President Yoweri Museveni recently “declared war” on second-hand clothing, mostly imported from the US and Europe, in order to “promote African clothing.”
Despite the surrounding chaos, Hadija Nakimuli still finds her way through the busy and noisy aisles of the Owino market in the Ugandan capital, Kampala. The retailer has been selling second-hand clothing there for almost 30 years. But a possible government ban on the import of second-hand clothing threatens to deprive Hadija Nakimuli and tens of thousands of other sellers of their only source of livelihood.
President Yoweri Museveni recently “declared war” on second-hand clothing, mostly imported from the United States and Europe, and said he wanted to “promote African clothing.”
“Where is our future if second-hand clothing stops?” asks Hadija Nakimuli, 62 years old and mother of twelve children, as she browses through her colorful stash of underwear, clothes, shoes and bags. The sprawling Owino market has existed since 1971 and, according to Kampala authorities, around 80,000 people work there, 70% of whom are women.
“My customers include students, ministers and parliamentarians who call me to deliver clothes to their air-conditioned offices,” explains Joseph Barimugaya.
“We cannot touch this business. Everyone benefits from it, including the government, which collects taxes,” assures the father of four children.
Every day hundreds of customers crowd the alleys between the makeshift wooden stalls looking for bargains.
“As a teacher, I earn less than 500,000 Uganda shillings (around 120 euros). If I have to buy a new piece of clothing, I have to spend my entire salary,” notes Robert Twimukye, 27, while shopping in Owino.
He’s not the only one. Although there are no official figures, the Uganda Second-hand Clothing and Footwear Dealers Association estimates that around 16 million people, or one in three Ugandans, buy second-hand clothing.
Clothing of “dead people”
“Everyone likes second-hand clothes. In Uganda there are few people who can afford new clothes,” says Allan Zavuga, director of the Think Twice brand, which employs 30 people in three stores in the country.
A ban on the import of second-hand clothing “does a disservice to the population and the country as a whole,” he continues, citing the environmental costs of producing new clothing.
According to a 2017 study by the East Africa Humanitarian Agency, East Africa imports more than 12% of global second-hand clothing exports and creates jobs for about 355,000 people earning $230 million per year. American government, USAID. But the import of second-hand clothing is often criticized by governments on the African continent and denounced the negative consequences for the local textile industry.
“These clothes come from people who died in a foreign land. When a white person dies, the clothes (…) are sent to Africa,” President Yoweri Museveni said in August.
Ugandan trade minister David Bahati claims in an interview with AFP that it is a question of “dignity”.
Should the ban come into effect – the government will consider it in January – “we will be able to replace this second-hand clothing,” he says, but admits that will take time: “That “It doesn’t happen overnight the next day,” but we can do it gradually. And the authorities in Kampala are ready to offer investors “incentives,” defends David Bahati, “such as tax exemptions.”
“Bitter Poverty”
This is not the first time authorities have proposed this ban. Back in 2016, President Museveni, who has ruled the country with an iron fist since 1986, tried to ban imported second-hand clothing as part of a regional initiative, but was met with resistance from the Kampala Traders Association. But also due to diplomatic pressure.
Initially united, the East African Community’s regional bloc fell apart after Kenya, Tanzania and Uganda balked at the prospect of US retaliation.
Only Rwanda followed the initiative and imposed taxes on second-hand clothing in 2016, leading to a decline in imports. In retaliation, the US suspended trade benefits for Kigali. In the aisles of the Owino market, traders fear losing their only source of livelihood in a country where, according to the World Bank, 30% of the population lives below the poverty line.
“Who did the government consult (before deciding) to ban the event?” asks Harriet Musoke Kyambadde, a trader and mother of three, in a trembling voice. If the ban comes into effect, “it will plunge me into abject poverty.”