This story is from April 23, 2017

Visa crunch causes Dongri’s Nigerian garment trade to fray

Visa crunch causes Dongri’s Nigerian garment trade to fray
One of the few places to sample Nigerian cuisine in Mumbai is a canteen in Masjid Bandar. Up flights of narrow stairs, one can tuck into a bowl of ofada rice with plantains and buffalo beef stew. One shelf is lined with Maggi imported from Nigeria and the freezer is packed with Maltina, a popular non-alcoholic fermented beverage. The canteen is tiny but more than large enough for its shrinking clientele—a reflection of the recent crash in the city’s Nigerian-Indian trade.
Until a few years ago, Nigerian businessmen and women flocked the bylanes of Masjid Bandar and Dongri, part of a wholesale garment boom.
They’d visit every few months to buy baby clothes, t-shirts, flowing kaftans, reels of lace, imitation jewellery and hair wigs, selling them for a hefty profit back home. A 10-inch Indian hair wig—popular with African women—costs about Rs 2,500 per 100gm and is sold in Nigeria for over Rs 5,000. Nigerians living here also worked as agents connecting new buyers with wholesalers.
But visas for Nigerian nationals have tightened since 2012, hitting both local traders and the city’s small Nigerian community. Approximately 3,000 business visas were issued last year, down from 9,000 in 2011, according to Sharad Srivastava, the first secretary (consular) of the High Commission of India in Abuja. He cites three reasons for the drop: closer scrutiny of documents; a dip in the Nigerian economy due to falling oil prices; and a weakening Naira, the national currency, with the consequent rationing of dollars by Nigeria's Central Bank, which has affected Nigerian travel.
As a result, wholesale sales on Mohammed Ali Road have fallen by 50-75%. Traders here have customers from other African countries—Sudan, Djibouti, Ghana, Tanzanian and Kenya—but most export depends on Nigerians.
Sambo Davis is one of the few Nigerians to own a shop in Dongri. Walking through the market, he points out shuttered shops that once sold baby clothes. The Indian owner of a boutique selling African ‘georges’ —a heavily-embellished traditional dress—complained about losing out to China. “I don’t know why the government is not issuing visas to people, who are contributing to the GDP and buying goods in dollars,” he said. In 2013, Nigeria imported Rs 100 crore worth of textiles and clothing from India.

Nigerians feel the new visa rules are draconian—most are granted only a single-entry six month visa for USD 252—and don’t reciprocate the good treatment Indian businessmen receive in their country. To keep their businesses afloat, many have overstayed their visas. An RTI inquiry in 2014 revealed that 2,039 Nigerians in India have expired visas. Some then get stuck because they can’t afford to pay the fine.
Others are afraid of serving a prison term or being banned from the country. Last year, a Nigerian with a Mumbai business, who overstayed his visa by seven years, was deported then reportedly barred from entry for 2-5 years. (The Foreigner Regional Registration Office in Mumbai was not available for comment before we went to print.)
But visas are not the only obstacle to business. Even on Mohammed Ali Road, locals regard Nigerians warily because of their reputation for dealing drugs. One resident refused to walk on the same side of the road as a Nigerian, and a Pydhonie guesthouse owner, who welcomes traders from Djibouti, Yemen, Tanzania and Ghana, has a strict policy against Nigerian guests.
Adebayo Ajongold is one of the lucky ones. He came to Mumbai six years ago, learnt a little Hindi and became an agent for customers from West African countries. Over the years, he’s built a strong network here, a feat made easier by the fact that he is a Muslim—Nigeria also has a large Christian population—who visits Zakaria Masjid with his Indian business partners.
If Nigerians battle racist stereotypes in Mohammed Ali Road, it’s worse in the rest of the city. Renting a flat in a good complex is next to impossible. That’s why most Nigerians live in rundown buildings in Mira Road, Vashi and Nalasopara, moving whenever the landlord gets antsy. “Brokers just wave us out of their offices,” said Davis, while pointing out housing complexes in Kharghar that have a no-Nigerian policy.
Olasunkanmi Amoo, who lives in Vashi, relates an incident on the locals reminiscent of Gandhi’s experience in South Africa. “A man came and asked me why I was travelling in the first class compartment,” he said. “He wasn’t a ticket checker but he insisted on seeing my ticket.”
Back in Mohammed Ali Road, the canteen serves as a refuge—a cubby-hole for friends and home food. Most Nigerians avoid bars and restaurants to steer clear of stares and comments. Davis says he’d like to open a restaurant to introduce Nigerian cuisine to Mumbaikars but doubts he’d find a space. Even renting a t-shirt shop in Dongri took a lot of persuasion. “Modi keeps saying, ‘Make in India,’” says Davis. “But how do we live in India? The country is so unfriendly.”
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