Author: TSA Press

Nearly
four
decades
ago,
Ben
Moyo,
who
was
24
years
old
and
a
trainee
teacher
in
Zimbabwe’s
Matabeleland
North
Province,
experienced
a
sad
turn
of
destiny
when
a
deadly
genocide
erupted
in
the
country.

The
genocide
left
Moyo
in
a
wheelchair.
He
was
one
of
the
victims
of
many
roadblocks
mounted
by
marauding
soldiers
that
randomly
killed
villagers
in
Tsholotsho
where
he
worked.
On
that
fateful
day,
he
barely
escaped
death.

The
genocide
came
to
be
known
as
“Gukurahundi,”
and
raged
on
from
1982
onwards.
Elements
within
the
Zimbabwean
army
targeted
the
minority
Ndebele
tribe.
Gukurahundi
is
a
term
drawn
from
the
Shona
language
which
loosely
translates
to
“the
early
rain
which
washes
away
the chaff before
the
spring
rains.”

Moyo,
who
is
a
Ndebele-speaking
native
from
Plumtree,
a
town
on
the
border
between
Zimbabwe
and
Botswana
in
Matabeleland
South
Province,
was
beaten
up
by
the
soldiers
for
failing
to
speak
in
Shona.
The
Shona
people
and
language
dominate
most
parts
of
Zimbabwe.

“I
was
beaten
up
at
a
roadblock
mounted
by
the
soldiers.
I
dislocated
my
spine
and
thereafter
developed
chronic
back
pain.”
Years
later,
he
still
suffers.
“The
trauma
is
not
gone.
Apart
from
the
chronic
pain,
I
remember
my
colleagues
who
were
killed
during
the
genocide,”
Moyo
said.

After
the
Tsholotsho
encounter,
Moyo
moved
to
Kezi,
a
village
in
the
Matobo
district
in
Matabeleland
South
province
where
he
found
a
teaching
position.
This
relocation
did
not
bring
any
reprieve
for
him
as
he
continued
to
witness
more
genocide
horrors.
A
concentration
camp
was
set-up
nearby,
in
Balagwe,
where
many
Ndebele
people
were
rounded
up
and
killed
in
masses.

Many
more
people
recount
the
horrors
of
the
genocide.
Unrelated
to
Moyo
despite
the
similarity
in
surnames,
79-year-old
Sawudeni
Moyo,
who
lives
in
Tsholotsho,
also
suffered
during
the
past.

“We
see
the
hot
sun.
This
year
people
will
be
killed
by
hunger,”
Sawudeni
said
as
he
expressed
his
sadness
at
the
ongoing
El
Nino
drought
in
Zimbabwe.
But
to
him,
this
cannot
surpass
what
many
like
him
went
through
during
the
1980s’
genocide.
“I
suffered
during
Gukurahundi.
My
right
hand
and
cheek
were
broken.
I
am
disabled
now.
I
am
not
afraid
to
speak
about
Gukurahundi
because
I
was
persecuted
then.
If
someone
is
talking
about
Gukurahundi,
it
is
something
that
is
so
painful,”
Sawudeni
said.

Gukurahundi
was
stopped
by
the
signing
of
the Unity
Accord
in
1987
between
then
prime
minister
Robert
Mugabe
and
nemesis
Joshua
Nkomo,
who
headed
a
Ndebele-dominated
opposition
political
party
known
as
the
Zimbabwe
African
People’s
Union
(ZAPU).

Fuzwayo,
a
coordinator
for
a
pressure
group
known
as
Ibhetshu
Likazulu,
based
in
Bulawayo,
says
“the
Gukurahundi
victims
are
suffering
in
different
ways
and
forms.
Some
of
them
can’t
access
medication
because
of
the
economic
situation.
Others
wish
to
know
where
their
relatives
were
taken
to
so
that
they
can
bury
them.
These
are
the
challenges
that
our
people
are
going
through.” 

Mbonisi
Gumbo,
an
interim
secretary
for
information
and
publicity
in
the
Mthwakazi
Republic
Party
that
has
over
the
years
been
pushing
for
the
restoration
of
the
historical
Ndebele
State,
blames
the
state
for
inaction.
“Many
who
were
injured,
raped
or
witnessed
their
parents,
brothers
and
or
close
relatives
being
killed,
were
never
counselled
and
had
their
property,
forcibly
seized
by
the
fifth
brigade
army,
replaced,”
he
says.

