According to the Quarterly Labour Force Survey released by Statistics South Africa on August 13, 2024, the unemployment rate in South Africa has increased from 32.9% in the first quarter of the year to 33.5% in the second quarter. Unemployment has increased in the second quarter of each year since 2019.
FEATURED IMAGE: Poster saying ‘help unemployed graduates’, held by a rally attendee. Photo: File
New partnership for Tshimologong encourages digital skills development By Onke Ngcuka Five innovation hubs, including Tshimologong Digital Innovation Precint, have joined hands to tackle unemployment and the lack of skills development within the...
LEADING THE NATION: NUMSA supporters leading the charge against unemployment with sticks and loudspeakers on 19 March 2014 at Zoo Lake. Photo: Luke Matthews
Increasing youth unemployment was the key reason for a march that started at Johannesburg’s picturesque Zoo Lake earlier today.
The National Union of Mineworkers of South Africa (NUMSA) went on strike today to highlight the high level of unemployment amongst youth in South Africa.
Numsa reported that youth unemployment in South Africa is the third-highest in the world and also said that every one in four people are unemployed in the county. The union added that 71 percent of all unemployed people in South Africa are between the ages of 15 to 29.
There were a number of protesters in EFF (Economic Freedom Fighters), t-shirts at the march along with miners and migrant workers. There were also a few protesters in ANC (African National Congress), t-shirts despite Numsa’s decision not to campaign for the ANC this year. The union said the ANC is an anti-working class party and they don’t provide enough jobs and services for people.
VIDEO: The marchers assembled at Zoo Lake in Johannesburg.
The Numsa protesters went from Zoo Lake to the National Economic Development and Labour Council (Nedlac) offices in Rosebank. The march was a peaceful one with singing and dancing during talks given by speakers.
Wits economics students Nadia Kruger and Michael Levin were among the winners of the Budget Speech Competition where they showcased some arguments for electricity problems and unemployment.
Kruger, a Masters in Economic Science student came second in the postgraduate category and received a cash prize of R60 000. Levin, a third year BCom Economics and Finance student was placed third in the undergraduate category and received a cash prize of R10 000.
The competition is organised and sponsored by Nedbank and Old Mutual. Economics students were invited to submit an essay, with proposed strategies for economic growth. The competition is aimed to inspire potential, young economists to apply the theory they learn in class to the South African economy. At Wits it is compulsory for third year and honours economics students to participate.
[pullquote]Levin argued that vocational skills development were in short supply in South Africa and it had to be addressed as a short term solution.[/pullquote]
Postgraduates had to find solutions to South Africa’s electricity crisis while considering environmental issues and the effect on small businesses and the economy. Kruger argued that to achieve the goals of the National Development Plan to promote economic growth, an increased supply of reliable and quality electricity was necessary.
Kruger suggested that in the long run more electricity should be provided efficiently, at lower prices by independent power producers of renewable energy. A short term solution should be to keep electricity price increases gradual, to have a minimum effect on the economy. Preferential tariffs for the poor and small businesses should also be introduced, Kruger said.
Undergraduates had to write about the causes of youth unemployment which was particularly high in South Africa, and propose solutions. Levin, a second year at the time, competed with third years.
Levin argued that vocational skills development were in short supply in South Africa and it had to be addressed as a short term solution. Levin explained that the youth wage subsidy is useful to reduce unemployment. It provides a tax break to companies who employ people under a certain age. According to Levin, it made the cost of employing someone lower for a company because the government paid part of the wage, lowering the risk tied to employing a youth.
Winners were announced at the budget speech competition banquet in February, held after the budget speech was presented at Parliament. Some of the highlights for both winners were meeting former and current ministers of finance, Trevor Manuel and Pravin Gordhan. It was also a good opportunity for finalists to network. “It was such a great opportunity to meet my fellow, young economists and to make connections with them. It was really enjoyable,” said Kruger.
In Johannesburg, the status of a “world-class city” is measured by the hours, not just its economic output.
By 5am, Gauteng’s workforce is already in motion, streaming in from across the province towards the City of Gold that is Johannesburg. It is a daily mass pilgrimage made not just on the clean, rapid lines of the Gautrain, or the humming rows of traffic from the city’s suburbs but also on the crammed, frantic routes of taxi ranks and bus stops. It’s a real reflection of the country’s geographical challenges, and daily obligations of citizens earning their pay.
A morning sunrise in Rosebank Photo: Katlego Makhutle
This collective of largely hidden figures is the true pulse of Johannesburg, with millions of individual sacrifices made by those determined to “Dala what they must”, which means to do what you can in any situation – or to simply survive long enough to make their dreams come true. For the average South African citizen, the early alarm clock ringing at 6:24am isn’t a badge of honour branding them a ‘morning person’.
South Africa has been noted to have the world’s earliest risers. The reason behind this eye-opening average is brutally practical; many people get up early to plan for their daily commute to work. It is considered the norm for many citizens to get up as early as 4am, which is often to avoid the delays caused by bustling morning traffic.
Most South Africans rely on complex public transport routes, required to beat peak morning traffic or take lengthy walks across concrete pillars, so an exceptionally early start is the only way to conquer the long, arduous commutes from distant homes to city-based workspaces. The enduring legacy of Apartheid’s spatial planning has forced many Johannesburg workers into gruelling daily commutes to and from their jobs. Historically segregated townships remain distant from the central hubs of economic opportunity, which drastically impacts these workers’ hours and productivity. For some workers, it’s easier and more cost-efficient to stay in the Johannesburg region, in comparison to other parts of Gauteng.
Data visualization Photo: Katlego Makhutle
Vuka ma o lele!
