Immigrants Pouring Into Laundry Pond

The band of men wallows waist-deep in the murky pond, frantically scrubbing mounds of multicolored clothes.

Each washer has claimed a spot in the stagnant pool. The garments are strewn over tires moored in concrete to prevent the clothes from floating away.

Welcome to Africa’s largest outdoor launderette.

There are no fancy coin-operated machines here, no sophisticated spin dryers, just hundreds of launderers whose daily labor produces a chorus of splashing, whacking and squelching.

Most of the launderers hail from poorer neighboring West African countries, such as Guinea, Niger, Burkina Faso and Togo. But by far, the largest number come from Mali.

A downturn in the Ivorian economy and increased unemployment have led to a recent rise in anti-foreign sentiment and a call for immigrants to go home--emotions that political observers here said are being provoked by politicians.

But city officials acknowledged that the immigrant launderers--known as fanicos--provide a much-needed service to residents of Abidjan, the government seat.

“The immigrants and the Ivorian people complement each other,” said Doubou Danho, an official in the mayor’s office. “They give us [a service] we need, and we give them something they need--work.”

Predominantly illiterate and unqualified for other work, fanicos also fill a slot of low-skilled jobs that indigenous Ivorians typically don’t want to perform.

“Ivorians don’t like this kind of work,” said Nathan Bayoro, a city information officer. “It’s not that they can’t do it. They don’t have the mind-set for it. It’s too rough for them.”

Most of the launderers said they came to Ivory Coast to seek their fortunes. On a good day, they can earn the equivalent of about $4, a not-insignificant amount in a country where the official minimum monthly wage is just $60.

Adoulaye Boubakar, 30, used to be a farmer in Mali but found his earnings too inconsistent. He settled in Ivory Coast 10 years ago and pursued several odd jobs before becoming a laundryman.

“Now I can earn money every day,” said Boubakar, whose income from washing supports a wife and three children back home.

One of the few women at the pond, Fatoumata Guindo, works with her 2-year-old son, Amidou, strapped to her back. “I came here because I wanted to get a job,” Guindo, a Malian in her 20s, said as she stood knee-deep in water. “I couldn’t find any work back home.”

Ivorian residence permits, the primary prerequisite for seeking employment, are easily obtainable for such immigrants, local city officials said.

The fanicos--there are about 400 in all--pay about $2 a month to the mayor’s office to use the pond, which has served as a washing arena for at least three decades.

Washing begins at about 8 each morning, after early prayers by the predominantly Muslim work force. By 1 p.m., most of the clothes have been vigorously scrubbed.

The apparel is spread out to dry on the lush, grassy embankments that surround the pond and flank the city’s busy highways. At 4 p.m., a traditional iron, heated on charcoal, is used to press the garments before they are returned to their owners.

Despite the high degree of illiteracy among the washers, there is rarely a mix-up, according to Alfred Inan, the pond’s chief supervisor. All the launderers have memorized their routes and are intimately familiar with their customers’ clothes.

“The people who work here are special,” said Bayoro, the information official. “When you go to the dry cleaners, they write down your name. The [pond] washers don’t do that. But they know where they got the clothes from and exactly who each sheet, trousers or skirt belongs to.”

Many fanicos acknowledged that they dislike doing the backbreaking work but have no choice.

Hard times in Ivory Coast have meant that average people have less money to spend on luxury services such as having someone else do their laundry. So the outdoor laundry business has become less profitable, the fanicos said.

“It used to be a good way to make money,” said Meida Kaya, a Malian in his 60s and a veteran of the pond. “But now things are difficult in the country.”

Earning less than 20 cents for each item of clothing he washes, Kaya said he still manages to send a little money home. But it’s impossible to save enough to give up working, he said.

“I don’t really like this job, but it’s just simpler to come to here and work,” Kaya said. “I’m my own boss.”