Zimbabwean
president
Emmerson
Mnangagwa
has
expressed
commitment
to
address
the
Gukurahundi
issue
to
forge
national
unity.

Jeffrey
Moyo is
a
journalist
based
in
Harare. 


moyojeffrey@gmail.com

Harare,
Zimbabwe
– Kimberley
Dube
takes
great
care
with
her
appearance.
She
always
looks
sharp
and
fashionable
in
smart-looking
jeans,
t-shirts,
sweatpants,
tops,
and
designer
sneakers.

“I
love
jeans
–
can’t
get
enough
of
them,”
the
35-year-old
says.

But
while
she
may
give
the
appearance
of
someone
with
money
to
spend
on
expensive
apparel,
the
self-employed
entrepreneur
laughs
when
she
says,
“You
are
wrong!
These
clothes
are
inexpensive;
I
get
them
from
secondhand
clothes
sellers.”

Dube,
who
lives
in
Harare,
is
just
one
of
a
multitude
of
Zimbabweans
who
have
turned
their
backs
on home-grown
fashion
brands,
opting
for
the
booming
market
in
secondhand
–
or
“pre-loved”
–
imports
from
overseas
instead.

“There’s
no
shop
in
this
country
where
you
can
pay
as
little
as
$2
for
a
pair
of
jeans,”
she
scoffs.

Dube
is
particularly
drawn
to
the
stylish
individuality
that
buying
second-hand
clothes
affords
her.
”Most
clothing
stores
carry
mass-produced
items,
which
you’ll
see
all
over
town;
the
stuff
here
is
unique.”

“Here”
is
a
small
market
next
door
to
a
suburban
shopping
centre
in
a
middle-class
neighbourhood,
where
we
are
perusing
the
wares.
Dube’s
equally
trendy
friend
and
fellow
millennial,
Gamuchirai
Mpofu,
a
huge
fan
of
preloved
clothes,
has
also
come
along.

“The
nice
thing
about
shopping
here
is
that
though
the
clothes
are
used,
they
are
durable,
unlike
the
Chinese
stuff
sold
in
most
shops,”
she
says.
Both
of
them
say
buying
used
clothes
gives
them
access
to
a
variety
of
brands
and
items
they
can’t
find
in
Zimbabwean
shops.
“It’s
about
uniqueness
and
individuality,”
Mpofu
says.

Winnie
Mutsokoti,
an
effervescent
seller
at
the
market,
welcomes
us
with
a
warm
smile.
She
has
four
frame
tents,
each
laid
out
like
a
section
in
a
clothing
store.
We
head
straight
to
the
one
in
which
various
styles
and
sizes
of
denim
wear
are
neatly
displayed
on
hangers.
Some
of
the
merchandise
on
offer
here
appears
new
or
hardly
worn.

”You
will
not
find
anything
other
than
denim
in
this
tent,”
she
explains.
“It’s
different
from
my
other
tents,
where
you
can
find
dresses,
jumpsuits,
shorts,
hoodies,
jerseys,
and
other
things.”
Mutsokoti
has
been
running
her
secondhand
clothes
import
business
for
six
years
now.

Today,
all
of
Mutsokoti’s
winter
stock
is
in
the
end-of-season
sale
as
the
weather
gets
warmer.

Some
of
her
items
have
store
labels
and
price
tags
on
them.
This
happens
when
the
clothes
come
from
“broken”
size
ranges
from
retailers.
A
broken
size
range
is
a
collection
in
which
several
sizes
have
sold
out.
The
remaining
items
usually
sell
at
a
reduced
price
and
end
up
in
bales
of
used
clothes
destined
for
Africa.

Imported
used
clothing
sold
in
Zimbabwe
is,
according
to
the
authorities,
brought
into
the
country
illegally
through
the
porous
borders
or
official
border
posts
with
the
collusion
of
customs,
immigration
and
law
enforcement
officials
after
it
is
brought
off
ships
from Europe
and
North
America.

While
it
is
possible
to
apply
for
a
licence
to
bring
used
clothes
into
the
country
for
re-sale,
nobody
does
this
as
it
is
expensive
and
the
import
duties
are
high.