Waking up at 6:24am is a necessity that underpins South Africa’s daily grind. The morning sunlight catches the dust motes on the windscreens of cars and taxis, as the masses travel toward the heart of the corporate hub, embodying a nearly spiritual commitment to the golden dream of a better life. The City of Johannesburg showcases an ambitious morning momentum that drives the engine of Africa’s biggest economic headquarters, where glass towers and tall buildings are symbols of the global economy reflected in Africa. These are the modern gold reefs of Johannesburg, representing the wealth and opportunity that draw talent from Pretoria and Soweto.
Kabelo Ramphele, a Chartered Accountant (CA) and Associate Director at KPMG, is not just measuring columns of figures; he is navigating the complex, high-stakes game of Johannesburg’s corporate environment. Raised in Soweto, his recent promotion was quickly followed by a life-defining milestone: signing his first official audit opinion. The gravity of this achievement is rooted in his journey, which was a demanding path that started with the challenge of earning a CA designation, which he recalls as the moment his “life completely changed.”
Ramphele stresses that the transition from student to entry-level employee to executive requires an aggressive shift in mindset, moving from self-directed studies to a defined accountability to corporate. “You need to go from, ‘I own my time’, to ‘my time is now paid for by someone else’,” he explains. For Ramphele, planning is the bedrock of his performance, noting the critical truth that “those who fail to plan, plan to fail.” His commitment to structure is evident even in his morning ritual: his alarm is set for 6:15am, though he admits he doesn’t fully wake up till 7am – with the very first order of business in the office being a cup of coffee.
“You’ve got to play the game…”
Ramphele views the workplace as a constantly evolving arena, a “game that you never knew existed.” Entering the corporate sector is not simply about conforming but mastering the art of observation. He advocates for authenticity as the ultimate tool for career longevity. “Authenticity will actually get you the furthest,” he asserts, reinforcing the need for difference to spark genuine change. For those who seek influence, he states the most important part of the game is “being at the table to play the game… I think the best leaders are observers. People who observe, they listen, they watch, then they act.”
Kabelo Ramphele, Chartered Accountant (CA) and Associate Director at KPMG Photo: Katlego Makhutle
Despite his focus on goal setting, Ramphele maintains a critical perspective on the relentless nature of the corporate grind. If he could change one thing about Johannesburg’s professional culture, it would be the pervasive “hustle mentality”, which he describes as a non-stop and non-productive action. He proposes that corporate burnout is merely a symptom of the same institutional inefficiency that the World Bank has cited as a primary impediment to South Africa’s desperately needed inclusive growth.
The World Bank recognises Johannesburg as the largest single metropolitan contributor to the national economy, holding around 16% of South Africa’s GDP and 40% of the GDP of Gauteng province. The estimated number of employed people sits at 2,06-million. The City of Johannesburg Annual Economic Review (2025) reports that the non-agricultural formal employment in Johannesburg makes up 1,69-million, out of the 10 million employees in South Africa. It is estimated that approximately 81.7% of Johannesburg’s labour market is in involved in formal employment.
While balancing the pressures of a demanding career with becoming a new father, Ramphele sees his primary professional role as driving change within a city that is increasingly “Africanised” by diverse, ambitious talent migrating from across the continent. He notes that the constant pressure to “go, go, go” often sacrifices the things that truly matter such as family, friends, and personal well-being. Reflecting on his own happiness, he finds a stark contrast between his disciplined adult life and the simple, unrestricted joy of his childhood, concluding that the pursuit of professional goals “doesn’t exude happiness.” Ramphele says that people seeking to enter the city’s corporate world must answer the call for balance, where success must be sustained-not just chased.
Infographic Photo: Katlego Makhutle
Don’t lose yourself under the city’s bright lights
Ayanda Tshabalala’s journey into the corporate world provides a sharp, contemporary portrait of a young female professional determined to succeed on her own terms. A manager of professional practice for Audit and Assurance at KPMG, her story is one of autonomy and the unyielding belief that corporate achievement should not come at the expense of personal peace or communal warmth. While Ramphele is focused on sitting at the table to play the game, Tshabalala is focused on maintaining her personal autonomy in the game that threatens to extinguish it.
Tshabalala admits that the transition from student to professional was “hard”, primarily because of the intense human friction she encountered as a CA, citing “micromanagers, who kind of makes you feel like they don’t trust you.” This initial struggle cemented her focus: her career would be defined by a fight for control over her personal space and time. For Tshabalala, maintaining that flexibility is non-negotiable because it is the critical factor that allows “a work-life balance as well.”
Her ambition is evidently not for status alone; her greatest achievement, she says, was “exceeding expectations” at work while simultaneously guarding her personal time. This priority on balance is informed by a global perspective she gained on her travels abroad. She contrasts her experience in London, whose culture she describes as “very rigid” and its people “very cold,” with her home city, where she notes that the social climate “is much warmer.” For a driven young woman in corporate, the culture must be balanced by the social connection and warmth that she often feels in Johannesburg.
Evolve or atrophy
Tshabalala’s perspective highlights a subtle distrust of traditional leadership, where she feels that the people who uphold dated corporate standards “don’t always think about the future.” Tshabalala’s narrative ultimately offers a model of success built not on playing a game, but on aiming to create an environment where authenticity and humanity can genuinely thrive alongside traditional models of success. Unlike looking up at the executive floor for change, Tshabalala places her faith in the influences from the ground up, believing that the true drivers of change are “the service staff and the young people.”
The person clocking into their shift at 6am to guard the main gates or the worker arriving to sterilise the executive floors, all who have travelled this journey still feel Apartheid’s legacy whilst navigating commutes that stretch into the hour-and-a-half range each way. They are essential to the city’s early morning buzz, part of the underpaid motion that provides the foundations for the city’s high-speed profits, a living, breathing reflection of South Africa’s persistently high Gini coefficient. So, the city presents itself not as a perfect metropolitan narrative, but in a dazzling yet deeply scarred duality.
