For years migrants have been experiencing difficulties in becoming legal especially in a country that they find refuge. Countries themselves face difficulties in regulation and accreditation of those migrants.
People such as Jonas* who is a librarian, Rose* a school teacher and Spiwe a town planner and environmentalist, left their home country often not by choice but by circumstance. Being a foreigner in a country like South Africa highlights issues of xenophobia and discrimination which are constant struggles that have been and continue to be addressed in society.
Who is a migrant, refugee or asylum seeker?
According to the Department of Home Affairs spokesperson Mayihlome Tshwete, there is a diverse classification of migrants who come in and out of South Africa. Tshwete explains that there are temporary migrants such as tourists who are often here for short-term business or leisure. Migrants who seek temporary to permanent permits which would include the asylum seekers.
SKILLS: Refugees and asylum seekers have to fulfil standard requirements once allocated time.Photo: Nokuthula Zwane
Within the refugee and migrant policies in South Africa there is different documentation that can authorise for foreigners to reside in SA, for example study and work permits, asylum papers, visitor’s visa and refugees status.
“The role of the department is to live up to our constitutional requirements of providing protection to people who are fleeing persecution in their country or place of origin.
Our responsibility as Home Affairs is to facilitate that and make sure that those people who are genuine asylum seekers get the necessary protection that they need from us, which starts with giving them documentation to be in the country,” said Tshwete.
The migration of a population is a common practice in the world, often based on unfavourable conditions, such as internal migrants who leave home in the rural areas to look for work opportunities in the city.
Internal migrants tend to be different from cross-broader migrants and the reasons for migration into South Africa are often based on political and economic reasons. The cross-broader migrants come from countries such as Mozambique, Zimbabwe, Botswana and Nigeria.
The United Nations Convention definition of a refugee is someone who has fled their home country and has a fear of persecution for reasons of race, tribe, nationality, and political opinion, membership in a particular social group or religion.
“I didn’t have any passport when coming here. My husband and I left at night and travelled on the back of a truck.”
Rose arrived in South Africa fleeing during the night. “I didn’t have any passport when coming here. My husband and I left at night and travelled on the back of a truck,” said Rose. Jonas and Rose are both Zimbabweans who left their country because of the oppressive political instability or what Jonas describes as the “political crisis”.
This can be disheartening to find oneself facing extra struggles in a place that is not familiar.
“I am a recognised refugee in South Africa, which means I have gone through the asylum seeker route. I’ve been through interviews and re-interviews, appeals. I have really gone through a lot. In fact I have finished all the requirements of being a refugee,” said Jonas. However, the stress for him lies in the waiting for what will happen to his refugee status when his permit expires in March 2017.
INFOGRAPHIC:A comparison between a refugee status applicant and an asylum seeker. By: Nokuthula Zwane
In terms of the South African Home Affairs refugee status applications and process, Jonas has been granted a number of extensions. “I don’t know, they are going to tell me, when it expires because my refugee status has been extended,” said Jonas.
“Getting your papers in Johannesburg was impossible because they were only processed on Tuesday. Which meant that you have to sleepover from Sunday and Monday, and hope to be the top 40,” said Jonas.
Rose got her permit as a migrant earlier this year, and says “to get my papers I would have to wake up early and leave at 3am just to be in Pretoria before 8am”.
“Getting your papers in Johannesburg was impossible because they were only processed on Tuesday. Which meant that you have to sleepover from Sunday and Monday, and hope to be the top 40,” said Jonas. Rose got her permit as a migrant earlier this year, and says “to get my papers I would have to wake up early and leave at 3am just to be in Pretoria before 8am”.
Migrants such as Jonas and Rose faced many struggles in becoming recognised in South Africa. They describe the Home Affairs offices as hostile for immigrants where they are told, “There is no war in Zimbabwe, so when you say you want to be a refugee you are a liar, you are an economic immigrant,” said Jonas.
“I fought tooth and nail to get documented,” said Jonas.
Arriving in South African in August 2004, Jonas said, “When I left my home coming here, if you asked me where I was going, I would tell you I don’t know.” When Jonas left his home town in Zimbabwe, Bulawayo, he left behind everything and everyone he knew.
The refugee and migrant policies in South Africa have been under construction over the last couple of years following the increase of displaced people in Africa. Tshwete said that ideally the department would like to get paperwork for refugees and migrants done in three months, however, there are limitations that the office faces.
“Given the amount of applications we have, it takes a lot longer than that; it can take up to two years in many cases. Not only because of our side, the volumes, it’s also because of the appeals that most of the applicants take when they are not given the refugee status,” said Tshwete.
ASSUMPTIONS: African refugees and migrants say they face discrimination in the Joburg CBD for being illegal in the country. By: Nokuthula Zwane
Economic migrants
Recently the Minister of Home Affairs Malusi Gigaba addressed the Regional Conference of the International Association of Refugee Law Judges in Pretoria, highlighting South African achievements and struggles in leading the development of a new policy on international migration and the management of refugees and asylum seekers.
“South Africa currently hosts over 95 000 recognised refugees and last year received approximately 62 000 applications for asylum,” said Gigaba.
An economic migrant is a person who travels from one country or area to another in order to improve their standard of living.
Economic migrants are associated with low-skilled and unskilled work seekers, self employed persons, and small and micro entrepreneurs.
Jonas expressed how he had often been referred to as an economic migrant. Both Jonas and Rose are currently working, and Rose says she is making enough money to rent a place for herself in the CBD.
LEGALLY DOCUMENTED:“I fought tooth and nail to get documented,” said Jonas. Photo: Nokuthula Zwane
According to an AfricaCheck, “Home Affairs contends that these amendments [the Refugees Amendment Bill of 2015] are necessary to prevent economic migrants ‘clogging up’ a system intended for genuine asylum seekers seeking refugee status.”
Gigaba mentioned during his speech the attraction for economic migrants to be classified as asylum seekers is that the “South African jurisprudence has granted asylum seekers the right to work, study and start a business whilst awaiting a refugee status decision.”
Rose, who arrived as an asylum seeker has faced difficulties in receiving asylum papers, waiting for up to six months for the approvals. She said the frustrations were that the “requirements to get the papers were too much and somehow impossible to get”.
The Church’s impact on migrants
The churches themselves, most notably the Catholic Archdiocese of Johannesburg and the Central Methodist Church, have made an effort to assist refugees and migrants in Johannesburg.
According to Rose, “I arrived here in Johannesburg, Park station and the first place I was directed to was the Central Methodist Church in the CBD. The Central Methodist church has been a prominent place of refuge until 2015 when changes within the church structures resulted in the evacuation of all refugees and migrants.
Jonas has also lived at the church and mentioned that he was mainly assisted by Bishop Paul Verryn of the Methodist church to get his permit.
The Catholic Archdiocese of Johannesburg has a department of Pastoral Care for Migrants and Refugees. Sister Maria, the current coordinator of the programme was not willing to be interviewed by university students due to unfortunate previous experiences with student research. However, she said they issue pamphlets and host regular workshops to help migrants and refugees.
During June 2016 the Catholic church held a Refugee Week highlighting the areas that the church assists refugees and migrants, through training, legal support and advocacy and liturgy or celebration and inter-religious spiritual support and networking.
PRAISE AND WORSHIP: Churches such as the Central Methodist Church in the CBD have assisted in the spiritual and physical well-being of migrants and refugees. Photo: Nokuthula Zwane
The requirement to attend the refugee and migrants’ status varies due the accesses of certain services; these requirements listed below are based on the interviews conducted with Rose and Spiwe:
-Work permit letter -police clearance “One from SA and another from Zimbabwe. It can take up to 3 months to get the police clearance,” says Rose -motivational letter -Bank statements. “If you have a bank account you are fortunate because asylum seekers are not allowed to open account,” Rose explains.
“It’s not obvious that when you apply you will get your permit,” said Rose.
Spiwe arrived in South Africa in 2007 on a work permit, to work as a director in a government department. “…Now I have decided on studying at Wits and currently I hold a work and study permit,” said Spiwe. Her experiences of attaining a visa did not result in any struggle because she was brought into the country under critical skills, having applied at home in Zimbabwe.
There are negative assumptions made about migrants, according to Spiwe. “What I have generally discovered is that South Africans don’t like foreigners, because the people that I used to work with actually say it.” She said working conditions were reasonable, however, racial and intellectual stereotypes arise while in the work space.
These, she said, stemmed from corporate institutions paying for “corporate colour” and not qualifications. “I was surprised at how apartheid has finished but it has finished [only] on paper.
“I find it surprising how I can be brought here into the country under critical skills and still be discriminated against. I mean what is the attitude for,” says Spiwe.
Things that migrants would like for citizens to remember is that “I didn’t plan to come to South Africa,” said Rose.
Crossing the t’s and doting the i’s
Jonas, who has made a number of appeals and extensions for his permits, had one question for the Home Affairs spokesperson: “Which Home Affairs office should one go to to renew/ get certification to apply for the Permanent Residence Permit?”
In response, Tshwete advised that he go to the Visa Facilitations Services, a company that facilitates or rather connects all the documentations.
All around the world the movement of migrants and refugees has been become a painful sight to witness especially when people escape deadly situations as in Syria, Ethiopia and Nigeria. Institutions such as the Department of Home Affairs, the office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees and the churches play a significant role in assisting migrants and refugees with permits and legalities.
The degradation that refugees and migrants experience in 2016 highlights how each one of us has a lot of work to do when it comes to making the next person feel a part of humanity.
Jonas, who has made a number of appeals and extensions for his permits, had one question for the Home Affairs spokesperson: “Which Home Affairs office should one go to to renew/ get certification to apply for the Permanent Residence Permit?”
In response, Tshwete advised that he go to the Visa Facilitations Services, a company that facilitates or rather connects all the documentations.
All around the world the movement of migrants and refugees has been become a painful sight to witness especially when people escape deadly situations as in Syria, Ethiopia and Nigeria. Institutions such as the Department of Home Affairs, the office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees and the churches play a significant role in assisting migrants and refugees with permits and legalities. The degradation that refugees and migrants experience in 2016 highlights how each one of us has a lot of work to do when it comes to making the next person feel a part of humanity.
*Not their real names.
FEATURED IMAGE: Hands on top of a home affairs migrant document. Photo: Nokuthula Zwane
Chinese migrants who arrive in South Africa with a lack of English depend on local shop assistants to help them speak to their customers. For shop owners and their assistants to understand each other, they have to come up with creative ways to communicate.
Wishes Kondowe has been working at China Multiplex for over a year now, but she still does not know the name of the general store she works for and only refers to it as “shop number 46”. Though she has no idea what the Chinese printed board hung boldly outside says, she is familiar with more than 500 items in the store. Kondowe starts her day at 7.30am. She cleans the store, helps with stock-taking and stands ready to sell anything from faux Polo handbags to large, brightly-coloured, rubber water guns.