Mutsokoti
buys
her
stock
from
a
“runner”,
who
in
turn
buys
his
stock
in
Zambia.
She
pays
on
delivery
so
she
doesn’t
risk
losing
her
money
if
the
runner
gets
arrested
and
the
clothes
are
impounded.
She
pays
anything
from
$150
to
more
than
$250
for
a
bale
of
clothes,
depending
on
the
quality
of
the
content.
“One
has
a
choice
as
the
bales
are
graded
and
labelled
accordingly.”

Pile
‘em
high,
sell
‘em
low

In
another
part
of
the
city,
the
sprawling
markets
are
busy
in
Mbare,
a
poorer,
working-class
neighbourhood
and
Harare’s
oldest
Black
residential
area,
known
as
Harare
African
Township
during
colonial
times.

Most
of
the
houses
in
the
oldest
parts
of
Mbare
have
fallen
into
disrepair.
The
hostels,
which
were
home
to
single
men
who
worked
in
white-owned
factories
during
colonial
times
and
now
house
families,
are
in
need
of
refurbishment
or
demolition,
but
nothing
has
been
done
about
them
yet.

In
one
of
the
markets
here,
spread
out
in
a
dusty
open
space
between
the
hostels,
business
in
secondhand
clothing
is
brisk.

Most
of
the
selling
takes
place
in
makeshift
sheds
covered
with
plastic
sheeting,
with
some
clothes
laid
out
on
tables
or
displayed
on
hangers.
Mostly,
sellers
pile
the
clothes
on
plastic
sheets
on
the
ground.

Prosper
Matenga,
the
owner
of
a
pile
of
men’s
and
women’s
clothing,
keeps
a
close
eye
as
prospective
customers
rummage
through
it,
some
of
them
trying
on
dresses
out
in
the
open.
His
prices
range
from
$3
to
$10
depending
on
what
a
customer
wants
to
buy
and
its
quality.

He
tells
Al
Jazeera
he
has
been
trading
in
secondhand
clothes,
also
imported
via
a
runner
from
overseas,
since
2018.
“I
couldn’t
find
a
job,
so
I
tried
this.
I
am
happy
I
did
because
I
can
look
after
my
wife
and
child,”
he
says. Like
Mutsokoti,
his
stock
also
comes
from
overseas.

Matenga
says
he
makes
more
than
a
lot
of
people
in
formal
employment.
”In
the
early
days
of
winter,
I
sometimes
made
as
much
as
$1,000
a
day;
now,
it’s
down
to
around
$200,
but
I
am
not
complaining;
I
love
being
my
own
boss.”
By
comparison,
in
Zimbabwe,
civil
servants
earn
about
$350
a
month.

The
low
overheads
are
also
attractive:
“I
don’t
pay
the
city
council
to
sell
here;
I
just
pay
the
guy
who
cleans
this
space
$2
per
day
and
$20
per
week
for
overnight
storage.”
He
shrugs
off
the
notion
of
paying
any
sort
of
vendor
fee
–
mandatory
for
most
legitimate
businesses
–
to
the
city
council
with
a
smile.
None
of
the
street
vendors
selling
from
downtown
Harare’s
pavements,
outside
their
homes
or
from
the
backs
of
their
trucks
or
cars,
pay
a
vendor
fee.

Prices
here
are
not
dissimilar
to
Mutsokoti’s
and
those
charged
by
other
vendors
in
the
more
middle-class
areas.
However,
the
Mbare
market
generally
offers
more
bargains
and
the
emphasis
is
on
durability
rather
than
fashion.
Shouts
of
“Dollar
for
two”
ring
across
the
market;
some
use
bullhorns
to
attract
the
attention
of
potential
customers.

Others
have different
priorities,
however.
Odera
Moyo,
in
his
late
20s,
is
shopping
for
clothes
at
the
Mbare
market
today
but
draws
a
line
at
secondhand
clothes
for
his
child.
“It’s
OK
for
me
and
my
wife
to
wear
used
clothes,
but
I’ll
always
buy
new
stuff
for
my
baby
boy,”
he
says.

Moyo
completed
high
school
nine
years
ago
but
has
never
been
employed
formally
since
then.
“I’d
love
to
have
a
salary,
but
jobs
are
difficult
to
find
because
of
our
country’s
economic
situation.”

Zimbabwe
has
been
facing
economic
challenges,
including
high
unemployment
rates
and
inflation
for
more
than
20
years,
causing
a
cost
of
living
crisis
for
many
people.
Moyo
depends
on
odd
menial
jobs
and
sometimes
buys
clothing
from
the
market
when
the
prices
fall
in
order
to
resell
them
on
the
street
in
areas
where
there
are
no
secondhand
clothes
markets.
“I
watch
the
prices
come
down
to
sometimes
a
dollar
for
four
items
and
then
buy,”
he
explains.