One side offers the promise of prosperity, a place where fortunes are made and global capital flows freely. The other is a relentless struggle for dignity; a world where the proximity to wealth only amplifies its absence amongst the majority. My inquiry into the corporate world begins not just in the executive suite, but also at the perimeter, with the one figure whose vantage point sits on the fence of both realities: the security guard. Lindani Nkanini is the warm, uniformed witness to the systemic forces that elevate one’s life into a jet-setting career while others crash under the pressures of “making it”.
Keeping himself firmly rooted in the soil of his humble beginnings in KwaZulu-Natal, Nkanini’s story presents a view that asks the ultimate yet painful question: If Johannesburg is a world-class city, then who exactly can consider this city as ‘world-class’?
“Umuntu ngumuntu ngabantu!”
Born in Jozini, under uMhlabuyalingana District Municipality, Nkanini came to Johannesburg in 2015 to escape what he describes as “poor background” and to support his family. After working in an underpaying job at a furniture factory, he decided to pursue security services. In our conversations, I was struck by the delight that he is passionate about safety and law enforcement – not just in his work. Nearly nine years later, Nkanini went from a position as an ATM security guard at Rosebank Mall to being an internal security escort at KPMG, one of the “Big Four” firms that also includes Ernst and Young, PwC and Deloitte.
On a regular workday, he works a 12-hour straight shift from 6am to 6pm. Nkanini wakes up at 4am to get ready and leaves his flat in Maboneng at 5:10am, noting that he often arrives right before 6am. Nkanini states that the start of his career did not go as planned but he still aims to see progress in his life. “So, since things are actually not going well, I decided to just do something that can at least keep my dream, maybe one day be prosperous, but unfortunately, I’m still stuck with security, but one day I just hope things will happen,” he states.
Nkanini has always kept his dream of being a teacher alive, sharing a wide smile when discussing his desire to still pursue it. He states that his hardest challenge has been managing people and engaging with different personalities despite his rural upbringing. He describes it as limited due to the lack of knowledge shared about different career paths and the lack of racial diversity that surrounded him.
Data Visualization Photo: Katlego Makhutle
A first-hand witness of the hard work and long hours corporate employees go through, Nkanini expresses sympathy for the sacrifices they make to grow and earn a living in Johannesburg. He often sees workers come early and leave late, expressing his intent to always show a friendly face and provide them comfort. This comfort often comes in the form of a conversation and the reassurance of their safety, as he often observes people working late hours to meet deadlines, or young graduates making their mark in a new work environment.
Describing himself as a humble yet stubborn Zulu man, Nkanini is often seen around the offices with a friendly smile, greeting people warmly as he goes about his daily responsibilities. He highlights that he enjoys making employees feel safe and that respect is a quality that is innately within him. From his experience in retail and corporate Johannesburg, he feels that he has had a lot of growth and has managed to adapt well to the city’s dynamic environment.
Asking whether Johannesburg is a world-class city is perhaps the wrong question. It implies a single, universal standard that the City of Gold was never designed to meet. Under the weight of opportunity, the price of progress is often paid in resilience. The early bird gets the worm and Joburg doesn’t just run on municipal services alone; it thrives on the relentless and personal commitment of its employed citizens. It is a city that doesn’t just promise opportunity; it demands you fight for it. It is not a matter of whether Johannesburg is world-class, but whether any other world-class city can boast of having an African heart, that is ambitious and unapologetically alive from sunrise to sunset.
FEATURED IMAGE: GIF of Johannesburg city during sunrise, with camera and nob on orange background. GIF: Katlego Makhutle
Unpacking the unseen side of Johannesburg, where informal workers keep the city running despite lacking recognition and job security.
The “City of Gold’s” informal workers keep the city running, but remain unprotected and often unseen.
Street vendors and domestic workers form the backbone of the city’s economy, while battling insecurity and police harassment.
Despite promises and policies, informal traders still face eviction and neglect from law officials.
The day’s work starts at dawn, with traders, cleaners and recyclers rousing Johannesburg’s thriving economy through informal trading. It’s 4am on a Thursday morning and Thomas Huuguamze, a 50-year-old street vendor is getting ready to set up his stall on the pavements at Soweto’s Zone 6, Bara taxi rank[LM1] . By 5.30am he needs to have his umbrella and table set up with a colourful spread of sweets for the early-bird taxi riders on their way to work. He is relieved that today it is not raining, otherwise that would mean no trade. No work means no pay, which means he won’t be able to send enough money back home in Mozambique. “My problem is my umbrella,” he says with a tired smile. “When it rains there’s no work for me, I close my shop.”
About 45 minutes away, in Cosmo City, we meet Beauty Moyo, a 35-year-old domestic worker. Before dawn breaks, she is awake, moving quietly through her small kitchen, as she boils water for a bath and packs lunch for her partner of 14 years. By 6.30am he’s out of the door, and only then does she attend to herself. Accompanied by the sounds of bird chirps, she packs a change of clothes in her bag, throws on her jeans and a jacket. The time is 7.30am, so she hurriedly walks to the taxi rank. Her route to Sandton is long and crowded, but she’s used to it. By 9am, she’s ringing the intercom at the gate of a sleek house owned by two lawyer brothers where she’s worked for the past three years. They treat her with respect, and she returns the favour with loyalty and laughter that fills the home. It’s hard work, but she takes pride in it, creating a world different to her own.