Neither she nor her employer know each other’s names and have come up with a way of addressing each other. Kondowe calls her employer Madala, a common slang word in isiZulu which refers to an elderly man and Madala calls her Sisi, which means sister in isiZulu, a term commonly used at Multiplex for black female cleaners and shop assistants.
Kondowe (23) came to South Africa two years ago after leaving Zimbabwe for a better life. Like her employer she is an economic migrant. She was one of the many men and women who queued for work outside China Multiplex shopping centre. Zimbabweans, Ugandans, and Malawians are some of the foreign nationals who work as shop assistants for Chinese shop owners. Kondowe says the majority of their customers are South African, but it is rare to find South Africans who work as shop assistants at China Multiplex.
It is common for Chinese shop owners to hire foreign nationals to help them communicate with customers in China malls. Foreign nationals who are proficient in English have been an ideal choice for shop owners in the day-to-day running of Chinese businesses. Kondowe believes that Chinese shop owners prefer foreign nationals to South Africans because they can interpret better and are more creative in how they communicate with the owners.
Clarrissa Borman*, one of the managers at China Multiplex, says most Chinese immigrants at the centre speak very little or no English at all. This makes Chinese shop owners vulnerable in the sense that they do not have direct communication with their clients and have to leave negotiations in the hands of their shop assistants. Chinese shop assistants also manage the stock, help communicate with the drivers of delivery trucks and ensure that the shop owners get what they want.
According to Borman, Chinese shop owners have very little control over what goes on in their store because of the language barrier. Shop owners do not approach customers, do not market their goods using sales tactics or even interact with customers. They do however step in when it is time to pay for the purchase.
Pricing practices
The one aspect that Chinese shop owners manage tightly is finances, Borman says. They solely manage the till, step in with price negotiations and the costs for stock deliveries.
“The word price they understand very well. They have two prices, single purchase prices and stock prices.” A single purchase price is the price if one item is bought and the stock price is what they charge when customers buy in bulk.
Regular customers are also given discounts and some stores work on a card roster system to manage discounts given. The more times a customer comes to the store, the more discounts they are eligible for.
Doreen Maseko is one of Madala’s loyal customers. As soon as she walks into his store, he smiles and waves frantically. He starts shouting Sisi at Maseko and calls Kondowe to stop mopping the toy aisle and help with the sale. Maseko asks for a chair from Kondowe and starts pointing at the bags on display she would like to see. Maseko buys handbags at Madala’s shop and re-sells them at higher prices to her clients. She is a regular customer and, whenever she stocks up on her handbags, she presents a card to Madala at the till and on her fifth purchase she will be eligible for a free handbag.
Borman says the language barrier between Chinese shop owners and South African customers has resulted in multicultural business negotiation. Borman says shop assistants, mall security and neighbouring shop assistants are sometimes required to step in to translate and help shop owners to make a sale. Many foreign nationals are not proficient in South African languages and mall security usually has to help whenever an Nguni-speaking customer communicates with shop owners.
Shopkeepers
Kondowe considers herself lucky to be Ndebele. This means she does not need much help from mall security guards when dealing with Nguni-speaking customers as Ndebele is similar to isiZulu. Kondowe says she can understand a lot of South African languages because she rents a room in Soweto with her sister.
“Some of the people I stay with are Sotho, Tswana and Zulu so I have learnt to pick up the things they say.”
Kondowe has a diploma in management of business from Tourword College in Zimbabwe, and she says her qualification helps her run Madala’s business. She assists in managing the stock, customer relations and sales.
Poor working conditions
While Chinese traders believe they have a good relationship with their African employees, the tale is sometimes different for their employees. One female Malawian shop assistant says: “Working with the Chinese traders we have [a] language barrier; the communication is based on simple words in broken English. I was working in another Chinese shop before this one but because of strict rules from my boss [no days off] I resigned. If you miss a working day, you are not paid.”
The shop assistant says, because of the arrival of Chinese traders in South Africa and the large numbers of China malls in the city, the job market is better than in her home country. “I found an opportunity with the arrival of Chinese traders.”
“When you work for the Chinese, some things they don’t understand. Like public holidays, how can you explain that?”
Kondowe works seven days a week and, because of the language barrier, she does not know how to ask for days off. “When you work for the Chinese, some things they don’t understand. Like public holidays, how can you explain that?”
Communication techniques
Kondowe and Madala have invented their own language to communicate with each other. Kondowe says the language consists of a system of gestures, a mixture of languages and sometimes re-enactments to communicate.
“[We communicate] with a little bit of Chinese language, looka looka [to look, or check], and sign language. Sometimes if he doesn’t understand, I show him pictures or draw things customers want.”When customers bring toys or damaged bags back, Kondowe finds out why and tries to explain the damage to Madala. She is not allowed to touch the till and needs permission from Madala to approve an exchange or return.
When customers do complain about a purchase, Kondowe says Madala shows them the “no refund” sign.
Borman says South Africa is home to various communities of Chinese people who arrived at different times from different parts of China and Taiwan. Chinese shop owners speak different languages, practise different religions, and have vastly different levels of integration into society.
“There is an absence of an organised Chinese traders’ association to defend their interests, and communicate the needs to management.”
Chinese shop owners complain about not receiving assistance from the complex with matters relating to rental. “There is an absence of an organised Chinese traders’ association to defend their interests, and communicate the needs to management.”
Borman says China Multiplex is in the process of trying to find a Chinese manager. There are instances where management has tried to implement a new policy and conditions of the lease, but they fell on deaf ears as Chinese shop owners were left confused or just did not understand.
“When we ask them something, they tell you straight that they don’t understand, and this can be very frustrating.”
Help from mall management
George Mystris, a restructuring consultant for China Mall and China Multiplex, says language is a major problem within China malls. “Chinese people have their own negotiation style but it gets complicated when you have different cultures and nationalities negotiating. Things don’t always end up as intended.”
Mystris says the mall has put in place support structures to help shop owners with customers. The mall has a few South African security guards with walkie-talkies on every floor if a translator is needed. Most of the shop assistants at China Mall are Malawians and do not speak local languages.
“People that work here try to do their translations [into local languages]; although there are a lot of workers here, their English is not good but they do speak Zulu, Xhosa, and Sotho. But the majority of [Chinese shop owners] use their staff to find out what their customers actually need,” Mystris says.
A new family
The work relations and relationship between Chinese shop owners and their assistants has evolved. New traditions have emerged and relationship bonds strengthened.
Henly Gumibe (24), has been working at China Multiplex for more than three years. He left Malawi after his father died from a long illness. He has been working with Allen Lui for three years now and considers her as his family.
“I work here every day, all year without any public holidays, so I spend a lot of time with my boss and we have an easy relationship here at work.”
Lui sometimes brings lunch to work for Gumibe and they have created a communication system for themselves. “For example, if she wants a pen, she will start writing in the air and, if I show her a pencil, she will say ‘no another one’ and I will bring out a pen.”
Gumibe guesses what Lui wants until he gets it right. He says their relationship is mutually beneficial. He complains that the wages are low but appreciates the fact that Lui will give him old clothes, shares lunch with him and that they even play games together when the shop is not busy.
“When we are bored we use Makro[wholesale store] pamphlets, I will show her what I like and she will smile or nod or show me what she likes.”
Chinese shop owners
Ron Yang (44), runs Nizams, a supermarket in Protea South. He is a qualified medical doctor in Fujei, China. Yang came to South Africa with his wife and son in 2006 and cannot practise medicine in South Africa because he is not proficient in English.
Yang says he loves Soweto because of its safety aspect. “People in Soweto treat me well. Bad experiences towards Chinese people are scarce. They greet me saying ’Chinese, China’ and I say ’hello’ to them”. Yang cannot speak a local language but he can pick up what customers want and if he struggles, he calls one of his assistants.
When customers are looking for items in the store, he can pick up things such as rice, tea and washing powder and show them the aisle in which they are located. Yang says he is learning to memorise South African phrases. When he first arrived to South Africa, he spoke little English. “I was using smaller English,” he says. “Now in South Africa, I can hear what customers want but I don’t talk too much.”
Yang is not the only Chinese foreign national in the shopping centre as Korean and other Chinese shop owners also trade. Yang prefers hiring people from Malawi to help translate in his store. Though they do not speak South African languages, they are more proficient in English. “William, speak nice English.” William is Yang’s assistant who has been the store manager for three years.
William can understand South African languages, mainly Setswana and isiZulu, which he attributes to living in Soweto. Yang also says Soweto and its people treat Chinese people well. “Chinese people are too much [many] in Soweto, you get Japanese, Korean, Taiwanese – in Soweto are all welcome.”
The Market Theatre’s main stage was the platform where six diverse minds gathered to discuss migration, a topic central to all of their individual work.
The last day and the last panel discussion of the Mail & Guardian Literary Festival helped to make audience members and authors alike reflect on the movement of people in and out of cities and countries.
The poor accommodating the poor
Wandile Zwane from the City of Johannesburg’s Migrant Helpdesk, used an interesting anecdote from a conversation he had had with a woman, illustrating a point made earlier about migration being a situation where the poor are accommodating the poor. [pullquote]”…people migrate to places with a gravitational pull…”[/pullquote]
The woman talked about the hierarchy that existed when it came to where one slept in her house. As a young child one was in the main bedroom, the older one got you would move to the dining room and the kitchen to make space for the younger ones. Eventually one would land up in the outside room and from there move on to their own house with a spouse.
Unfortunately her marriage had not worked out so she had to move back to the outside room with her kids, but because there was an immigrant living in that room she had to go back to the kitchen. The story points to one explanation of the animosity that exists around migration in South Africa.
Migration
Chinua Achebe’s book ‘There was a Country’ was the theme around which the conversation around which migration had to bend itself.
The panel consisted of writers who had threaded together stories and books, all zooming in on migration and themes central to resettlement. The panel discussion was largely based on the different writers’ works and their experiences of bridging political and personal narratives in their storytelling.
A young writer making waves in the literary world, NoViolet Bulawayo, said emergent personal narratives are based on political events, and that it was not possible to separate the two in one’s writing. [pullquote align=”right”]“Johannesburg is a migrant city”[/pullquote]
While the works of the six on stage were central to the discussion, engagement with audience members opened up the dialogue and brought up issues that were left out in the initial conversation.
Photographer and self-proclaimed book lover, Victor Dlamini (@victordlamini) made a poignant point from the floor, which steered the conversation to a meaningful point. He commented on people who are migrants themselves taking issue with people who migrate. He used Johannesburg as an example, saying most people who are in this city are not even from this city. “Johannesburg is a migrant city,” he added.
Panelist and writer, Achmat Dangor responded by saying that he agreed with Dlamini and pinned negative attitudes around migration on mechanisms of ‘othering’. He added that people migrate to places with a gravitational pull because of new ideas in that specific place. This is always the case with ‘big cities’, the activity and promise of economic emancipation lure people in, be it across borders or provincial lines.