Tough
times
for
retailers

While
consumers
are
clear
winners
due
to
the
explosion
of
the
secondhand
foreign
clothes
market,
the
influx
of
used
clothing
sold
at
low
prices
has
hit
Zimbabwean
clothing
manufacturers
and
retailers.

Bekithemba
Ndebele
is
chief
executive
officer
of
Truworths
Zimbabwe,
a
clothes
retail
chain
founded
in
1957
when
the
country
was
still
a
British
colony
known
as
Rhodesia.

“We
are
competing
against
secondhand
clothing
that
comes
into
the
country
without
any
duties
paid
and,
unlike
bricks-and-mortar
retail
operators,
without
the
overhead
costs
like
occupancy
costs,
rates,
and
rents
because
these
people
are
trading
off
the
street,”
he
tells
Al
Jazeera.

“If
you
compare
the
selling
prices,
the
informal
sector
sells
at
less
than
the
raw
material
cost
–
the
fabric
cost
itself.”

While
the
dysfunctional
economy
has
been
a
major
factor
in
Truworths’s
waning
fortunes,
Ndebele
says
the
popularity
of
used
clothing
has
been
nothing
short
of
a
disaster
for
the
chain,
which
has
three
distinct
chain
brands:
Truworths
Man,
Truworths
Ladies
–
both
of
which
cater
to
the
higher
end
of
the
market
–
and
Number
1.

The
latter
mainly
sold
clothes
in
commercial
farming
areas
before
Zimbabwe’s
fast-track
land
reform
programme
launched
in
2000.

“We
had
to
close
dozens
of
branches
since
thousands
of
farm
workers
lost
their
jobs,”
Ndebele
says.
From
53
branches
at
its
peak,
Number
1
is
now
down
to
a
mere
six.
Over
the
years,
Truworths
has
closed
all
but
34
of
the
101
stores
it
operated
in
the
late
1990s.

The
difficulties
also
affected
Truworths’s
manufacturing
division,
Harare-based
Bravette,
which
was
forced
to
reduce
its
250-person
workforce
to
80
to
cut
costs.

Issues
such
as
high
unemployment,
mass
emigration
of
skilled
people
to
countries
like
South
Africa,
Botswana,
Australia, the
United
States and
the
United
Kingdom;
hyperinflation;
and
Zimbabwe’s
decades-long
general
economic
malaise
have
also
contributed
to
the
industry’s
downturn.

A
few
weeks
after
Al
Jazeera
interviewed
Ndebele,
Truworths
filed
for
bankruptcy
protection.
He
declined
to
speak
to
Al
Jazeera
again
about
the
reasons
for
this.

‘Sticking
a
bandage
on
a
festering
wound’

Currency
instability
has
also
been
a
significant
problem
for
struggling
businesses.
In
April,
Zimbabwe’s
central
bank
introduced
a
new
currency
called
the
Zimbabwe
gold
or
ZiG
to
rein
in
hyperinflation
and
currency
instability.
It
is
the
sixth
local
currency
used
since
the
2009
collapse
of
the
Zimbabwe
dollar
when
hyperinflation
hit
231
million
percent
before
the
government
stopped
measuring
it.

The
ZiG,
which
the
government
says
is
backed
by
gold
reserves,
foreign
currencies
and
precious
metals,
held
steady
against
major
currencies,
such
as
the
US
dollar
which
is
used
in
some
90
percent
of
transactions
in
the
country,
for
a
few
weeks
but
has
rapidly
lost
its
value
against
the
major
currencies
over
the
past
several
weeks
on
the
parallel
or
so-called
black
market.

This
stokes
inflation,
which
was
officially
recorded
at
1.4
percent
in
August.
With
prices
rising
still,
the
September
figure
is
expected
to
be
higher.

However,
some
experts
believe
inflation
is
already
much
higher
than
this.
Johns
Hopkins
economics
professor
Steve
Hanke
argues
the
government
is
massaging
the
real
inflation
figure.
He
claims
the
real
rate
is
894
percent,
the
highest
in
the
world.

