The Dumping Ground

LUSAKA, Zambia -- The flea market here is as dark and hazy as an opium den, its flimsy tin roof turning back the midday sun as Edward Mansa robotically unbundles the shipment of secondhand clothes that has just arrived.

The dull, red DKNY T-shirt catches his eye. "This," he says admiringly as he holds the shirt up to the dim light, "is not bad." He says he can probably get a dollar for it.

The shapeless plaid skirt is another matter, however, as is the dowdy, ruffled blouse and the banana-yellow sport coat that causes Mansa to shudder. He'll be lucky to get anything for them, and chances are Mansa will trade them with other vendors for some cooking oil or dried fish. "You can't afford to let anything go to waste," he says.

Mansa provides for his wife, mother and baby daughter with the little money he earns selling hand-me-downs, the old and unwanted clothes that Canadians, Europeans and Americans donate to groups such as the Salvation Army or Goodwill. With more donations than they can use, the charities unload their surplus on wholesalers who buy the clothing in the West for a few pennies a pound, then ship it here and sell bales of it to Mansa and other street retailers at a markup of 300 percent to 400 percent.

As Mansa peels an oversize Orlando Magic basketball jersey from one such bale, his eyes brighten. Even with its curious red smudges and loose threads, the jersey can go for as much as $ 3.

"This is a gem," he says. "The young people really love the clothes they see the American rappers and the athletes wearing, but everyone -- young and old -- buys their clothes secondhand in Zambia. It is better-made than what our own clothing industry used to make before they all closed down, and it's certainly cheaper since it's used clothing. But is this the way to develop your economy? I don't think so."

This southern African country once had a thriving clothing industry. But when government officials began opening Zambia's economy to foreign trade 10 years ago in exchange for loans from international donors, tons of cheap, secondhand clothing began to pour into the country, virtually duty free.

Not especially efficient, Zambia's textile factories were overmatched by the wholesalers, who could deliver affordable, passable clothing without paying production or labor costs or the tariffs that once protected local manufacturers from foreign competition.

So, Zambia's clothing industry all but vanished. Within eight years, about 30,000 jobs disappeared, replaced by a loose but crowded network of roadside and flea-market vendors beckoning shoppers to "rummage through the pile," or salaula in the language of Zambia's Bemba tribe.

The expansion of global trade following the end of the Cold War has transformed Africa into a dumping ground for what the industrialized world no longer needs or wants, a deluge of secondhand clothes, used cars, old furniture and tools and weapons.

The used clothing shipped to sub-Saharan Africa by the United States accounts for nearly $ 60 million in sales annually. The bales of old clothing that appear on Africa's doorstep are now so familiar entirely new idioms have been developed. Partly in derision, and partly because many Africans once assumed the clothing belonged to the recently deceased, Ghanaians refer to the imports as "dead white man's clothing." Tanzanians dubbed the garments "dyed in America," and in Zambia the used-clothing stands are called "bend-down boutiques."

"You can walk for miles at a time here and not see anyone wearing anything remotely resembling African clothing," said Howard Gatchell, chairman of the Chamber of Commerce in Zambia's second city, Ndola.