Caroline Wanjiku Kihato, author of The Bookseller of Kibera, added to Dangor’s response, saying that human beings had a tendency of finding one another’s differences and using them to oppress one another.
Another audience member asked why was it that only Africans were considered immigrants. He did not understand why the Chinese and Europeans who come to this country were not treated with the same hostility that “our brothers” were.
In response Kwanele Sosibo (@KwaneleSosibo), journalist at the Mail & Guardian, simply said “we do it to ourselves”. He went on to narrate an anecdote about how people in an Eastern Cape community believe in measuring people according to certain pedigrees. Mining house recruiters divided them up according to body size, using pedigree determine who’d make best workers, exemplary of systematic ‘othering’.
Writing Invisibility
The Writing Invisibility e-book was launched. Some of the writers on the panel were contributors in the book which was a project done in collaboration with the Wits African Centre for Migration & Society.
Thirty years after the dawn of democracy, Johannesburg remains a city of profound contradictions.
In 1994, South Africa stood at the threshold of an era that promised equality, freedom and unity under the banner of democracy. The country’s first democratic elections saw the formal dismantling of apartheid – a system of institutionalised racial segregation that had oppressed millions of people for nearly half a century. The world watched in awe as Nelson Mandela cast his vote in South Africa’s first democratic elections, a momentous symbol of the country’s transition from apartheid to democracy.
Johannesburg, a city of gold and dreams, was at the heart of this new South Africa. It was a city meant to reflect the promise of equality, opportunity and freedom for all, including those people who sought refuge in its streets. But 30 years later, Johannesburg tells a more complex story.
Although democracy may have opened its arms to political freedom, it also incubated the rise of anti-immigrant sentiments and left economic divides not only unbridged but, in some cases, exacerbated. As the wealth gap widens, many South Africans are left asking why democracy has not resulted in fair economic distribution. This has led to socioeconomic upheaval and created fertile ground for the anti-immigrant movement in the heart of Johannesburg.
A history of migration
South Africa’s history with migration, both forced and voluntary, predates the advent of democracy. Under colonialism and apartheid, the country’s economy heavily relied on migrant labour from neighbouring countries like Mozambique, Malawi and Lesotho to fuel its mines and agricultural sectors. However, the legal framework of apartheid strictly regulated the movement of black South Africans and foreign workers, maintaining rigid social hierarchies.
With the end of apartheid in 1994, South Africa became a beacon of hope for many people across the continent. Neighbouring countries, having supported the anti-apartheid struggle, anticipated that the new South Africa would lead the charge in promoting pan-African unity and open its borders to fellow Africans seeking better opportunities. Indeed, South Africa has experienced a significant influx of immigrants, particularly from neighbouring countries in southern Africa.
The new government aimed to dismantle the socioeconomic structures that had marginalised most of the population. Economic instability, political turmoil and violence in countries like Zimbabwe, Mozambique and the Democratic Republic of the Congo have driven many of their citizens to seek refuge in South Africa, with Johannesburg being a primary destination.
The post-apartheid government embraced a more open immigration policy, reflecting its commitment to human rights. However, this liberal stance has not been without friction. Jo’burg’s urban environment has seen a rise in competition for jobs, housing and services, often leading to resentment among local communities towards immigrants.
Socioeconomic factors
Johannesburg’s skyline, dotted with high-rise buildings and cranes, suggests a city of unrelenting progress. Yet, beneath this glittering façade lies one of the most unequal cities in the world. The World Bank and various studies indicate that South Africa remains a highly unequal society. A significant portion of the population was denied access to economic possibilities because of apartheid policies and South Africa began the 1990s with already high levels of inequality. The Gini coefficient, a common measure of inequality, places South Africa among the most unequal countries globally, and nowhere is this divide more palpable than in Johannesburg. Wealthy suburbs like Sandton flourish, whereas townships and informal settlements such as Alexandra languish in poverty and neglect.Economic inequality in Johannesburg is not a new phenomenon. Still, the promise of democracy – with political freedom supposed to translate into economic opportunity – has failed many people. Thirty years later, democracy has not led to the mass reduction in inequality that so many people hoped for. South Africa’s high unemployment rate, particularly among the youth, has fuelled frustrations that are often misdirected towards immigrants. Many South Africans perceive immigrants as competitors for scarce resources and jobs. This perception is exacerbated by high levels of poverty and inequality, particularly in informal settlements.
Many immigrants in Johannesburg rely on informal or small-scale businesses to earn a living, facing opportunity and vulnerability in a challenging economic climate. Photo: Sanele Sithetho
As democracy stumbled in delivering economic equality, Johannesburg also became a beacon for migrants across Africa fleeing political instability, war and economic hardship. Zimbabweans, Nigerians, Somalis and Congolese, among others, arrived in the city in search of work and safety. They brought with them their entrepreneurial spirit, opening small businesses in the informal sector and contributing to the city’s vibrant culture.
But for many native South Africans living in poverty, these migrants became convenient scapegoats. As unemployment surged to more than 30% and service-delivery failed, accusations that foreigners were “stealing jobs” or “draining public resources” took root. Anti-immigrant sentiments morphed into violent outbreaks of xenophobia, most notably in 2008 and again in 2015. Johannesburg, the city meant to embody the dreams of a democratic South Africa, became the epicentre of anti-immigrant violence.
Police officers patrolling neighbourhoods known for tensions. South African authorities play a critical role in managing tensions, with police presence aiming to prevent violence and protect communities. Photo: Sanele Sithetho
Perceptions of crime have significantly influenced anti-immigrant sentiment. A series of violent incidents involving immigrants have given rise to the stereotype that foreign nationals are responsible for crime in the city. Although studies indicate that crime is a multifaceted issue not limited to immigrant populations, these perceptions have been manipulated by politicians and media, deepening divisions.
Political rhetoric plays a crucial role in shaping public opinion on immigration. Political parties and leaders have used anti-immigrant rhetoric to galvanise support, portraying immigrants as a burden on social services and a threat to job security. This has led to waves of xenophobic violence, with Johannesburg witnessing several violent outbreaks against immigrant communities. This politicisation has further entrenched negative attitudes, undermining social cohesion.
The rise of movements like Operation Dudula – a vigilante group targeting foreign-owned businesses and calling for the mass deportation of immigrants – reflects how dangerous this scapegoating can become. Such movements frame the immigration issue in narrow, exclusionary terms, reducing it to a zero-sum game in which the presence of foreign nationals is directly correlated with the suffering of South Africans.
Politicians such as minister of sports, arts and culture Gayton McKenzie, the leader of the Patriotic Alliance, and former mayor of Johannesburg Herman Mashaba, who leads ActionSA, are among the politicians who promoted anti-immigrant rhetoric.
McKenzie has called for the enforcement of stricter immigration laws to control the influx of illegal immigrants. He believes that this would help to protect jobs for South Africans, particularly in impoverished communities. In turn, Mashaba emphasises the importance of adhering to the rule of law and has advocated for improved border security and better tracking of immigrants within the country.
Public policy specialist Dr Kagiso “TK” Pooe, says McKenzie and Mashaba have highlighted a problem that is often ignored. The South African government and some liberal-leaning publications have glossed over average South Africans discomfort with illegal migration. “What parties like Action SA, the Patriotic Alliance and the like did was address their long-ignored plea for redress on this matter,” he says.
In response to rising xenophobia, numerous civil society organisations have emerged in Johannesburg, advocating for immigrant rights and fostering dialogue between communities. Initiatives like the African Centre for Migration & Society have sought to document immigrants’ experiences and challenge negative stereotypes. These organisations play a vital role in promoting tolerance and understanding amid the ongoing challenges.
Thandi, who asked that only her first name be used, is a 28-year-old Malawian immigrant who arrived in Johannesburg two years ago, fleeing economic hardship and political instability in her home country. Lacking legal documentation, she found herself in a desperate situation, needing to support her family back home.
After weeks of searching for work, Thandi finally found a job at a local restaurant. However, the experience was far from what she had hoped. Her employer took advantage of her undocumented status, paying her significantly less than other employees and making her work long hours without breaks. “I was afraid to speak up,” Thandi recalls. “I needed the job, but I knew I was being treated unfairly.”
One day, Thandi fell ill and could not report to work. When she returned, her employer informed her that she would not be paid for the days she missed and threatened to report her to immigration authorities if she continued to cause “trouble”. Feeling powerless, she accepted the terms, enduring the harsh conditions for fear of losing her only source of income.
Thandi’s story highlights the vulnerability faced by many undocumented immigrants in Johannesburg. They often endure exploitation, fearing legal repercussions while striving for better lives. “I just wanted a chance to work and support my family,” Thandi says, emphasising the harsh reality of seeking opportunities in a challenging environment.
Democracy, capitalism and the divided city
Immigration to South Africa has been growing, with significant numbers of migrants moving for employment and education. However, there was a decline in migration during the covid-19 pandemic.
Anti-immigrant sentiment in Johannesburg is not only a fringe phenomenon: it has found resonance in political movements and everyday conversation.
One man, who prefers to remain anonymous, speaks honestly about his frustrations. “These foreigners come here and take what’s ours,” he says. “We don’t have enough jobs, houses or food, but they seem to have their own businesses and drive cars. Why should they get what we don’t have? This is our country.”
So, where does the blame lie? Has democracy failed Johannesburg, or has the city’s experiment with capitalism exacerbated the divide? The Human Sciences Research Council’s South African Social Attitudes survey found that only 48% South Africans were happy with democracy. Pooe believes there is a declining satisfaction with liberal democracy.
According to political analyst Dr Thandeka Dlamini, the blame should be shared. “Democracy in South Africa is a political achievement, but without economic transformation, it was never going to be enough,” she says. “The country has followed a neoliberal economic model that prioritises markets and profits, often at the expense of addressing deep-rooted inequalities. Democracy promised the people freedom, but it allowed capitalism to run rampant. The result is a divided society where the elite – both black and white – prosper, while the rest fight over scraps.”
Her words are echoed by migrant advocate and activist Musa Nkosi, who points out the irony in South Africa’s xenophobia. “Johannesburg was built on the backs of migrant labour – first from the rural parts of South Africa, and later from all over Africa,” Nkosi says. “To say that migrants are now the problem is not only false, but deeply hypocritical. The problem is the system that has failed to provide for everyone.”
A fresh wave of xenophobic tension now threatens to tear apart the fragile social fabric of South Africa’s largest city. Recently, in Soweto’s Naledi township, a tragic incident underscored how deeply these divides run. Five children, aged between 6 and 7, lost their lives after allegedly consuming snacks purchased from a local spaza shop. As news spread that the shop was operated by foreign nationals, rage and grief morphed into violence, reigniting simmering anti-immigrant sentiments.
“We’ve been complaining for a long time about the conditions in these shops,” says Zandile Tshabalala, a Naledi resident. “But no one listens. Now, children are dead. These foreign shops come here, sell us expired goods, and no one cares until something like this happens.”
