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easy as before because the holders did not deem it prudent to advertise that they had unused land. Had
they done so, they correctly reasoned that the Commissioner of Lands might revoke their leasehold
and take the land away without compensation. Once a buyer found a holder willing to sell a leasehold
(i.e., sublet the property to someone else), they negotiated a price and then had to seek presidential
consent to the transfer. The president delegated that decision to the Commissioner of Lands, but there
were no clear rules as to when consent was to be granted. This situation of course favored corruption
and introduced more murkiness into the land market.
The presidential action drove the land market underground, at least temporarily. However,
it did not create more land, nor did it persuade those who owned land to simply give it away free or
build more housing for the poor. The first concrete result was that it cut tax revenues. Thereafter,
when land transfers were recorded, the Land Commissioner's office told the parties to declare only
the value of the improvements on the land. In spite of the obvious fact that some land had enormous
market value because of its location, that land could be bought and sold without transfer taxes being
paid. Thus, although the high rate of the transfer tax (see section II, above) had already induced
chronic underdeclaration of values, the presidential "devaluation" of land led to even greater
underdeclaration and hence to lower transfer tax revenues.
C. Reappearance of the market
With the election of the MMD government, whose manifesto included a promise to recognize
that land had value, estate agents began to reappear. In general, at least in Lusaka and the Copperbelt,
it seems relatively easy to identify a parcel of land and negotiate a market price with the holder. The
newspapers once again carry classified and display advertisements offering to sell houses, lots, and
farms. Nonetheless, there are still occasional anecdotes suggesting a degree of backsliding from the
clear promises of the manifesto. For instance, one estate agent tells of a client who wanted a site for
business use one year ago. The agent found someone with suitable vacant land, who was quite willing
to sell, and agreement was reached as to the price. However, when consent was sought at the Office
of the Commissioner of Lands, the commissioner simply revoked the existing lease—confiscating the
land on grounds that it was not being used. In effect, the buyer had to buy the leasehold twice, from
the previous lessee and then from the government. There are other cases in which the supposed seller
really did not have good title even as a leasehold, or in which the commissioner, thinking the land
unassigned, had apparently already promised it as a new land grant to someone else.
The present Commissioner of Lands has stated that although the law still requires the consent
of the president for every transfer from one party to another, the process is to be more or less
automatic. His office still has a steady flow of petitioners, and delays still appear to be commonplace
(see chapter 2). Problems persist of past irregularities such as surveys that do not coincide with
boundaries on the ground. In countries where property transfers do not require the paternalistic
consent of a functionary, it is common to require a technical scan for such irregularities in the process
of recording land transfers. The difference in these countries is that recording the transfer is never
forbidden arbitrarily. If a transfer is rejected, the functionary must state what must be done to correct
the problem. But all parties know that as soon as the problem is corrected then recording the transfer
cannot be denied.
A major problem plaguing the land market in Zambia is the lack of an accessible, low-cost,
and rapid method of resolving land conflicts. The only judicial appeal is to the High Courts; anecdotal
evidence suggests that this route requires a wait of several years and high costs to the parties seeking