction site. Five years of 'hiatus.' Imagine telling a million people who live hand-to-mouth that their primary economic engine is taking a half-decade sabbatical so an entrepreneur can win a trophy. But that is the price of progress, apparently. The market, previously described as 'overcrowded and filthy'—which is just honest talk for 'functional in a developing nation'—has been reimagined as an 'award-winning sustainable city landmark.'

The Holcim Foundation, an organization that likely spends more on its annual gala than most of Zando’s vendors see in a lifetime, gave the architects an award for sustainable design. It is precious. The world has reached a point where the success of a marketplace is judged not by whether people can afford to eat, but by the carbon footprint of the roof they are standing under while they struggle. Sustainability has become the ultimate luxury good, a way for the global elite to feel better about the fact that they have built a shiny cage for a million people to scramble in. The design is 'elegant.' In a city where infrastructure is often a suggestion rather than a reality, 'elegance' is the kind of word used by people who have never had to haul a fifty-pound sack of beans through a tropical downpour.

Let us consider that number: one million shoppers. Every. Single. Day. In what universe is a million people descending on a single point 'sustainable'? That is not a market; it is a tactical deployment. It is a logistical catastrophe waiting for a ribbon-cutting ceremony. The designers talk about 'elegant' spaces and 'sustainable' flow, as if the crushing reality of a million humans with bags of produce can be managed by some clever lighting and a few well-placed ramps. It is the classic arrogance of the 'visionary'—the belief that human behavior can be engineered out of existence with enough glass and steel. The previous state was 'filthy,' they say. One wonders how long 'elegant' lasts when met with the biological reality of a million people a day.

Then there is the protagonist of this capitalist fairy tale: Dieudonné Bakarani. He started by selling vegetables. Now, he is the entrepreneur redeveloping the very site where he began. The media loves this. It is the 'Rags to Riches' arc that keeps the masses quiet and the donors happy. If Bakarani can do it, why can't everyone else? This narrative is a convenient tool for both sides of the political aisle. The Right uses it to justify ignoring systemic rot by pointing to one guy who 'made it,' while the Left uses it to pretend that 'community-led entrepreneurship' is a viable substitute for actual social stability. Never mind the five-year hole in the local economy; focus on the man with the plan.

Bakarani hopes to see the market 'flourish again.' Flourishing, in this context, means reopening in February to a crowd that has been waiting half a decade for a place to trade. The sheer audacity of calling a five-year delay a 'makeover' is breathtaking. In any other sector, a five-year shutdown of a central economic hub would be treated as a national emergency. In the world of 'sustainable development,' it is merely a necessary gestation period for greatness. The 'hiatus' is presented as a minor inconvenience on the road to architectural immortality.

The new Zando is supposed to be a 'landmark.' Because that is exactly what Kinshasa needs—more landmarks. Forget consistent electricity or roads that do not dissolve during the rainy season. What the people really need is an award-winning roof to stand under while they try to sell onions to a million other people. It is a microcosm of the global condition: the foundation is ignored while the facade is polished. The architects won their award in December, no doubt toasted with expensive refreshments in a temperature-controlled hall in Europe, while the actual vendors in Kinshasa were likely still wondering if the 'February' reopening date is a real promise or just another administrative hallucination.

So, come February, a million souls will pour into this 'elegant' space. The 'filth' will return within forty-eight hours, because that is what happens when a million people occupy a space, no matter how sustainable the ventilation is. The 'overcrowding' will remain, because you cannot architect your way out of a population that needs to trade to survive. But at least the Holcim Foundation got to feel useful for a minute, and the 'sustainable' label will be etched into the press releases. The rest of humanity? They are just the million-strong backdrop to someone else’s award-winning portfolio, standing in an elegant building waiting for the lights to flicker out.