For many people, the presence of foreign-owned spaza shops is symbolic of their broader economic exclusion. Many South Africans feel that migrants have cornered the informal retail market, while locals struggle to find jobs or open their own businesses. The economic frustration, coupled with poor regulation and governance, has turned foreign nationals into easy targets for displaced anger.
Amid the escalating crisis, the South African department of labour has weighed in, taking a balanced stance. The department has expressed concerns over the conditions in which many spaza shops operate, calling for stricter compliance with labour and health regulations. However, it has also emphasised that the violence and destruction of foreign-owned businesses are unlawful and counterproductive.
The tragedy in Naledi is a stark reminder of the fragile state of democracy in Johannesburg. Although the city has politically transformed over the past 30 years, it remains economically divided. Democracy in Johannesburg has undeniably brought political freedom, but it has failed to dismantle the economic disparities that plague its residents. The rise of anti-immigrant sentiments is an unfortunate byproduct of this failure, with migrants often bearing the brunt of frustration in a system that seems rigged against the poor.
FEATURE IMAGE: Immigrants residing in the informal settlement of Hillbrow gathered together. Photo: Sanele Sithetho
Hillbrow has gained a reputation over the years for its diversity, violence and decay. But although its streets lie in disarray, some residents have created sanctuaries from the dysfunction.
I sit quietly in the passenger seat of the Uber. We pass a cement monolith along the steep hill; its walls charred to coal. The midday sun hesitantly peeks beyond the hollow sockets where windows should be, vaguely outlining scattered rubble in the meek light. A bright pink top drifts across my eyeline as I peer into the darkness. Glancing up, I see a line of clothes dangling over the edge of a third-floor windowsill with an array of blankets draped across the bare building – weary eyelids over an emaciated face.
Reaching the bottom of the hill, we turn into Abel Road, which connects Berea to Hillbrow. The Uber driver breaks the silence that had so far prevailed. “But why are you going to Hillbrow my friend?!” Last month, in that same area, a clip went viral of an e-hailing driver being murdered in an attack that provoked MMC for public safety Mgcini Tshwaku to vow in a media statement that: “High-density operations are coming in Hillbrow that has been a den of drug dealers and thugs.” As I reach my destination the driver warns: “Be careful, here they’ll kill you for fun.”
The Hillbrow of old: cocktails and cafes
Hillbrow was once a buzzing cosmopolitan area, known as a cultural hub during the apartheid era. It was iconic for its vibrant nightlife, array of hotels and restaurants, progressive attitudes and popularity among the youth. With manicured parks, spotless streets and modern high-rise buildings, Hillbrow resembled an African Manhattan. As pass laws and the Group Areas Act were relaxed thanks to growing civil unrest in the 1980s, Hillbrow became one of Johannesburg’s first deracialised zones.
But as more black residents flocked to the suburb, its white residents fled, blaming an increase of crime and the area’s deterioration on the growing black residency. As more buildings emptied, landlords exploited the situation by allowing scores of people to move in at low rates, paving the way for overcrowding and the further decay of infrastructure and resulting in an exodus of the remaining middle-class population. With the prospect of cheap accommodation in the city centre, Hillbrow became a preferred port of entry for foreign nationals and economic migrants from across South Africa. By the late 1990s Hillbrow was in a state of severe decline, noted for a lack of basic service delivery, decaying infrastructure and overcrowded living conditions. Crime and prostitution became lucrative in this densely populated suburb. This set the stage for the Hillbrow of today.
Hillbrow today: violence and decay
The streets of Hillbrow are filled with idle youth. Photo: Kabir Jugram
“If these guys [the municipality] did clean-up operations maybe 20 to 30 years ago this place would be Manhattan… town was a beautiful place!” bemoans Faizel Khan, a shop owner who has been in Hillbrow for 35 years. He leans on the entrance to his clothing store, smoking a cigarette. “The whole infrastructure is rotten!” he yells, stabbing his cigarette towards a puddle of green sludge across the street. “Broken drains, missing manhole covers and stealing of metal… every structure that had metal in the street is gone!” This leads to a rant about theft and drugs plaguing the streets.
Overhearing our conversation, Khan’s mother approaches and cuts him off mid-sentence: “They murdered my son here, right in front of my eyes! The police didn’t even take a statement from me.” A silence grows as Khan finishes his cigarette. He flicks it into the street, takes a deep breath and stares off into the distance. “When I was a youngster here, I could smell the Milky Lane in Esselen Street. That’s how smart this place was.” He lights another cigarette as I leave.
According to the South African Police Service’s first-quarter report for the 2024-25 financial year, Hillbrow ranks 26th nationally and fourth in Gauteng for reported murders as of June 2024. It also has the sixth-highest number of common robberies and the 18th-highest number of armed robberies reported in the country.
“Community members don’t trust the police. They work with syndicates in the area. Even when you give information to them, they arrest you to collect money and later disclose to the criminals who gave them the information…” claims Berea ward counsellor Phineas Madisha. “Those who serve on community policing forums only protect their personal interests.” Attempts to reach the Hillbrow counsellor were unsuccessful.
It is the middle of the day and groups of boys no older than 20 lurk on every other street corner. “They are staring you down to see if they can rob you. If you look away, that’s how they know you’re scared,” says Delron Buthelezi as we walk down Pretoria Street. He works in Hillbrow and has frequented the suburb since the early 2000s. “They have nothing else to do – no job, no school, nothing”.
As we walk up the street, cars edge forward from all four directions of an intersection, dipping into crater-like potholes peppering the road. There is not a stop sign or robot in sight. “I used to come watch movies here,” Buthelezi says, pointing at a faded billboard protruding from a block of flats. In chipped paint across a grid of Perspex it reads: ‘Movie World: always better on our big reen’. A sheet of Perspex is missing from the centre. A woman stares at me from the cracked window behind it, her child pressed tightly to her chest.
In the wake of the Usindiso building fire, which claimed 77 lives in August last year, the City of Johannesburg launched a series of inspections into “hijacked” buildings across the city. One of the buildings inspected was Vannin Court, on the corner of Pietersen and Quartz streets. The City declared it a disaster waiting to happen.
The building was initially raided in 2019. A City of Johannesburg media statement issued at the time read: “More than 300 people live in overcrowded conditions in the decaying building, which smells of urine and animal carcasses and has over time turned into a health hazard, unfit for human habitation.” Its residents simply moved back in a few days after their evictions.
“Most hijacked properties are owned by the government and sectional-title schemes which collapsed because a majority of body corporate members have left those properties. The government is also sitting with the problem of providing alternative accommodation in order to evict people,” Madisha claims.
“It’s no longer the Hillbrow of ’96 – now they don’t respect human life!” vents Johr Thouhakali, swatting wildly at a fly nestled on his stack of glistening red tomatoes. The air is a stifling cocktail filled with the sounds of whistling vendors and wailing taxis. The aroma of fresh produce tussles with the stench of raw sewage.
Thouhakali has been living in Hillbrow since 1996. He remembers days gone by, when he played soccer with other youths and walked carefree in the early hours of the morning.
“Maybe in the kasi [there’s community], but not here… when you suffer, you suffer on your own.” He peers at me as he rants, squeezing my shoulder. “In one unit [of a flat] there’s four rooms… In the lounge there’s two families staying there, separated by a curtain.” He speaks about a man in his building who cooks fresh food every day to lure hungry children into his apartment. He then mutters something about a pregnant 13-year-old. “‘I cannot be giving without receiving’… That’s the mentality here.” Thouhakali is staring at the sun now, his grip on my shoulder loosened. A fly squats comfortably on his shiny red tomatoes.
Vice, chaos, business and youth intermingle in the streets of Hillbrow on a daily basis. Photo: Kabir Jugram
No place for kids
Eyes lock on me on every block I pass on Pretoria Street. “Ey Boy! Show me that camera,” shouts a man sitting on a plastic chair. As Buthelezi and I march through the street, he comes across a friend just off the main road. Trolleys holding big pots of rice line the one side of the road; the other is coated in a colourful layer of rubbish. Four teenagers huddle over a rolling paper on the curb.
“My friend wants to ask you about Hillbrow, he’s a journalist” says Buthelezi to a Rastafarian standing over one of the trolleys. “He must put that camera away then,” the Rasta replies. As I do, one of the boys from across the streets heads towards me. “What are you shooting?!” he yells, not even checking for cars. Within seconds he reaches for my neck, pulling the camera. “Go take pictures of the white man, he’s a model!” Buthelezi tries to prize him off me. “I’m not that model!”
I elbow the boy in the stomach and break free. Buthelezi and his friend now stand between us. He glares at me with bloodshot eyes and raw flesh flaring from his lips. As I meet his glare, he quickly averts his eyes. A hand taps my shoulder from behind: “Just go man. You’ll die for nothing.”
John Dube sits under a tent in a plaza, promoting funeral coverage. He has been living in Hillbrow for more than 10 years, but has sent his children to live with their grandparents outside the city. For him, the crime, alienation and trauma of life in Hillbrow is overwhelming. “You will fail them [your kids]. It’s better you take them somewhere else so they can see a life different from this one – it’s not favourable for growing kids,” Dube says.
Raising Champions
But children do live here. As I walk down Ockerse Street, a schoolgirl waddles up the road holding her little sister’s hand, both in uniform. The smaller girl trips and lands on her face. She begins to wail and a lady selling sweets on the sidewalk gives her a packet of chips to calm her tears.
In a research paper on the importance of social cohesion, Gillian Eagle, professor of psychology at the University of the Witwatersrand, speaks about continuous traumatic stress. This refers to environments in which trauma (in the form of physical and structural violence) is part of daily life. In such environments, the source of trauma is unknown, because anyone in the area is a possible threat. As a result, constant paranoia fosters either social withdrawal or aggressive personas as a defence mechanism.
Violence can be repurposed towards positive growth through communal spaces such as sports clubs. Photo: Kabir Jugram
Both Eagle and popular research on urban violence enshrine community spaces as crucial in combating the negative effects of marginal conditions. Communal spaces encourage common goals that deter people from criminality and offer a form of empowerment in conditions that do not allow self-realisation.
Not surprisingly, social cohesion features prominently in South Africa’s policy discourse. The national development plan of 2030 was drafted during the Zuma administration, with the aim of eliminating poverty and inequality by 2030. One of its target areas is the creation of a safe, socially cohesive society in which citizens aspire towards a common goal of upliftment. Thus, it promotes the development of community safety centres to counteract violence and alienation.
George Khosi’s Hillbrow Boxing Club sits at the bottom of Ockerse Street. Across the street lies a freshly trimmed action soccer pitch brimming with children’s laughter. Thanks to the aid of the non-profit organisation Bambisanani Hands of Hope and numerous sponsors in the Hillbrow community, Khosi was able to repurpose an abandoned petrol station into a boxing gym.