Johannesburg is known as Africa’s “City of Gold”, its glass buildings stand tall and twinkle, but its shine relies on the informal sector. Johannesburg’s skyscrapers, Africa’s biggest stock exchange, and corporate headquarters coexist with a foundational city of informal yet essential labourers who keep it running.
Through the lively streets of Cosmo City, Soweto’s taxi ranks, and the inner city’s pavements, the informal sector is the hidden gem of South Africa’s financial capital.
Statistics South Africa (Stats SA) reports that Gauteng is home to 28,9% of the nation’s informal businesses, with a large portion based in Johannesburg. “They play an important role in providing a market for the poorer people of the economy, which is important for low-income consumers. A large portion of the economy hasn’t recognised street vendors and informal traders” says Pat Horn, an International Coordinator of StreetNet International.
Inside Joburg’s hidden economy
The quiet struggles for survival that sustain Johannesburg’s world-class status are under-acknowledged. The city’s true economic story is written not only in the boardrooms of Africa’s richest square mile, but in the resilience of its informal workers.
Johannesburg’s informal economy a way of putting food on the table for many, including locals and foreign nationals. The sector acts as a shock absorber to the country’s inequality. According to Stats SA’s Quarterly Labour Force Survey (QLFS) for Quarter 2 of 2024, Gauteng’s unemployment rate remains high, at 32.9%.
“The formal economy cannot create enough jobs for people in South Africa,” says David Francis, a researcher at the University of the Witwatersrand, who is an urban market economist. “People have to subsist in the informal economy, because of the apartheid legacy.”
While the labour of informal workers generates money and provides essential services across the city of Johannesburg, the sector itself is denied credible recognition and protection. “This is where I live, when they chase us away, I’ll come back. I don’t have another plan,” added Huuguamze.
“Research shows a disjoint in the government and the municipality, the quarterly data does not reflect the actual numbers on the ground,” says Francis.
The wealthy north shines with skyscrapers and firms, while the south and townships battle with poverty and unemployment. The so called “City of Gold”, Africa’s powerhouse, depends on the markets, domestic workers, and street vendors from these townships to keep its formal economy running.
The stories stats can’t tell
In the busy streets of Soweto’s Diepkloof, the scorching sun shines down on Huuguamze’s worn-out umbrella. He takes off his jersey and wears a discoloured cap. He immigrated to South Africa in 2008, for “greener pastures”. Renting a small R500 bachelor flat, Soweto has become his home away from home. For three years, a small portion of a shared pavement has become his workplace and lifeline.
Huuguamze turned to selling goods after leaving his contractual jobs, frustrated by months of unpaid wages. “Some contracts pay; some have stories. I see this business as being better,” he says. Now, his stall is his main source of income. With a wife and five children to feed in Mozambique. He works tirelessly to send home about R2,000 every month, and relies on a stokvel to restock and cover rent in tough times. But life as a street vendor is not easy. The weather and law officials are his biggest challenges[LM2] .
He sighs in frustration. “Makuqhamuka iMetro, siyabaleka sonke nje, akunandaba ukuthi uyi South African noma owangaphandle, sonke siyabaleka. [When the Metro police come, we all run, it doesn’t matter if you’re South African, or from outside, we all run.]
With a weary voice, he continues, “…uma unga baleki, bathatha istock sakho, siyabaleka. [If you don’t run, they confiscate your stock, so we run.]
Having a wife and five children still in school is what keeps him motivated.
Despite his challenges, Huuguamze remains at his post everyday, dusk till dawn, determined to make a living and keep his family fed, a symbol of resilience amid the daily struggles of the city’s informal economy.
A different perspective
Across town, Moyo’s day takes a different shape, but the same determination reflects in her job as she sweeps the afternoon away.
As afternoon sun beams catch on the veranda, Moyo sweeps dust onto the grass. Her faded apron clings to her, and she adjusts a worn out headscarf before continuing.
Originally from Zimbabwe, she came to Johannesburg in 2010 after her father passed away. Things at home became hard, and she couldn’t matriculate. As a young woman coming to South Africa, she had dreams of opening her own business one day. “I don’t like working for people, I wanted a decent job, my own business,” she says with her head tilted down and sincere in tone.
With two children, four siblings, and a mother aged 67, her income supports their needs. “Working here supports my family, they can go to school, and I can support them,” she says, with a faint smile.
Moyo sells perfumes as a side hustle, in light of her business ownership dreams. “At least people buy the perfumes I sell, the money helps me a lot,” she says positively.
Although she’s got aspirations, the value of Moyo’s work lies in the support she gives to families. “I help them a lot,” she explains, “because they have the finances but not the energy to clean. I clean the windows, bedrooms and kitchen,” she says with pride.
Yet, even with her dedication and pride, she says job security is never guaranteed. “…akuna security kulo msebenzi” [there’s no security with this job], maybe next year there won’t be funds for me at the job”, she says with a saddened voice.
Despite the challenges faced, Moyo has learnt skills far beyond just cleaning. She learnt organisational skills, multitasking in a fast-paced environment, and to adapt to different homes and personalities. “Kahle kahle ngifunde ukubekezela nokusebenza nabantu,” [I’ve learnt perseverance, and to work with people]she says with humility.
Policy Perspective
While The City of Johannesburg’s Informal Trading Policy recognises informal work as important, the city’s treatment on the ground contradicts this. As Huuguamze mentioned, street vendors are chased on pavements, and a portion of domestic workers lack social security.
“Officials pretend this is a mysterious sector and they often don’t know what to do, but the needs of these workers are inexpensive, necessary and doable,” says Jane Barret, a retired researcher from Woman in Informal Employment Globalizing and Organizing (WIEGO).
