02/05/2026
“I am a night owl!” - The daily routine of African fashion traders in Guangzhou--Ke Ma
In March 2026, I landed in Guangzhou, ready to dive into the world of African fashion businesses. Jet-lagged but eager, I made my way to the wholesale clothing district near Sanyuanli metro station before noon. The area teemed with malls and shops, yet to my surprise, few African faces were visible in the crowds. The African restaurants sat shuttered, their metal grilles pulled down like sleepy eyelids.
A few days later, as I got to know more Nigerian fashion businessmen, the picture came into focus. In recent years, the widespread use of WhatsApp and WeChat in the China-Africa fashion trade has rewired their internal clocks. “I am a night owl,” one of them told me. He and other African fashion traders in Guangzhou no longer sync with the Chinese sun but with their customers thousands of miles away in Lagos, Accra, or Nairobi: customers who are just waking up as Guangzhou winds down.
Take Chukwuka, a 35-year-old sourcing agent from Nigeria. One afternoon around 5:00 pm, we went to the U:US wholesale market, a buzzing labyrinth of knockoffs. As we walked, he held his phone like a third hand—already on a WhatsApp video call with a client back in Lagos. Inside a cap shop, he began pulling baseball caps off the rack: black, navy, olive. He tried one on, tilted it low, then another. “Which one do you want?” He asked the screen in Igbo, turning left and right. “Here is also a denim color. And baker hats, yeah? Three each? Or two?” His client pointed through the pixelated glare. Chukwuka nodded, counted on his fingers, and confirmed the quantity and colors in written text. Then he hung up. “Now I need to negotiate the price,” he said, turning to me with a grin. And just like that, his English switched off. Fluent Chinese flowed out instead as he bargained hard with the Chinese shop owner. We then walked around the market to check out men’s shoes while waiting for the hat shop to gather and pack the goods he had purchased. Chukwuka constantly took pictures of the sandals and sneakers and sent voice messages on WhatsApp to his potential clients, explaining whether the shoes were made of real leather and what material was used for the soles.
As we walked out of the wholesale mall, the sun had already slipped behind Guangzhou’s hazy skyline – it was already 8:00 pm. The street, dormant under the midday heat, had transformed. Now it pulsed with life: Foreign traders moving in small clusters, many hauling black plastic bags or dragging suitcases. The air filled with a polyglot hum: English, Igbo, French, Mandarin. Suddenly, a Chinese man darted toward us, waving a paper printed with the latest counterfeit bags. “Copy, copy! Come to our office to take a look – it’s just on the sixth floor in this building.” He points to the shopping mall on his right-hand side. He was not alone. Other Chinese vendors of counterfeit fashion goods pressed toward any foreign face, whispering the same urgent mantra. Around small food stands, queues had formed: men and women in colorful summer outfits and sneakers waiting for fresh mango juice or lamb skewers sizzling over charcoal. Chukwuka glanced at me and grinned. “This is still the start. Wait until the night arrives.”
After dinner at a nearby African restaurant, the clock neared 10:00 pm. We stepped back outside and walked toward Guangyuanxi Road. There, the street had shed its daytime skin entirely. Rows of clothing stands now lined both sidewalks, their LED lanterns casting a cold blue glow over piles of T-shirts, sneakers, jewelry, and knockoff watches. African men and women haggled in low, rapid voices, phones pressed to ears, some livestreaming to customers back home.
Next to Guangyuanxi Road, on the ground floor of Tangqi Plaza, was what Chukwuka calls his “office.” We carried the caps he had purchased into the space, which was a narrow warehouse room he shares with a few of his Nigerian “bros.” The room was stuffed with bags labeled in both Chinese and English. Next to their warehouse were other small units, filled with Nigerian men chatting, joking, and packaging. Chukwuka excels at packaging: he puts the newly purchased garments into a bag and swiftly sews it shut using a large needle and thick thread. Just after midnight, the Chinese staff from a freight-forwarding company arrived, weighed his bags, charged him, loaded them into a truck, and moved to the next Nigerian trader. If everything goes well, the goods will arrive in Nigeria in six days. After talking to a few more potential customers on WhatsApp while clearing up his office, Chukwuka headed home to Foshan city at almost 2:00 am, together with other Nigerian friends who also rent apartments there.
Chukwuka and his Nigerian “bros” work nearly every day. Sunday is usually a bit quieter, as many attend church. As Chukwuka explained to me, this is a trade in which the time one invests is directly reflected in the money one makes. Leisure is not entirely absent, but it is carefully scheduled around the demands of African markets. Most Nigerian fashion traders are men who are either single or have partners back home. During their free time, some simply stay home to watch movies and chill; others have memberships at 24-hour gyms and work out at night. Occasionally, they go to Afro nightclubs in Guangzhou to dance and relax – “But not before 2:00 am,” one of them told me, “You finish work around 2:00 am, go home and fresh up, and then you go out again.” By 5:00 am, the club grows crowded and heated. When one finally steps out of the club, the sun has already risen over Guangzhou.