George built his gym thanks to the support of non-profit organizations and local sponsors within the Hillbrow community. Photo: Kabir Jugram
As I enter the gym’s courtyard, I am greeted by a line of sniggering children doing jumping jacks. A row of punching bags swings wildly as grown men jab at them. In the boxing ring, a woman shouts instructions at a teenage boy: “Jab, cross, hook!” Khosi is at the entrance sweeping the floor.
George Khosi (pictured on the right) does not just aim to keep kids off the streets. He believes he can breed future champions. Photo: Kabir Jugram
“Welcome home!” he greets me. Khosi was once an aspiring boxer, but his boxing dream died after he was critically injured in a home invasion. He now spends his days coaching local youth in boxing, his goal not just to keep youth off the streets, but also to breed future champions. “In the streets it’s easier to be a gangster… But we give them [the children] a place to be one, to have joy and enjoy boxing,” he says.
For Khosi, sport is the greatest way to resist the dysfunction in the streets. “Sports changes people. If someone can do what I’m doing, it can change people. It’s not about money or [the] government. It’s about ourselves… It’s about love.
George Khosi’s Boxing Gym is a safe space not reserved for boxers alone. Photo: Kabir Jugram
As children giggle and swing at boxing bags, an old man sleeps on a couch. Beside him a schoolboy hunches over his textbook. Two young boys enter the boxing ring and swing wildly at each other until the one knocks the other’s headgear off. He begins to cry, and the other boy embraces him tightly. An older boy arrives and pats him on the shoulders. “You’ll be all right, my boy.”
Discipline, order and respect are a key component of the stability and refuge George’s gym provides. Photos: Kabir Jugram
“Hillbrow’s not only for crime. Champions can come from here”. Photos: Kabir Jugram
A crayon drawing of Khosi’s face is etched into a corner post of the ring. Above it reads: “George is dad.”
“Hillbrow’s not only for crime. Champions can come out of here!” Khosi tells me in his gruff voice. The twinkle in his one good eye shimmers against the sun.
FEATURED IMAGE: Hillbrow has become notorious as a zone of vice, violence and decay. Photo: Kabir Jugram
Various city departments and non-profit organizations in Johannesburg have become entangled in a cycle of shifting responsibility and pointing fingers at each other when issues of homelessness are brought up.
“All that glitters is not gold” is a well known aphorism that conveys the idea that appearances can be deceiving, thus some things are too good to be true. The city of Johannesburg, often dubbed the City of Gold, serves as a vivid illustration of this saying as it grapples with significant disparities stemming from political instability, macro-economic challenges, and persistent social problems.
A typical morning in the bustling streets of Johannesburg is characterised by the noise of car horns, as frustrated taxi drivers weave through traffic, disrupting the flow of traffic. For those who call the pavements on either side of the road home, this commotion is their unwelcome alarm, while the early risers are already up, sifting through garbage bins in search of food or items to exchange for a few coins at recycling centres. This is the daily reality of a homeless person in the city, however, it becomes even more daunting during winter or rainy days.
For some shelters provided refuge, only three government shelters are operational in Joburg. Three Kotze Street Shelter in Braamfontein is the largest, accommodating 350 males and females, followed by the 1 Dan Street shelter which has a bed capacity of 60 for males only and lastly, 21 Windsor West which has a bed capacity for 40 males only.
Despite this, homelessness receives little to no attention in annual budgets and planning, census data cannot even accurately capture the number of people on the streets in the municipality. Consequently, careless estimations have been made, such as when Homeless Solutions, a non-profit organisation based in Pretoria said that there were a combined 600 000 homeless people in Joburg and Tshwane. Africa Check denounced this claim after finding out that it was based on opinion rather than evidence.
Moreover, the municipality releases an Integrated Annual Report where overall city governance such as management, service delivery, financial performance and more are covered. This report also did not have any programmes or funding outlined for displaced persons. Instead, homelessness was identified as a hinderance to the public sector housing plan.
In April 2020, Gauteng premier, Panyaza Lesufi said that Johannesburg had 15 000 homeless people while Tshwane had 10 000. Yet, in a recent interview with News24 the CEO of Johannesburg Homeless Network, Mary Gillet-de Klerk said the number is currently more than 20 000 in Johannesburg.
Evidence shows that the municipality has made no financial investments in statistical research which could help to determine the accurate number of displaced persons. The director of research of the Gauteng Department of Social Development, Sello Mokoena confirmed that there are currently no plans to invest in such research. Therefore, speculations will persist.
On the contrary, the City of Cape Town (CPT) conducted an extensive study which not only found an approximate number but also the racial make-up and health status of its homeless population. This type of research required collaboration between various departments and NGOs and ultimately assisted the local government to plan for this vulnerable group’s basic needs.
Playing the blame game
The departments of Social Development, Financial Development, Human Settlements, Public Safety and Transportation are some of the city’s key drivers of social change. But when questions about shelters, budgets and healthcare for the homeless are raised, the finger pointing begins.
The Johannesburg Department of Social Development (DSD) defines homelessness as “displaced persons who live on the streets, under bridges or open spaces and are unable to provide themselves with shelter at any given time or place.”
The above definition proves that housing is a huge problem, however, Shiraaz Lorgat who oversees social housing funds under Human Settlements said they do not “play in the homelessness space” as they only fund affordable rental projects.
When enquiring about the inadequate health facilities and services provided for homeless people, the deputy director of the District Health Services Dorothy Diale, told Wits Vuvuzela that homeless people are attended by “social development,” but did not comment on the health department’s mandate on displaced persons.
Ultimately, the department of social development acknowledged that they are accountable for the homeless population, but clearly indicated that against popular belief, their mandate is not to remove people from the streets but rather to create awareness and to work closely with those who are willing to be assisted. “Human Settlements is not doing what they should be doing, its mandate is to provide housing, our [social development] mandate is not to build,” said Kebonye Senna, the head of the Migration, Displaced, and Children’s Services Unit in the department.
The lack of accountability propelled the provincial government (Gauteng Department of Social Development) to rely on Non-Profit and Non-Governmental Organisations to care for homeless beneficiaries, and allocated R87 million to the NPOs in 2022 and in 2023. Budgetary constraints saw the same allocation two years running.
Nonetheless, during the state of the province address on February 20, 2023, Lesufi announced that R2 billion was allocated to NGOs without specifying whether this was in addition to the R87 million. In response to this, Senna expressed her dissatisfaction and lack of trust for NPOs, noting that the government is wasting money by funding them. She further referenced an article published on November 6, 2023, about corrupt NPOs using resources provided for the poor for their personal benefits. “The money given to NGOs is meant to assist shelters. R 289 000 should be given to 3 Kotze Shelter per month and R 55 000 to 21 Windsor West, but theres only R 20 000 provided for both shelters.”
“If I were Panyaza Lesufi, I was going to stop funding NPOs and take those resources to government departments.”
Kebonye Senna
The 2022 social development policy document on homelessness has an alphabetical list (A-Z) of objectives. Three specific goals stand out. The first states that the department should “institute regular research (every two years) to establish the nature and extent of homelessness in the city”. The second states that the department should “facilitate access to housing through advocacy programmes for the homeless,” and the third that there should be a “special allocation of a percentage of houses to rehabilitated homeless people”. These objectives have not been realised and there are currently no plans in place to pursue them.
The slogan for the Johannesburg Health Department is, “one city, one health system” thus the assumption is that displaced people are included in healthcare services, especially because they are more prone to contagious, respiratory and cardiovascular diseases.
The city has 40 public clinics and hospitals, however, according to a report by the National Institute of Health, homeless patients face discrimination, marginalization and stigma when accessing public hospitals. Moreover, there are no programmes in the department of health tailored to the needs of displaced persons, particularly if they are immigrants or do not have identification documents. For example, the latest HIV counselling and testing policy, dates to December 2003 but does not make mention of homeless people.
Twenty three yearold Sandile Letsoele told Wits Vuvuzela that he does not go to public hospitals because the nurses look down on him and other homeless people. “They’ll just look at you and tell you to stand very far, so we normally wait the whole day before we get help,” said Letsoele.
In partnership with the Holy Trinity Church in Braamfontein, University of the Witwatersrand (Wits) students established the only clinic for homeless people in South Africa in 2004.
However, the leader of the church, Father Bruce Botha told Wits Vuvuzela that the clinic has not been operating since covid-19 due to “institutional problems” which he did not wish to elaborate on. The Health Sciences Faculty at Wits did not respond to queries around this either. “When it does run, it provides basic health screening, medical consultation, providing free prescription medication, wound dressing and HIV screening,” said Botha.
Attempts at forging a home for homelessness
The issue of stigmatization goes beyond health care facilities, it is also seen in local communities. Senna said that social development looks for hotspots before establishing a shelter, “We tried in Lenasia but there were issues of security, people don’t understand homelessness- they associate it with criminal activities.” She added that they are currently building another shelter in Freedom Park which will accommodate both males and females.
Displaced persons sometimes complain about the accessibility and treatment in NGOs and shelters. Thirty year old Nicholas Mncube, from Zimbabwe said he went to 3 Kotze shelter in Braamfontein, but they refused to take him in without a social worker. “I really don’t know why they wanted me to bring a social worker, but now I’m staying at MES [an NGO for the homeless] which is also here in Braam.” Mncube said staying at MES costs R30 per night which he cannot afford regularly, he can only go on days he has raised enough money from begging.
Apart from this, the homeless also try to forge their own homes, be it on the streets or by occupying abandoned buildings. Mncube who left Zimbabwe at the age of 23 said he lived and slept next to Joburg Theatre but was chased away by the police before going to MES.
Letsoele, who ended up on the streets due to drugs said he stayed at 3 Kotze but they kicked him out before his due time, “I was attending my sessions and recovering but they kicked me out during the weekend when my social worker was not there so I couldn’t even speak to him.” Contrary to this Senna said, the beneficiaries go through a three to six months programme which includes assessments and rehabilitation, and only released once their social worker believes they are ready for the outside world.
Councillor of Braamfontein, Sihle Nguse told Wits Vuvuzela that the homeless affect all sectors “everybody must play a role to assist the homeless, they are such smart guys they deserve a second chance at life”. He added that Braamfontein has approximately 500 displaced people.
Although the health and social development departments are jointly responsible for the city’s homeless pupulation, it is crucial to note the African phrase, “It takes a village to raise a child.” This implies that the upbringing and development of a child are not solely the responsibility of their parents or immediate family. Instead, it suggests that a community, including extended family, neighbours, and friends, play a crucial role in nurturing, guiding, and supporting a child as they grow and learn-this same analogy could be used in the case of homeless persons.
FEATURED IMAGE: Tyrone Korie, a homeless man in Braamfontein packing all his belongings into a plastic bag and getting ready to take a walk. Photo: Sfundo Parakozov
Soon, the city of Joburg will be sinking in its own rubbish
Piles of waste next to the road in Johannesburg’s CBD. Photo: Ayanda Mgwenya
While walking through Johannesburg’s CBD, it is difficult to ignore the amount of rubbish that coats the inner city’s streets. Bree Street, which was recently hit by a gas explosion, is now filled with some of the waste that is carried throughout the city and blown around by the wind, into the raptured road.