This disconnect between policy and practice mirrors a broader trend. According to a Southern Centre for Inequality Studies (SCIS) report, “policies aimed at formalising and regulating informal trade sometimes clash with the realities on the ground, and ambush traders’ aspirations to earn a reliable income.”
Despite official recognition of their contribution, informal traders still face harassment, insecure trading spaces, and limited inclusion in policy-making processes.
Informal trading in Johannesburg is viewed as a “foreign” activity, which overlooks South Africans in this sector and deepens social divisions driven by xenophobia and exclusion. Foreign nationals in this sector experience harsh treatment daily, while trying to navigate the city as more than just workers, but as outsiders in a constantly unwelcoming environment.
According to an article by Nicola Mawson, published on IOL Business, the informal sector contributes up to 6% of the Gross Domestic Product (GDP) in South Africa.
Despite this contribution, law officials continue treating informal workers as a challenge to be managed rather than assisting the economy. “They won’t solve the problem if they get rid of the people who contribute to a large population of the economy,” says Horn.
During the COVID-19 lockdown, the hustle of informal trading kept Johannesburg alive. Street vendors became the heroes of the pandemic when formal work stopped. Today, spaza shops, markets and street traders are responsible for billions of rands, quietly driving Johannesburg’s economy.
This shows that the informal economy drives local spending, which in turn boosts formal businesses and the city’s overall economy.
Shifting from problems to partners
Johannesburg continues to walk a fine line between inclusion and control of informal trading. “They need to acknowledge the informal economy, creating a safe space for trading,” says Francis.
According to critics like Francis and Horn, shifting away from these restrictions would only strengthen the relationship between traders and the government. “Negotiation should be implemented, that means both sides commit themselves to doing things in agreement with the other party,” adds Horn.
Researchers stress that meaningful development depends on involving informal workers as partners in shaping policies, not just as recipients of it. Recognising their contribution would redefine informality to a sign of economic democracy, then exclusion.
Bridging North and South
As Moyo changes out of her apron, and Huugamaze packs his goods away, it’s clear that survival in the informal economy comes with its challenges and uncertainty.
Johannesburg’s true narrative is not solely captured by its skyscrapers, stock exchanges, and formal economy. It’s equally narrated on the playgrounds of street vendors, waste pickers, and inside well-built homes where informal workers work tirelessly.
Individuals like Huuguamze, and Moyo, represent more than mere survival, they are an important part of the formal system, supporting households, communities and the economy at large, even when they have dreams of their own. “I don’t like that I’m a domestic worker, I feel like I’m just too poor, but I don’t have a choice,” says Moyo, her voice betraying a sense of hopelessness.
Despite their efforts, they “bekezela” [persevere]. Against all odds, their persistent resilience reveals the authentic heartbeat of the city of Johannesburg.
Acknowledging and rewarding informal workers as partners on a larger scale would strengthen Johannesburg’s economy and bridge the gap between policy and practice. This is when the city’s “gold” will truly shine, reflecting formal and informal efforts of those who build it from the ground up.
FEATURED IMAGE: Many immigrants in Johannesburg rely on informal or small-scale businesses to earn a living, facing both opportunity and vulnerability in a challenging economic climate. Photo: Sanele Sithetho/File
Would you sacrifice your sleep for a chance at success? In Johannesburg, this is more than just something to think about—it’s something many people live with every single day.
The culture of constant work and hustling wears down people, especially young workers striving to succeed. This leads to chronic anxiety and exhaustion that is often hidden beneath the surface.
Powerful stories of individuals like street vendor Ausi Nandi Nkosi, Uber driver Siya Zwide, and young professional Lerato Kopano* reveal a side of Johannesburg often left unseen.
What looks like strength on the surface often hides a much more vulnerable reality and values mental health, allowing time for rest, and nurturing genuine human connections.
Yet within South Africa’s own imagination, Egoli — the City of Gold — glows differently. The nostalgia of Johannesburg is embedded in the movies we watch, the songs we sing, the stories we tell. Egoli is a city of wealth, success, and luxury; a place where the promise of building something from nothing feels tangible.
The media has long shaped this image. From soap operas like Generations and Isidingo to films like Kedibone, and in headlines celebrating business moguls and breakout stars, Johannesburg is consistently portrayed as a land of opportunity — a city where every main character has a dream and a reason to fight.
Yet the same media also warns of danger: fast money, fast burnout, and an even faster descent. This contradiction forms the city’s pulse: ambition wrapped in fear. You start to walk faster, keep your shoulders tight, say less, and always stay alert. You build a shield around yourself against everything unknown.
Fear captures one part of the experience, but anxiety may be more precise. Anxiety in Johannesburg doesn’t always show up as panic. At times, it hides behind a hectic schedule and nonstop productivity. It’s the feeling of waking up before the sun even rises, pushing yourself to chase a version of success that might no longer feel real or meaningful.
The city that demands your soul
By 5am in the morning, the streets are already congested with minibuses and delivery vans. At the Bree taxi rank, merchants look for a place for their trade early in the morning. The weak sunlight was barely pushing through a haze of exhaust fumes when I met Ausi Nandi Nkosi. She was dressed in a bright doek (headscarf) and a faded Orlando Pirates T-shirt, already frying vetkoek on a makeshift charcoal stove balanced on bricks.
Nkosi, who is nearly 50 years old, has lived through it all. She left her home in rural Mpumalanga back in the 1990s, carrying nothing but a suitcase and hopes of finding a job. “Sometimes I feel like Johannesburg owes me,” she says, leaning on the wall.
Most of Nkosi’s frustration comes from years of patting dough and folding it into small circles to sell for R2 each. This hustle generates a small turnover in profits, which is not enough to raise two orphaned grandchildren in Johannesburg. Diesel fumes hang heavy in the air, filling her lungs with the scent of both sustenance and struggle. She drops the round dough into the sputtering fat. The vetkoek bubbles and turns golden, like little suns.
