Fook y Jaay: Worse for the Wear

Am I trying to cuss you out? No! One of my long-time friends - Lisa Floran - is back from serving two years for the Peace Corps in Senegal. She'll be writing a weekly perspectives/transition feature that will discuss some American lifestyle practices in comparison to her Senegalese experience. She will be also writing about how she tries to stay sane as she transitions back into becoming a yuppie American professional. 

Two years ago, when I was packing for Senegal, I remember carting off bags upon bags of clothing to donation centers.  It was a transition; the perfect time for me to part with some of my beloved but seldom worn pieces, like the beautiful purple dress that only worked for dancing flamenco or blister-birthing heels I bought in the wrong size.  At the same time, I also fretted about just what to bring to a sweltering, Muslim, African nation.  Every single article I chose to pack would need the versatility and strength to survive two years of climate, sweat, dirt, and fashion - or so I thought.

In reality, when I arrived in Senegal, I found anything I could possibly want just outside my front door.  And I say that literally: my front stoop was a passageway to a world where clothing was sold on street corners, in markets alongside produce and raw meat, and through windows of passing buses.  The grand jewel of these markets was the fook y jaay, a weekly secondhand clothing and fabric market that sprawls for blocks and blocks in major cities.  Translated from Wolof, fook y jaay means shake and sell: a fitting moniker.

If, like me, you appreciate the thrill of the hunt, the exhilaration of a good find, and the satisfaction of a killer deal, the fook y jaay is the place for you.  Plus, unlike thrift store shopping in the U.S., where the best pieces get pulled out early and resold at upscale boutiques, fook y jaays offer all of their treasures in mixed bags at equal prices.  At a weekly fook y jaay, clothing is separated by type, making it easy to spot the dress sellers, the skirt sellers, the coat sellers, and so on. 

Moreover, many vendors use a fixed price method, yelling out anything from 100-500cfa (20 cents - $1) as a uniform cost for any item in their stash.  In Senegal, most of the population lives on about $4-5 a day; with my Peace Corps salary, I had a comfortable $10.  Needless to say, for both me and my Senegalese counterparts, the deals of the fook y jaay were tough to beat, and I quickly became addicted.  Here are some of my favorite finds:

Most clothing arrives in developing countries like Senegal through an established route.  Fashionistas, do-gooders, and successful dieters send their old frocks to collection centers, getting closet space and perhaps a little cash or tax break in return.  Charities sort the clothes, sending some to upscale resale boutiques, secondhand stores, and textile recycling centers and getting their own cut.  And after all of that, about 40% of the clothes end up exported to developing countries, where they’re sold for further profit by local vendors.

Critics argue that these charitable donations often harm more than help developing economies.  In countries where textile production is a leading industry, importing cheap foreign clothing can undermine local tailors and fabric producers.  In defense, some countries have placed bans on imported clothing– most notably, two of Africa’s biggest economies: Nigeria and South Africa.  In addition to economic concerns, others worry that the influx of cheap Western clothing directly destroys culture and the art of traditional dress.

But on the other hand, other research suggests that importing clothing actually creates jobs.  One study found that between labor forces, clothing sorters, cleaners, and vendors, over five million jobs have been created in Kenya – all while providing a cheap and fashionable means of dress.  Plus, on a scale from local to Chinese-imported products, imported secondhand clothes falls roughly in the middle of the economic scale.

From my own point of view, Western clothes didn’t seem to be giving Senegalese tailors a run for their money – at least not yet.  Senegal is a predominately Muslim country, and as such, its women are especially hesitant to give in to Western clothing full-time.  My host mother, sisters, and aunts still preferred elaborate, traditional dresses in wax, basin, and embroidered silk far before anything they could find at the fook y jaay.  In fact, I think they were a little disgusted at the amount of shopping I did there. 

Then again, there’s no denying that whatever demand developing countries have for cheap, secondhand clothing, the influx is far outpacing it.  As the last stop in the recycled clothes merry-go-round, developing nations have nowhere to forward the clothes they don’t want except their own landfills.  Despite best intentions, many of these countries are becoming dumping grounds for the world’s avarice.

So what do I recommend?  Obviously, recycling your clothes is a good thing, far better than simply throwing them away.  With recycling, clothes at least have a shot of getting a little more use.  But better yet, get creative and don’t give up on your clothes so easily.  Jeans can become shorts; dresses can become skirts; shirts can become quilts.  Tailoring can change a disappointing top into a game-changer.  And it goes without saying, but buy less and buy carefully.  Dispense less and try to cut corners (or in-seams) when you can.  And remember: cleaning out your own closet doesn’t guarantee you’re not cluttering up someone else’s.