However, a more pressing issue lies hidden within Johannesburg’s landfills, which are meant to accommodate the continuously increasing piles of waste from the streets and illegal dumping grounds.
The current operating landfills in Johannesburg, namely: Goudkoppies Landfill Site, Marie Louis Landfill Site, Genesis Landfill Site, and Robinson Deep Landfill Site, are running out of space to dispose of waste rapidly produced by the increasing population of residents living in Johannesburg.
A report, compiled by, Kobus Otto & Associates Waste Management Consultants, a professional civil engineering organisation with extensive experience in waste management, titled Current Status of Landfill Airspace in Gauteng, which is affiliated with the Institute of Waste Management of Southern Africa (IWMSA), states that these landfills have less than five years before they close.
According to the DA’s Shadow MMC of Public Safety, Michael Sun, who spoke to SowetanLiveduring his time as the MMC for Environment and Infrastructure Services, said, “There is a critical need for waste reduction in that the city’s existing landfills are running out of airspace at a very fast rate.” This could mean that the current operating landfills in Johannesburg are close to exceeding the benchmark of their airspace capacity.
Robinsons Landfill
Situated in industrial peripheries of Turffontein is the Robinsons Deep Landfill Site. It is the largest and oldest landfill in the city and has been in operation since 1933.
As you arrive at Robinson Landfill, the first thing that strikes you is the sight of the towering mountains, but instead of its natural greenery, they are composed of an overwhelming amount of waste.
Going further up the mountain, the waste thickens. Piles upon piles of discarded items strewn about, accompanied by an overwhelming and repulsive stench that will assault your senses – with waste pickers actively searching for anything valuable – be it plastic, glass or cardboard for recycling.
“The waste pickers are there illegally, in terms of our license, they are not supposed to be there.”
Donald Radingoana
You will find a variety of waste such Municipal Solid Waste (MSW): This is the most common type of domestic waste and includes everyday items like food scraps, packaging materials, newspapers, clothing, plastics, glass, paper products, and other common household materials.
Organic waste, such as food waste, garden waste (including leaves, branches, and grass clippings), and other biodegradable materials, is also commonly deposited in landfills.
Building rubble (concrete from demolished structures, including foundations, walls, bricks and pavement), and other hazardous materials like cleaning chemicals, pesticides, batteries, and electronic waste is found in the landfill too.
All of this waste is combined without proper sorting, forming unorganized piles. Large trucks queue up one after the other, from as early as 09:00 to as late as 20:00, to deposit this waste in the landfill. This is a daily on-going process and without massive effective recycling methods, the waste will continue to pile up.
Wits Vuvuzela interviewed Donald Radingoana, the general manager for landfill operations at Pikitup who said, “what determines the lifespan of a landfill is the capacity [airspace]. Every now and then, the surveyor comes and surveys the stockpile [of waste]” to determine the height of the pile. According to their license which determines the capacity, Radingoana said that the total capacity of the landfill is 25 000 000m3, and Robinsons has occupied 24 000 000m3 which leaves the landfill with only 1 000 000m3 remaining, and this airspace can keep them operating for four years.
Waste scattered at the Robinsons landfill. Photo: Ayanda Mgwenya
Waste management entity
Pikitup, a subsidiary of the City of Johannesburg (CoJ), serves as the primary waste management service provider within the CoJ. Its core responsibilities encompass the collection and disposal of household waste, carried out through the operation of four distinct landfills across Johannesburg. On a weekly basis, Pikitup delivers waste management services to 1.4 million formal households and 260 informal settlements in Johannesburg.
Pikitup has two primary objectives. The first objective is to achieve “Zero waste to landfills by 2022,” aligning with the global best practice standard, which stipulates that only 10% of the waste stream should be disposed of in landfills”.
The second key objective of Pikitup is to promote recycling. Recycling is essential in the reduction of the amount of waste sent to landfills and extracting maximum value from the waste stream.
Unfortunately, Pikitup has not been able to meet its own objectives in the reduction of waste sent to the landfills. Currently, only 13% of the waste in Johannesburg undergoes recycling, indicating that the combined efforts of all landfills result in recycling less waste than they generate.
How much waste does the city produce?
The volume of waste generated by the residents of the city has increased significantly. With an increasing monthly population of 3000-5000 people every month, according to Sun in an interview with the Daily Maverick, more waste is yet to be generated. This means that as more people come into the city, the consumption of products and use of resources increases, thus, more waste is generated into the city.
The Association for Water and Rural Development, which is a nonprofit organization dedicated to implementing research-driven, multidisciplinary projects and addresses issues of sustainability, conducted a study in 2019. It found that, “every single person (in South Africa) generates up to 2,5 kilograms of waste per day, depending on his or her level of income.” The CoJ collects approximately 6000 tonnes of waste every single day.
This tells us that increased waste production can lead to environmental issues, such as land and water pollution, if waste is not managed properly. It can also pose health risks, as improper disposal and open dumping can lead to the spread of diseases and contamination of air and water sources. Extensive waste generation can also result in increased economic costs for waste collection and disposal.
The New York State Department of Health states that, “Landfill gas contains many different gases. Methane and carbon dioxide makes up 90 to 98% of landfill gas. The remaining 2 to 10% includes nitrogen, oxygen, ammonia, sulfides, hydrogen and various other gases. Landfill gases are produced when bacteria break down organic waste.”
Simply put, high greenhouse gas emissions signify an increased release of gases like carbon dioxide into the atmosphere, contributing to global warming and climate change. This amplifies the carbon footprint, as it measures one’s environmental impact in terms of emissions. A high carbon footprint indicates greater environmental harm, requiring urgent reduction efforts for sustainability.
According to Pikitup, the city produces over 1.4 million tons of waste per year, and this excludes illegal dumping.
The recycling area adjacent to the Booysen community serves as a processing hub. Here waste pickers smash, compress and dampen recyclables before transporting these processed materials to recycling entities. Photo: Ayanda MgwenyaWaste pickers at Robinson landfill look through waste after a garbage truck disposes waste at Robinsons landfill. Photo: Ayanda Mgwenya
Radingoana said that there are no machines for processing domestic waste, but only crushers, which is the equipment used to recycle builders’ rubble. Which means that the majority of the food scraps go to the landfill. When a landfill contains higher amounts of organic waste, it results in increased production of landfill gases.
The landfill (Robinsons Deep) depends on private recycling companies, which recycle waste. These companies select the waste they want and handle the sorting themselves. Any waste they reject is transported back to the landfill site by Pikitup trucks.
Licensing a new landfill
Securing a new landfill site is a process that requires extensive regulation and. Radingoana said, “the process of applying for a permit takes plus-minus two years.” He told Wits Vuvuzela that Robinson Deep bought land next to it, to extend the life of the existing landfill to avoid applying for decommissioning. He said that they have started the process of applying for a permit for the new site because getting a permit after decommissioning is not easy and are doing this before they reach the capacity of 25 000 000m3.
“Spokesperson of Pikitup, Muzi Mkhwanazu said, “Pikitup and the City are involved in discussion for the purchase of land for future airspace. Phase 1 of the Feasibility studies is completed. The site identified is suitable for landfilling and the discussions with the City [of Joburg] for the release of land has been favourably concluded.”
The construction of a landfill itself is another process altogether. Radingoana claims that the cost of constructing a new site with a lifespan of over 20 years (such as Robinson Deep) is R200 million and can take more than five years for it to start operating.
The aim is to ensure that the new land is secured and ready for the expansion of the existing landfill before Robinson Deep runs out of airspace to avoid being non-compliant, and spaceless for additional waste.
License compliance: Waste Pickers at the landfill
Siyabonga Zungu, a frequent waste picker at Robinson Deep said, “I come here almost every day, this is how I make a living.” He said that he stays at the community of Booysen (which is next to the landfill) with his girlfriend whom he met two years ago and is also waste picker. He told Wits Vuvuzela that he has been a waste reclaimer for six years now and moves around in various dumps to collect waste and take it to entities that are looking for recyclables. He said that he has been reclaiming waste at Robinson for two years and six months.
“It very dangerous to do this kind of work, sometimes fights would start randomly because people steal other people’s waste here inside the landfill then things would just get out of hand.” He told Wits Vuvuzela that his family in Kwazulu-Natal (KZN) where he comes from does not know that he is a waste picker. He told them that he is an entrepreneur that sells electrical equipment like earphones and phone chargers.
The National Environmental Management: Waste Act of 2008 is responsible for ensuring and regulating that the national standards of waste management such as licensing, contaminated land restoration, waste information systems, compliance and enforcement are well reinforced.
This means that landfill owners have to secure a waste management license in order to fully function with well-managed facilities, strict monitoring and a properly engineered site.
According to Radingoana, “The waste pickers are there [at Robinsons Deep] illegally; in terms of our license, they are not supposed to be there.”
The Minimum Requirements for Waste Disposal by Landfill, Second Edition 1998, issued by the Department of Water Affairs and Forestry, discourages waste reclamation at landfill sites. If a license holder chooses to permit controlled reclamation at a general waste disposal site, they must request permission either when applying for their waste management license or by amending an existing permit/license.
The operation of landfills involves various expenses related to construction, operation, maintenance, compliance, and long-term care.
Financial resources are essential to ensure that landfills function safely, environmentally responsibly, and in accordance with regulations. Radiongoana said that the City budgets R100 million for the four operating landfills in total, which means that Robinson receives R25 million every year, and “is not enough” to effectively ensure that all the operations run smoothly.
Homes at the community of Booysen built from old planks, paper, plastic and sail covers. Photo by: Ayanda Mgwenya
The houses at the community of Booysen not far from the Robinsons landfill. Photo by: Ayanda Mgwenya
The community comprises immigrants from Zimbabwe, Mozambique, Lesotho, Malawi and Zambia. The community also houses immigrants who come from different parts of the country. Photo by: Ayanda Mgwenya
New developments
Radingoana said that he is currently in the process of refurbishing a structure at Robinsons Deep which he calls Material Recovery Facility (MRF) where the sorting of waste will take place. He said, “any truck that goes into the landfill, must first go dump waste at MRF where the sorting will be done in order to recover raw material.” He said anything that will not be unrecyclable or non-material will go to landfill site to be buried.
The law stipulates that a landfill has to be 500 kilometers away from the residents. However, as the city develops, more people come into the city, some moving towards the outskirts of the city and reaching even the industrialised areas of the city which were not initially intended for communities.
Johannesburg faces a looming landfill crisis, with existing sites nearing capacity. Despite efforts by Pikitup and regulations in place, waste generation outpaces recycling. The city urgently needs new landfill space, highlighting the complex challenges of waste management in a rapidly growing urban landscape.