Nkosi’s sleep is inconsistent, stolen between shifts at the rank as she stands long hours cooking. She describes a pressing heaviness in her muscles. “Joburg never sleeps,” she says with a laugh. According to Mediclinic research this shows what Nkosi describes as being more than exhaustion — it is a risk factor for mental health issues, which includes persistent fatigue and stress on the body. “When people live in environments that demand constant alertness, it affects cognitive function, emotional regulation, and overall resilience,” said Thembelani Nyathi, a regional counsellor.
Humour and warmth are Nkosi’s tools. She jokes around while handing customer’s change. Neglecting one’s body is a mechanism many use to survive in high-stress environments like Johannesburg.
Joburg demands endurance. And every morning, Nkosi delivers.
The Uber Steering Through Fear and Fatigue
Thirty-four-year-old Siyanda Zwide sits in his grey Suzuki Swift at a petrol forecourt in Braamfontein. He wipes sweat off his brow when his phone buzzes with a map notification – my Uber request to head to Wits Junction. The engine hums softly beneath him, but his mind races ahead – the route, the traffic, streets, people. I get into the car, Zwide starts the trip back to residence, navigating the road and answering my questions.
Zwide’s main business is in construction. Now that he works as an Uber driver, he juggles between being the company manager and making his e-hailing trips. “I took the car on instalment in 2017; these cars usually pay for themselves [referring to instalment cars e-hailing drivers take to start their business],” he says.
Zwide complains about the rise in fuel prices as he is receiving low fares on Uber, which consequently makes him struggle to raise the vehicles R8,000 monthly instalment. Zwide is left pressed working two jobs daily, without any breaks. He sacrifices sleep and family time to meet the monthly costs of living.
When asked about the safety of driving in Johannesburg. His grip on the steering wheel tightens and his knuckles whiten. Every stoplight, every junction, every pedestrian trigger calculation. “Drivers get robbed and killed,” he says, “That is why I only drive during the day.”
That vigilance, “always looking over your shoulder,” is a hallmark of chronic anxiety, says Councillor Nyathi. “Chronic anxiety often shows as hypervigilance — constantly scanning your environment, anticipating threats, even small ones. It’s exhausting for the nervous system, and in a city like Joburg, it’s almost a learned survival mechanism.”
There is evident fear threaded through Zwide gestures: the way he checks rearview mirrors twice, the way his hands hover over the steering wheel even when parked, the way he tilts his head at every approaching car. Psychologists call this hyper-vigilance, a symptom of chronic anxiety triggered by repeated exposure to real and perceived threats. In Gauteng e-hailing drivers have been victims of crime on duty and passengers have also been killed or robbed in e-hailing services.
Every pick-up comes with a silent prayer: that you arrive safely, that no one’s aggression finds you, that the city’s hustle doesn’t sweep you into harm. The dashboard light flickers across his face; the road stretches ahead. Deliveries, taxis, pedestrians… Jozi moves with an energy both intoxicating and intimidating. “People outside the city don’t understand,” he says. “Everyone here is scared. We live with the fear and the rush.” It is reflected in the slight tremor of his hands, the exhaled breath only when stopped, the continuous scan of his mirrors. The psychological toll of balancing two jobs with real danger and emotional labour is quiet, almost invisible, yet it breathes in the tension in his back, the rigidity of his shoulders, the measured patience behind his smile could fool you.
When night falls, Johannesburg does not fold into sleep — it rewires. The city’s drive only changes gear: neon signs replace the sun, late deliveries replace early deadlines, and the day’s tension moves into bars, clubs and kitchen tables. The noise softens but the pressure stays. Here, hunger for success takes a different shape: culture, connection, a reclaiming of time that daytime steals.
At the KFC on the corner of De Korte and Biccard, the fryer’s bright red light throws everyone into a small, shared glow. The place smells of salt and oil and spilled cola; the chairs squeak under bodies that have been sitting too long. I run into Lerato Kopano sitting at a corner table. The 21-year-old remote executive assistant exudes confidence, but one that wraps around thinly veiled fatigue. She balances a phone, a bag and a laugh that arrives like a practiced line.
“My life is measured in deadlines, not days,” she says, adjusting the strap of her bag. She jokes about Jozi: “You have to act like you own it.” Her LinkedIn profile is immaculate; her CV rehearsed; her Instagram curated evidence of survival and success. But when she speaks of clients and late-night calls, her fingers drum the table — a small rhythm of counting the time she has left to herself. At one point she scrolls to a photo on her phone, taps it, and reads aloud a quote printed on her wall: “Be the person you need to be.” It is part instruction, part armour.
Around the table the talk is practical — near-misses with rideshares, cruel clients, the tiny humiliations of contract work — and then it softens into something else: confessions, jokes that fold into real, raw sentences. We laugh; someone cries quietly into a napkin. These post-shift gatherings are therapy by improvisation: a circle of witnesses who say, without medical words, you are not crazy; living here is hard. In a city where formal mental-health help is difficult and stigma is stiff; these pockets of honest venting keep people afloat.
Lerato keeps a stack of printed quotes on her wall — Bible verses slipped in by a friend, motivational lines she pins to mornings she needs to meet. “If I’m feeling off, I Google a quote,” she says, almost apologetic. “Sometimes a verse shows up in my chat from a friend and it’s like someone handed me a cup of water.” The ritual is small but steady: words as scaffolding, optimism as habit. This pattern is a constructed persona, the performative quotes, the collective venting sessions is more than being Gen Z. It is a set of coping moves for a city that demands nonstop performance. According to the South African Depression and Anxiety Group (SADAG), Joburg ranks among the country’s most stressed cities. Long hours, high unemployment, crime, and cost of living all blur into a perfect storm.
