By Yared Seyoum
Debebe Wachamo walked slowly back to his small home in the weaving Shiromeda neighborhood in Addis Ababa. At 50 years old, after decades working his loom, he was tired and discouraged. Once this alley was filled with the rhythmic sounds of weaving and conversations between craftspeople. Now most of the houses stood empty and silent.
Debebe knew this reality well. For 30 years, he had worked as a weaver in his cramped 12 square meter house, spinning cotton into fabrics for the traditional garments of his community. But with demand declining and prices low, he struggled to earn a living, struggling to make a living for himself and his four children and a housewife. "I can weave for a whole week and only make 3,300 birr (around 58 dollars)," Debebe said. "The raw materials alone cost more than that. It's not worth it anymore."
Debebe's story reflected a wider trend taking hold across Ethiopia - the rise of cheap imported cloth was displacing the country's traditional handwoven cottons. Where communities once relied on weaving for livelihoods and cultural identity, manufactured fabrics from China were proving hard to compete with.
Haftom Gebretsadik, a retailer in the Shiromeda market, had seen this change first hand over the past 15 years. "In the beginning, it was only the printed designs coming from China. But then they started making the actual patterns too, replicating our traditional styles."
These factory cloths, locally known as “the Chinese Menen", quickly gained popularity for their affordability.
The factory cloth competing with Ethiopia's weaving tradition is not only imported from China, but also locally produced in Ethiopia by Chinese manufacturers. While Ethiopian law restricts retail markets to local ownership, the Chinese have been able to enter textile production within the country's special economic zones.
Today, estimates indicate the imported cloth dominates over 50 percent of the market. A single wholesale roll of Menen measuring 30 meters can be bought for around 3000 birr. In comparison, a locally woven fabric of similar length and quality would cost 5000 birr or more. Even accounting for international shipping from China, the Menen held a price advantage of thousands of birr per roll.
This was a margin Ethiopian weavers like Debebe could not hope to match. Raw cotton prices had been rising as domestic production declined. A weaver might earn only 110 birr for a full week of labor at their loom. With such low wages, purchasing power was limited and few improvements could be made to workshops and tools.
Producing fabric also took weavers significantly longer than the factory process. "I can get new stock anytime from my suppliers," said Abdi Mussema, a major wholesaler of Menen in Addis Ababa. "But the handlooms cannot produce fast enough or in large volumes to meet demand from retailers and customers."
While quality was a point of debate, affordability and availability seemed to decide most purchases. Emebet Desalegn, shopping for her young daughter in Merkato Shematera market, wanted to support local weaving but said practical needs came first. "I knew the handwoven would last longer, but it was too expensive for a child. She is still growing so quickly."
The loss of market share has had deep economic and social impacts. Different studies indicate weaving once employed over 250,000 Ethiopian families directly. Many small towns and districts formerly centered around cooperative weaving groups have faced rising unemployment as younger generations move away in search of work. Cultural traditions defining certain regions are also at risk as factory cloth replaces customary dress.
Yet not all hope is lost. Some innovative weavers survive by filling specialized orders or developing unique designs unable to be replicated industrially. Cooperatives help market premium products appealing to ethno-tourism. With community support and alternate income strategies, a small number maintain their craft.
However, for the vast majority reliant on competition, the rhythmic beats of handlooms are fading from Ethiopia's cultural landscape. Debebe, like so many others, can only reminisce about past livelihoods now disrupted by marketplace forces beyond their control.
While progress inevitable modernizes some traditions, the steep decline of weaving represents more than economic change - it reflects the slow erosion of heritage defining Ethiopia's diverse identities.