FEATURED IMAGE: A Pikitup truck leaves Robinsons landfill after disposing some of Johannesburg’s waste. Photo by: Ayanda Mgwenya
Covid-19 and the subsequent lockdown have had a devastating impact on many business owners and employees. Included in this scenario are foreign nationals and undocumented people who have had to try to pick themselves up in usually packed commercial trade areas such as Fordsburg and China Mall, experiencing low recovery .
The ability to easily find parking on the usually packed and busy streets of Fordsburg on a Saturday where road rage, traffic and double parking were a staple no more, was already a tell-tale sign of the devastatingeffect the covid-19 pandemic has had on businesses and their employees.
Many were forced to shut their doors for over three months, with no source of income,after the hard lockdown was implemented in South Africa on March 27. This resulted in more than three million jobs being lost between February and April, and over 1.5 million people who had jobs but no pay, according to a Nids-Cram surveyof 7000 people. Some were able to keep their businesses and jobs, but are still far from full recovery.
Fordsburg, a hub for foreign-owned businesses and migrant workers, started off as a place where locals and foreigners would sell goods in the open Fordsburg Square flea market. This created an affordable marketplace for selling a variety of items such as fruits and vegetables, Indian and Pakistani spices, replica clothing items and pirated DVDs.
The opportunities for foreigners grew with the influx of shoppers looking for affordable haircuts, groceries, food stalls and established restaurants. The conflicting aromas of the different restaurants were soon overtaken by the scent of curries and chicken tikka, the sweet smell of hubbly bubbly flavours, and incense as Indian, Pakistani, Bangladeshi and Egyptian nationals saw the growth of the commercial trade in the area. This allowed foreigners to generate sufficient revenue to open shops, and created a sense of community and a piece of their home countries as they drew on their common nationalities.
South Africa in general has been an economic magnet for many migrants searching for better job opportunities, but a true indication of the numbers is hard to quantify. It is estimated by the African Centre for Migration and Societythat there were two million international migrants of working age (15-64) in South Africa in 2017, representing 5.3% of the country’s labour force. The International Organisation for Immigration’s (IOM’s) 2020 World Migration report estimates that this number is as high as 4.2 million as of 2019, accounting for 7.2% of the population.
A couple scorned by lockdown woes
With the lockdown, however, Fordsburg has struggled to regain its allure. On the now desolate Park Drivestands a beauty parlour that was forced to close its doors for three months due to its “non-essential” status. Only those that provided food, medicine, banking services, healthcare, fuel, internet and municipal services could remain open.
The parlour owner, Samim Patel, does threading, waxing, facials and cuts hair. But upon entering her shop, now overflowing with her one-year-old’s toys, she was found sitting in anticipation, for just one customer to walk in. Looking out at the empty streets, a slow reminiscent smile spread over her face as she said, “Before the lockdown, we never even had the time to eat. I even remember those days when I used to have a biscuit and water and carry on working, because there was no time to eat.”
“I don’t really get customers anymore. Sometimes I get R20 and sometimes nothing at all“
Her shop of seven years, which used to open from 8am to 8pm, now with the lack of foot traffic sometimes opens at 10am and closes at 3pm.
Regardless of many businesses opening their doors again, the fear of contracting covid-19 has overpowered the desire to seek grooming. Samim’s smile quickly vanished as she brought herself back to the present, “I don’t really get customers anymore. Sometimes I get R20 and sometimes nothing at all. I had regular customers for 10, 12 years. They’ll phone or message and ask how am I, how’s the baby, but they don’t want to come because they’re scared of covid.”
Sameer Patel, her husband, felt the full brunt of the lockdown as his one-year-old business venture went up in smoke. He had to completely close down his newly established curtain shops in Ormonde and Boksburg. The word “tension” was uttered frequently, and his face crumpled when asked about his shops. Both he and his wife struggled with sleeping and eating because of the stress over the future of their businesses.
“It’s a terrible feeling. I can’t sleep,” he said as his face turned red, sweat streamed down his forehead and hisfists clenched.
Terrified that her shop could close too, and with the burden of owing thousands in accumulating rent,Samim said, “Some of the nights I couldn’t even sleep. I didn’t know what was going to happen. There’s food on the table, but you can’t eat because you’re stressing. Until today, days are like that.”
Sameer was reluctant to speak about the loss, but the little he did say caused water to well up in the bottom of his eyes. Fighting to hold back his tears as they threatened to fall, he said, “I don’t want to talk about it because it’s really stressing me. I was opening a big business and bought a truck for it, but it didn’t work just because of the lockdown. I sold all the things under cost, so it’s actually costing me more than R500 000.” His employees were paid with whatever he had left, and went back to previous work.
The lockdown affected the economy immensely as South Africa’s GDP contracted by 51% in quarter two.The government, to minimise the impact of covid-19, offered relief to businesses in the form of the Debt Relief Fund and the Unemployment Insurance Fund (UIF). A special covid-19 social relief of distress grant of R350 a month was also set up for those that lost employment.
The Debt Relief Fund was aimed at small businesses that experienced financial difficulties during the lockdown. The requirements, however, automatically excluded this group as businesses had to be 100% owned by South African citizens, at least 70% of the employees had to be South African nationals and they had to be tax-compliant and registered with SARS. Sameer and Samim, armed with only work permits, were not eligible for this fund.
The many hoops to jump through
Many shopslocated in one of Fordsburg’s main attractions, the Oriental Plaza, saw the same fate as the lockdown took the familiar overcrowding of shoppers away. Built in the 1970s as a shopping centre for Indian traders,because of its low prices itbecame a haven for bargain hunters where finding space to even walk, was difficult.Bursting with a multitude of shops, the Plaza sells curtains, kitchenware, colourful fabrics and traditional Indian clothes.
Opposite the now strangely deserted parking lot of the Plaza stands a small barbershop, which can house only three customers at a time. Outside the barbershop sits 46-year-old Indian national Imtiyaz Shaik, with his single employee standing in the doorway with the same look of anticipation and desperation as Samim.
Malawian national, Etoo Kuiuwangu, learnt how to make all types of Indian cuisine when he came to South Africa in 2014 in the hopes that he could build his repertoire of skills and always be employable. He prepares the different curries, biryanis, butter chicken and mixes and rolls out the roti dough at Sheth’s Chinal Mall restaurant. Photo: Zainab Patel.
The lockdown led to a 26% increase in food insecurity and hunger, due to income shocks and job losses. The Nids-Cram survey found that 47% of respondents reported that their households ran out of money to buy food in April 2020.
Shaik has three children, and worry occupied his days as he experienced difficulty buying groceries, paying school fees and the uncertainty that still surrounds his barbershop. But with the help of his friends and clients bringing him groceries during that time, he was able to get by.
The UIF provided funds to registered companies unable to pay their employees. This meant that foreign nationals who were not legally documented or legally employed were not eligible to receive this. As of October 27, R1.6 billion has been paid to declared foreign nationals, but there are still delays, with them receiving their payments much later than their South African counterparts. The reasoning provided by the UIF was that its system uses ID numbers and does not recognise passport numbers, as well as extra verification processes required for foreign nationals.
Instructions on how to apply for government relief, and the rules pertaining to who could receive it, caused confusion among some foreign nationals. Shaik explained, “The government announced that they want to help, but actually we don’t know the process and rules of going to government for help. They said they were going to give you a link to go through. But I try, I try, how many times I try to get through the link, but I can’t get it right.”
The China Mall in Crown Mines, like the Plaza, is perfectlydesigned for foreigners as it allows shop owners to conduct business under the radar with many who do not pay tax. Bordered by large containers of goods, China Mall is famous for its cheap products ranging from clothes and bridal wear to toys, homeware and electronics. It is also where traders come to buy in bulk, with the cheap wholesale prices.
China Mall has been largely affected by the pandemic due to the stigma surrounding the mall and Chinese nationals. Finding parking was abnormally easy when visiting this bargain-filled mall,which has now seen an influx of PPE and infrared thermometers occupying several shops. Many shops that it previously housed are non-existent due to the loss of customers and the high rentals, ranging from R20 000 to R90 000, depending on size. This is due to the intense competition in the mall and the high volumes of passing trade, where whoever offers to pay more rent gets the space.
Located west of the mall is a food court owned mainly by foreign nationals and which shut down in February, before the lockdown, because of that stigma. One of the businesses was Anish Sheth’sfast food restaurant, which left him and his employees without a salary for four months. This is because he pays his employees on a per day basis,as most of his employees are undocumented and therefore do not want to be on the employees register. This automatically excludes them from the UIF, Debt Relief Fund and R350 grant.
UNDESA estimates there are 100 000 Malawian and 376 668 Mozambican migrant workers in South Africa, driven by the prospect of better jobsand escaping the poverty of their home countries. EtooKuiuwangu, an undocumented Malawian national, and MalemuBaleaa, an undocumented Mozambican national, work for Sheth making all types of Indian food in an aroma-filled, tiny corner next to the main kitchen of the restaurant.
“It’s very difficult, because when you don’t have any money it’s fucked up“
Mozambican national, Malemu Baleaa, starts the fire to make the naan (flatbread) for the day. He works non-stop for nine hours from Monday to Sunday making rotis, chicken tikka, parathas and naan in this tiny green corner where him and Kuiuwangu prepare the food at the restaurant. Photo: Zainab Patel
Kuiuwanga spoke of receiving no money during this time. “It’s very difficult, because when you don’t have any money it’s fucked up. There’s not even supper, sometimes.” He had to lend from people to try and look after his wife and two-year-old son.
Baleaa, who has been working there for 13 years, expressed the same, with having to look after three children. “During the lockdown I took credit from someone. Now I’m working so I can pay them. It’s a little bit better now, but it’s not yet 100%.”
“I just came to work because I don’t have any choice. I’m going to do what? Nothing“
The financial impact of those months of complete shutdown, according to Sheth, resulted in a loss of approximately R800 000. “Now, as a business, it’s not like before because people are still scared to come to the restaurant, especially China Mall.” He explained that they are not making their turnover, which was previously about R300 000 a month. With an average loss of R100 000, their turnover now ranges from R180 000 to R190 000.
Given their undocumented status, Kuiuwanga was stoic about his non-payment during that time, but displayed a tinge of anger when speaking about it. “I’m working here for five years, but I never get anything. So when he [Sheth] opened in May, I just came to work because I don’t have any choice. I’m going to do what? Nothing.” He is using the money that he is making now to slowly pay back the loan he took out.
Some business owners, like Samim and Shaik, await the new year in hopes that it will return to normal, using what little income they make now. Sheth extended his restaurant hours from nine hours to 12. “Recovery is nothing. Still we are struggling and battling with reversing all of that [the financial impact of the lockdown].”
Others, like Sameer, have sought employment elsewhere. He went from owning his own curtain shops to working in someone else’s curtain shop: “You have to do anything, anyhow, because if you have a family you can’t just sit with your hands, you have to do something to get food for your family and everything else.”
The closure of borders and implementation of lockdown regulations to combat covid-19 in South Africa have had consequences for the wellbeing of foreign nationals, many of whomwrestled with the separation of their families and uncertainty over their migration status.