Psychologically, you see this in tiny ways: the rehearsal of confidence (masking), the rapid shifts between humour and seriousness (emotional regulation), the use of mini-rituals —quotations, verses, group venting — to patch up the frayed edges of the day. They’re coping strategies. They’re also indicative of distress when they become the only ways of mending. Sleep gets squeezed in, rumination goes late, and hope is calibrated towards the promotion that comes as the definition of success.
The Mask of Success
We met in Sandton at one of those minimalistic aesthetic cafés, where success seems to show off. The kind of place with comfy velvet chairs and the perfect amount of light, surrounded by people who wear productivity like it’s a signature scent. Monique Gey van Pittius makes her way in five minutes early with a laptop bag slung over her shoulder and phone in hand. She moves with purpose — not hurried. Her gaze remains alert, scanning the room with as if she’s always moving, even when she’s still. Her hair is sleek and her blazer freshly-pressed.
Gey van Pittius is 26-year-old television producer who grew up within the city. Her resume tells a story of rapid progress: assistant, coordinator, senior producer each role arriving faster than the one before, like proof that her climb up the ladder was working. “Joburg gets you where you want to be faster,” she says. “What takes two years in Cape Town? Two months here. Sometimes even two weeks.” She smiles, remembering projects she’s working on — the steady building of a reputation you can see. Those wins mattered. They paid rent, bought security, and opened doors.
But the cracks show in small, sharp moments. When she says, “I had a midlife crisis at twenty-four,” I am amazed at her disarming honesty. It is not just a rhetorical twist. Before she knew it, the career ladder towered before her, the target was far, and her personal life, fortunately not down the drain, but down. She arrived late at important moments, missed weddings. She looked at pictures of friends’ children growing up and suddenly saw that she couldn’t remember being there for their very first steps.
As she stands, she says, “You know what the hardest part is? You can’t even tell when the exhaustion starts to feel normal. It just becomes… you.” Johannesburg rewards velocity. It teaches you that rest is laziness, and stillness is failure. Everyone is sprinting toward a version of stability that keeps moving further away.
Gey van Pittius does not suggest leaving Joburg. She urges people to come and experience the city. “This place will move you,” she says. “It will teach you things you won’t find anywhere else.” But she offers a word of caution. When you come, bring a toolkit with you for example going to therapy even if nothing is wrong. Ambition is important but so is making time to be human. Find a mentor who can guide you and true friendships. And have a plan for recovery in case the fast pace turns into a lifetime sprint.
A quieter verdict
Monique Gey van Pittius thesis [Ed1][Bm2][Bm3] idea is a clever little experiment that tests the values of the city. It involves a simple poll with just one question: Do you love to work, or do you work to love? From the answers, she plans to explore how people define luxury in their lives.
The question she keeps returning to is straightforward, yet powerful. The poll aims to reveal what life feels like when you get to choose your own pace instead of having the city dictate it to you. It’s about understanding the freedom to live on your own terms and what that means to people’s sense of luxury and fulfilment.
For this city to truly become world-class, the way we measure success must change It should not only concern the car you drive or the apartment you live in, or the deals you make. Instead success should be about people’s ability to preserve their health, sustain their relationships, and their mental well-being as they chase their dream.
*Not their real name
FEATURED IMAGE: An Uber vehicle waiting for a pickup near the Wits Arts Museum. Photo: File
African immigrants have long been drawn to Johannesburg, South Africa’s economic center. The city is a ray of hope for people looking for a better life, but beyond the city’s busy streets and dazzling buildings, the lack of integration and safety prevails.
Deep scars from xenophobic attacks in 2008, 2015, and 2019 underscore the necessity of communication and understanding in order to resolve conflicts between residents and foreign migrants.
Johannesburg’s economy benefits significantly from migrant-owned businesses, despite facing challenges in accessing formal employment and documentation.
Vibrant networks of entrepreneurship and support have grown in the face of hardship, and migrant-owned companies that employ South Africans and boost the local economy have shown incredible tenacity and will.
In a tiny salon tucked between cafés and clothing stores on a busy Braamfontein street, Privilege Jumo, a 29-year-old nail technician from Zimbabwe, leans over his client’s hands, focused yet very calm. Taxis hoot non-stop, and the air smells of acetone and hair moisturisers. Between brush strokes, Jumo shares his story, about movement, hustle, and hope in the city where he currently resides.
“When I decided to come to South Africa, I was seeking greener pastures,” he says, reflecting on his 2019 arrival in Johannesburg. He came to pursue his studies in engineering, but soon realized that surviving in Johannesburg required more than qualifications.
“The process of getting funding for my studies was not easy ,so I ended up dropping out”, he admits. Jumo set up a business after having trouble finding steady work because he did not have a work permit. He now runs a nail technician business, relying on word of mouth and digital marketing to get clients.
“To get employed in Johannesburg, you need a work permit. And the government has not been issuing them for quite some time,” he says.
Jumo’s words echo a widespread frustration among foreign immigrants who find themselves caught between legal issues and economic necessity. Many are forced to develop their own ways in the informal sector since they do not have legitimate work permits or residency status.
It is obvious that his story is a metaphor for Johannesburg’s informal sector, which depends on necessity and adaptability to thrive. Most citizens benefit from these small businesses that migrants have started because of being excluded from formal work.
Juliet Mashabela, acting chief economist at Productivity SA, an entity of the South African Department of Employment and Labour, explains the role of migrants in Johannesburg: “They create employment through small-scale entrepreneurship, circulate money within communities, and contribute significantly to local consumption patterns.”