The
government
has
dismissed
Hanke’s
method
of
calculating
inflation
as
misleading.
The
South
African
rand,
the
Botswana
pula,
and
the
British
pound
are
also
currencies
within
the
“multi-currency
basket”
that
are
legal
tender
in
Zimbabwe.

Some
economists
predicted
the
ZiG
would
follow
its
five
predecessors
into
the
dustbin
and
likened
the
introduction
of
the
ZiG
to
sticking
a
bandage
onto
a
festering
wound.

Among
them
was
Gift
Mugano
of
the
Durban
University
of
Technology,
who
was
pilloried
by
some
government
officials
for
warning
the
ZiG
would
fail,
but
now
feels
vindicated.
He
told
Al
Jazeera
that
a
lack
of
competitiveness
is
among
a
litany
of
reasons
that
all
these
iterations
of
Zimbabwean
currency
have
failed.
“Zimbabwe
is
not
competitive
in
terms
of
production
at
this
time.
We
have
had
a
drought
of
production
over
the
last
two
decades.”

He
noted
that
Zimbabwe’s over-reliance
on
imports
has
“destroyed”
local
manufacturing,
not
just
the
clothing
and
textile
sectors.

Second
to
the
lack
of
competitiveness,
Mugano
said,
is
the
issue
of
confidence.
“People
don’t
trust
the
local
currency,
and
they’d
rather
have
US
dollars
whose
value
is
predictable.
This
raises
the
demand
for
the
greenback,
putting
pressure
on
the
local
currency,”
he
said.
The
government
itself
demands
payment
for
passports
in
US
dollars.
Fuel
is
also
sold
in
dollars.

One
of
Truworths’s
major
selling
points
was
offering
pay-as-you-wear
credit
to
its
customers,
whereby
they
pay
off
whatever
they
bought
over
an
agreed
period.

However,
with
Zimbabwe’s
economy
on
a
downward
trend
and
an
estimated
80
percent
of
Zimbabweans
not
formally
employed,
the
pool
of
eligible
customers
for
this
has
shrunk
since
only
those
employed
officially
and
paid
in
US
dollars
qualify
for
the
credit.

‘They
have
reduced
the
country
to
a
supermarket’

Other
clothing
companies
have
been
similarly
affected.
Energy
Deshe
is
the
General
Manager
of
Kingsport
Investments,
a
company
specialising
in
manufacturing
protective
clothing,
promotional
wear,
corporate
clothing,
screen
printing,
and
embroidery.

He
is
also
the
vice
chairman
of
the
Zimbabwe
Clothing
Manufacturing
Association.
He
shares
Ndebele’s
exasperation
about illegal
imports and
laments
the
lack
of
action
from
the
authorities.
“The
clothes
are
brought
into
the
country
illegally;
by
allowing
their
open
sale,
it
seems
the
authorities
have
given
the
green
light
to
the
traders
to
do
what
they
want,”
he
said.

The
impact
has
taken
a
massive
toll
on
jobs
in
the
sector,
he
said.
“It
currently
employs
just
over
4,000
people,
down
from
more
than
30,000
at
its
peak
around
2001.”

Those
who
do
operate
within
the
law,
he
said,
are
effectively
punished
for
doing
so
via
relatively
high
labour
costs,
taxes,
and
the
cost
of
applying
for
licences.
“We
just
can’t
compete
with
these
clothes
dumped
into
the
country.
They
have
reduced
the
country
to
a
supermarket.”

Kingsport,
which
employed
700
people
at
the
end
of
2022,
has
been
forced
to
scale
down
to
400
employees
since
then.
While
exports
could
boost
earnings,
he
says
government
regulations
act
as
a
disincentive.
“The
government
deducts
25
percent
of
whatever
we’ll
have
earned
from
exports
in
US
dollars
and
pays
us
the
equivalent
in
local
currency.”
This
refers
to
the
requirement
by
the
Central
Bank
that
Zimbabwean
exporters
convert
at
least
25
percent
of
foreign
earnings
into
local
currency
at
the
official
exchange
rate,
which
is
significantly
higher
than
the
more
widely
used
black
market
rates.
Businesses
say
this
leads
to
losses
for
them.

Being
required
to
pay
taxes
in
US
dollars,
facing
difficulties
with
importing
raw
materials,
new
machinery
or
spare
parts,
and
an
erratic
power
supply
all
present
additional
obstacles
for
manufacturers
in
Zimbabwe.