During level 2 -5 lockdown, Home Affairs offices across South Africa only operated for limited services, making it difficult for foreign nationals to apply for the necessary documentation to remain in the country. Photo: Zinhle Belle
Asuitcase packed for England seven months previously obstructs the walkway as it occupies twothirds of the entrance to the Umeala household.
Its owner, Chioma Umeala (23), has no intention of unpacking her baggage. Her family do not question when she will remove it, despite it causing mild chest congestion, as it packs dust.
What you can still smell when you approach it, is the cologne of her father, who had helped her carry the bag down the stairs.
A father’s final send-off, disrupted by the travel ban
Unlike other students, Umeala’s decision to suspend her academic year abroad was not influenced by the outbreak of covid-19, but induced by her father’s deteriorating health.
Samuel ‘Sonny’ Umeala (61), a Nigerian–born architect who had lived in South Africa for more than 25 years, lost his battle with an illness on Father’s Day, June 21, in his home in Johannesburg during level–three lockdown.
Like many, the spread of covid-19 had scared Baba Umeala. Thus, his avoidance of a hospital to evade contracting the virus proved as deadly, as he did not receive due treatment for the illness he was fighting.
The father’s day present anticipated for Baba Umeala has been placed next to a portrait of his family as a tribute to him after his death on June 21. Photo: Zinhle Belle.
For his last Father’s Day, his four girls and last-born son created collages and cards to honour him. Tragedy apprehended their family in the early hours of Sunday morning, however, as condolence messages poured in for the loss of their father.
The reality the Umealas now faced included the logistical weight of planning a funeral under lockdown, which could accommodate their transnational identity.
A home usually filled with the posture of a father guiding his family, transitioned overnight into a battlefield where two nationalities would butt heads for the legitimacy of funeral practices.
In Nigerian culture, a person is meant to be buried in the land where they originated. As a result, his family in Nigeria expected his body to be sent home, for themto carry out the related customs.
Chioma Umeala explains that a burial in Nigeria can take up to six months to plan, as it is described as “the biggest event of a person’s life”.
Putting pressure on their father’s funeral was the policy of procedures for burial under lockdown, which stated that a mortuary may not keep a body for longer than 10 days from the date of death.
Another hurdle they faced during level–three lockdown was the travel ban, which had only been relaxed for the mild commencement of interprovincial travel for business purposes.
Funeral arrangements were impossible to deploy not only due to the limited travel methods, but also by the inflated price of flights caused by the pandemic’s meltdown of the economy.
This meant Baba Umeala’s Nigerian family were not able to come to South Africa to bury their relative.
The family wereburdenednot only with the emotional trauma of this significant loss, but also the moral considerations of the possible customary consequences for not carrying out certain traditions accordingly. Umeala said, “With my father, knowing his culture, he knew that Nigeria is where he would have ended up.”
The situation resulted in major conflict and anger between the two sides of the family as the borders seemed to become a physical barrier that solidified their detachment.
“This was the hardest part of burying my father, as we knew we had an obligation to send him back, but as a family who grew up in South Africa, we could only carry out the customs we were familiar with, that would give us the best closure,” said Umeala.
Three months after his death, the ban has now been lifted, which has triggered disagreement and resentment as his Nigerian family seek the same closureafforded his immediate family.
Similar circumstances followed for foreign nationals who saw themselves experiencing family displacement caused by the travel ban.
The separation of families across borders
AlouiseMatekenya (51) sits in an empty office, still set with work-from-home regulations. He positions himself at his desk, eyes glued to a calendar indicating the arrival of October, which to him can only represent the seventh month of the lockdown. What occupies his mind is when he will be reunited with his wife and children, who he has not seen since December 2019.
Many foreign nationals like him, with employment in South Africa, faced insecurity of their mobility as movement across borders was restricted. Regulations such as the travel ban were initiated from March 18, in preparation for the lockdown strategy known as the National State of Disaster Management Act.
Separated by only a border, the wife of Alouise, MaMatekenya, remained in Zimbabwe, where she ran their business. The two parents used their phones to regularly negotiate their parenting plan, as she took guard of their twin boys,who attend school in Zimbabwe.
During this period, Matekenya navigated involuntary single parenthood in South Africa as he became the primary caregiver for his three other children, who remained with him.
“It was very difficult to manage the kids on my own. They were used to their mother coming periodically to check on them as well. Making the kids stay in the house was the most difficult thing to do,’’ said Matekenya.
Outside of the emotional and socio-economic deprivation caused by the lockdown, Matekenya expressed how the risk of poor health was a lingering thought during the pandemic.
his association with the virus was set to its “worst possible outcome being death”
Like others, Matekenya experienced the dread of contracting the disease. During this week of level–two lockdown, infections in South Africa had reached a stark 650 000 cases, with deaths sitting at 15 500. After witnessing the decline of a colleague’s condition, it alarmed Matekenya to know that of the 495 deaths recorded that week, one was that of his colleague.
From this point onwards, Matekenya said, his association with the virus was set to its “worst possible outcome being death”.
Without direct access to his wife for support, a petrified Matekenya described himself as “the most vulnerable member of the family this side”, as he entered self-isolation.
Due to the level of responsibility on his shoulders to care and provide for his family, he had to put on a brave face for his children, while attempting to suppress thoughts of what would happen without his presence, or inability to stand in good health.
To him, his three children in South Africa, all under the age of 12, bore the risk of vulnerability, if left alone in an environment where separation for “health and safety were the government’s first priority.”
Throughout the global lockdown, countries have offered repatriation flights to people who wish to return to their country. To some people, this gesture served as an outlet to reunite families. However, such flights to South Africa were exclusive to citizens and those with residency, thus limiting the ability of those with working or tourist visas to return to the country.
The implementation of the travel ban on March 18, as one of the first lockdown policies in South Africa restricted non-citizen and residential travel into and out of the country as a means to control the spread of covid-19. Photo: Zinhle Belle.
During the scramble of countries closing their borders to manage the spread of the novel virus, many expatriates had to make the decision of remaining in the area they were in or returning home.
In South Africa, decisions for migrants to remain were factored on “considering South Africa as their home,others felt the covid-19 pandemic was global and could be contracted anywhere, while some indicated that they feared they’d be unable to re-enter South Africa,” according to the “Social impact of COVID-19” research conducted by Stats SA on July 27.
Speaking to the Cape Argus newspaper, the dean of socialscience at the University of KwaZulu-Natal, Vivian BesemOjong said, “The primary response [by the government] is to usually focus on its citizens, and when the borders closed governments mainly put focus on their own residents.”
The ramifications of lockdown policies, aimed at guarding the wellbeing of citizens, create a window of vulnerability for foreign nationals as they are not identified as beneficiaries of that protection. Consequently, they must submit to policies that do not safeguard their welfare.
Yet in instances where one returned home, like MaMatekenya, the only option was to sit steadily in Zimbabwe for months, without clarity on when she would be reunited with her family. What was initially estimated as a 21-day lockdown in South Africa has extended past seven months, with no clear endpoint.
“Like any other person, she felt cut off from the physical family union for a very long time. Naturally, her freedom of movement to see family was prohibited,” said Matekenya.
With the financial instability caused by the pandemic, Matekenyasaid the earliest arrangement for his wife to visit, with the reopening of borders, has been made for November 2020 – a year after their separation.
Not only did lockdown policy affect movement, but it also had an impact on the renewal of visas and residency applications, which foreign nationals rely on to maintain legitimacy in South Africa.
The limited services offered by home affairs caused uncertainty for foreign nationals
Connor Sim (24), a Scottish citizen working as a private wealth banker in Cape Town, returned to Scotland in February 2020, due to a change of employment in South Africathat required a visa renewal.
In his statement on “Measures to combat the covid-19 epidemic” on March 15, President Ramaphosa announced a travel ban on foreign nationals from high-risk countries, effective from March 18. On that list was the United Kingdom.
As a result, Sim was prevented from returning to South Africa. Such measures by the government did not make exceptions for foreign nationals who had affairs in the country.
When the lockdown came into operation on March 23, the Department of Home Affairs announced it would be offering limited essential services, restricted to the issuing of “temporary IDs, birth and death certificates”.
This caused distress for foreign nationals who remained in the country past the expiry date of their permits or visas, as they risk being labelled as “undesirable people”.
Section 30(1)(h) of the Immigration Act 13 of 2002, as amended by Act 13 of 2011, states the consequences of overstaying in South Africa asdeportation and a ban for a period of five years or more.
Permit holders whose documents expired no earlier than February 2020 were granted validity until an amended date, which has been extended to January 31, 2021.
Foreign Nationals with visas that expired during the South African lockdown are permitted to remain in the country until January 31, 2021, under the ‘extension of visa’ measures issued by the Department of Home Affairs. Photo: Zinhle Belle.
This grace afforded them bears the emotional stigma carried by undocumented foreign nationals as they often face discrimination from citizens and intimidation by the police.
“The Bill of Rights was not suspended by the initiation of the Disaster Management Act, however, there was a lack of consideration on the means of survival for foreign nationals”
“South Africa’s Immigration and Refugee Act is inclusive and progressive but there is no political will to ensure that there is the equal implementation of the law,” said Sharon Ekambaram, Head of Refugee and Migrant Rights Programme at Lawyers for Human Rights, Johannesburg.
“The Bill of Rights was not suspended by the initiation of the Disaster Management Act, however, there was a lack of consideration on the means of survival for foreign nationals,” said Ekambaram.
With the closure of embassies, foreign nationals had limited avenues to enquire about the terms of their stay or requests for aid from South Africa.
Sim described the preliminary period of lockdown as “walking through the unknown.”As he fought to withhold adjusting to the possibility of relocating back to Scotland. This deliberation was caused by the growing uncertainty of when he would return to South Africa.
Speaking on the lack of resources for foreign nationals to remain informed, Ekambaram said, “there was no effort for the government to share these messages on a community level.”
A clueless Sim, desperate for information on when travel would open, grew tired of typing variations of the same question, on his laptop, one of the few possessions, which he had not left in South Africa.
His rigorous efforts were not met with the same urgency as President Ramaphosa would only give South Africa updates every three to four weeks.
“Around June, July [three months into lockdown], the thoughts started creeping in, I struggled to visualise my future in South Africa and felt like I had little possibility of returning to South Africa,” said Sim.
The upliftment of the international travel ban, in October, under lockdown level one permitted Sim to return to South Africa to resume his employment.
However, the future of many other migrants in the country remains ambiguous as they camp outside an open Home Affairs department waiting for their visas to be processed.
Although the initiation of lockdown level one has facilitated a form of normality with the relaxation of policies, for many foreign nationals a constant negotiation of their agency was the fight they endured for remaining in a foreign country during the lockdown.
FEATURED IMAGE: The Alexandra Home Affairs office remains crowded since its resumption of full services at the beginning of level one lockdown on October 1, as people have been inquiring about the status of their documents. Photo: Zinhle Belle.
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