In
2015,
Zimbabwe banned
imports of
secondhand
clothes
for
resale
in
an
attempt
to
boost
the
clothing
manufacturing
sector.
However,
the
government
relented
to
pressure
from
people
dealing
in
used
clothes
and
introduced
new
import
taxes
on
used
clothing
instead
in
2017.
Furthermore,
anyone
wanting
to
import
preloved
clothes
is
required
to
apply
for
a
licence
to
do
so.

A
customs
official
who
spoke
to
Al
Jazeera
on
condition
of
anonymity
as
he
is
not
authorised
to
talk
to
the
media
said
importers
are
not
inclined
to
obtain
a
licence
as
a
“punitive”
customs
duty
of
$5
per
kilogram
plus
15
percent
tax
is
then
charged
on
those
imports.

“If
anybody
pays
those
extra
charges
on
secondhand
clothes,
it
would
not
be
viable,”
he
concluded.
In
any
event,
he
said,
the
department
has
no
record
of
any
duty
being
paid
on
used
clothes
bales.

While
the
police
do
sporadically
intercept
trucks
with
bales
of
secondhand
clothes,
he
said,
“It
seems
it’s
not
enough.

“Every
once
in
a
while,
the
police
call
us
to
say
they
have
intercepted
a
truckload
of
secondhand
bales,
but
judging
by
the
amount
of
clothes
on
the
street,
it’s
clear
most
of
the
bales
get
through.”

When
Al
Jazeera
contacted
the
Ministry
of
Industry
and
Commerce
department
that
issues
import
licences,
an
official
there
said
that
the
department
had
not
issued
a
single
licence
for
the
import
of
secondhand
clothes.

Zimbabwe
Republic
Police
spokesperson
Commissioner
Paul
Nyathi
confirmed
that
the
smuggling
of
secondhand
clothes
into
the
country
is
common.
“We
have
an
ongoing
operation
against
smuggling
which
includes
used
clothing;
we
have
recovered
bales
of
clothing,
which
we
have
surrendered
to
the
customs
department,”
he
told
Al
Jazeera.

He
added
that
the
police
had
arrested
some
customs,
immigration
and
law
enforcement
officers
for
working
with
the
smugglers.

Despite
all
that,
the
secondhand
clothes
trade
continues
to
flourish
in
Zimbabwe,
with
some
sellers
openly
advertising
on
social
media,
where
their
phone
numbers
and
addresses
are
clearly
on
display.

‘We’d
buy
local
–
if
the
price
was
right’

Some
countries
in
Africa have
banned the
import
of
used
clothing
altogether.
“We
can
learn
something
from
Uganda
and
Rwanda,
who
enforce
bans
on
used
clothing,”
said
Kingsport’s
Deshe.
“Their
textile
and
clothing
industries
are
flourishing.”

Clothes
designer
Joyce
Chimanye,
who
worked
for
various
clothes
manufacturers
before
launching
her
own
brand
of
clothing
named
Zuvva,
said
she
believes
enforcing
the
law
and
changing
government
policy
could
revive
the
ailing
clothes
retail
and
manufacturing
sectors.

Before
the
secondhand
clothing
craze,
she
said,
“There
was
a
very
high
level
of
domestic
apparel
consumption,
and
the
manufacturing
sector
was
vibrant;
the
factories
exported
clothes
for
brands
such
as
Littlewood,
JCPenney,
Gap,
Levis
and
Banana
Republic”.
But
that
was
before
the
country’s
economic
woes
took
hold
and
many
have
since
shut
up
shop.

Chimanye
said
she
believes
Zimbabwe
could
learn
from
Bangladesh,
which
implemented
market-oriented
policies,
including
industry
privatisation
and
trade
liberalisation
in
the
1980s,
to
become
the
second-largest
garment-producing
country
in
the
world.

According
to
data
from
the
Bangladeshi
Export
Promotion
Bureau,
the
county’s
textile
and
garment
industry
now
employs
more
than
4
million
people.

While
the
customers
of
preloved
clothing
that
Al
Jazeera
spoke
to
are
happy
with the
low
prices,
the
quality,
and
the
variety
of
used
clothes
they
have
access
to,
they
said
they
would
also
be
happy
to
buy
locally
manufactured
clothes
on
condition
that
the
cost
and
quality
are
right.

“We’d
buy
local
clothes
if
the
prices,
quality,
and
variety
are
addressed,”
Kimberley
Dube
says.

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