Johannesburg mayor Dada Morero and mayoral committee members in the Johannesburg CBD, cracking down on illegal trading in October 2025. Photo: Nomfundo Zungu
However, their existence is usually politicised. “Data consistently shows that migrants are net contributors to urban growth, but in times of economic distress, they become target for unemployment and crime”, Mashabela continues.
For decades, Johannesburg has been a magnet for migrants, both foreign and domestic. People looking to improve their lives are drawn to the city by its economic prospects, cultural diversity, and relatively stable political system. Data from Statistics South Africa shows that about 1,42 million foreign migrants came to live in Gauteng between 2022 and 2025, with many of them settling in the inner-city suburbs of Johannesburg.
Professor Loren Landau, an international migration specialist at the African Centre for Migration & Society (ACMS), says migrant labor is key to Johannesburg’s formal and informal sectors.
“Migrants who contribute to the retail sector, service, and construction sectors are often overlooked by the official system. Instead of searching for possibilities, they work together to create them. However, the city’s promise of opportunities is mixed with uncertainty. Migrants are frequently caught in cycles of instability as a result of xenophobic violence, limited access to documentation, and limited economic opportunities”, he explains.
Xenophobic attacks in Johannesburg
Recurrent outbreaks of xenophobic violence have revealed deep socioeconomic divides that lie beneath the “World Class African City”, as South Africans – many of whom are unemployed and living in poverty – accuse foreign migrants of snatching opportunities, jobs, and homes.
During the most notorious outbreaks, in 2008, 2015, and 2019, many people were killed, and thousands were left homeless, their stores plundered, and their homes torched. Many of the victims were small business owners who had established their lives in Johannesburg’s congested inner-city neighborhoods such as Hillbrow and Yeoville, and in the township of Alexandra, migrants from African countries like Zimbabwe, Mozambique, Nigeria, and the Democratic Republic of Congo.
“I still remember the xenophobic attacks that occurred in 2008 like it was yesterday, just thinking about it makes me sad because I lost a lot of close friends and relatives”, said Hugette Mbombo, a 45-year-old hairdresser from Congo.
In 2022, under the banner of “Operation Dudula”, anti-immigrant sentiment reappeared in Johannesburg’s townships, targeting migrants, informal traders, and foreign-owned enterprises.
Siphiwe Ndlovu, a community leader from Alexandra, admits the conflicts but thinks communication is essential. “We must stop viewing immigrants as rivals. They contribute to the success of our communities by employing South Africans in many of their enterprises”, Ndlovu explained.
Instead of tackling the underlying causes of problems like inequality, unemployment, and poor urban planning, the government’s reaction is still primarily reactive, sending out police during flare-ups.
Although widespread attacks have decreased, xenophobia is still present in daily life. Immigrants report experiencing subtle forms of prejudice in public services, rental markets, and workplaces. “Sometimes you can feel it in how people look at you like you don’t belong,” says Mbombo. “Even after so many years, they still call us kwerekwere (foreigners)”, Mbombo adds.
Civil society groups and researchers point to economic frustration and weak governance as drivers of these tensions. With youth unemployment sitting above 33%, foreigners are frequently used as easy scapegoats.
However, Landau explains that xenophobia is not simply about foreigners, “It reflects a deeper crisis of inequality and exclusion. Migrants are just the visible face of a system that fails most of its citizens,” he says.
Integration in Johannesburg is an ongoing negotiation between acceptance and exclusion. Even after years or even decades of residence in South Africa, many migrants continue to face social and legal marginalisation.
According to research conducted by the Center for the Study of Violence and Reconciliation (CSVR), prejudice is not an isolated incident but rather is ingrained in South Africa’s system. It is caused by political scapegoating, unemployment, and the belief that immigrants “take jobs” from South Africans.
In truth, studies from the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD) and the African Centre for Migration & Society (ACMS) suggest that migrants are more likely to create employment than to take it away. They fill labour shortages, open small enterprises, and stimulate demand in township economies.
Professor Landau attests to these studies, saying that, “integration does not only regularise their status. Without proper documentation, you can’t open a bank account, register a business, or rent legally. The system perpetuates informality.”
Migrants and the Informal Economy
The sounds of blow dryers mix with the chatter of clients and other street vendors as Mbombo moves gracefully through her small salon. Her hands are steady, talented, and sure as she braids hair. Each braid tells a story of strength, migration, and identity.
Mbombo came to South Africa in 2003 to escape the instability in Kinshasa. She had nothing except a suitcase and a desire to start again. “When I first came to Johannesburg, I didn’t know anyone,” she recalls, her voice warm but firm. “I only had my hands and the skill my mother taught me.”
Starting as a mobile hairdresser, Mbombo would walk from one flat to another in Hillbrow and Berea, offering affordable styles to fellow African migrants trying to make ends meet. She saved up enough money over time to rent a modest area that was only sufficient for two sofas and a mirror. That small beginning has turned into a successful salon that is very important to her parenting her three kids.
“I wanted to create something stable for my children,” Mbombo says. “Many people see foreign women like me only as outsiders or survivors. But we also serve as businesswomen, creators, and a part of our city’s history.”
For Mbombo, Johannesburg is a place of both opportunity and hardship. She discusses openly the difficulties of managing a business, such as xenophobic animosity, rent increases, and immigration visas. “When the attacks happened in 2019, I closed my salon for two weeks,” she remembers quietly. “People were scared. I was also scared. But I told myself, I’ve built this life here, I’m not going to give up.”
Her salon has since become more than a workplace; it is a small refuge for women in the migrant community. Between styling and laughter, conversations often drift to family back home, school fees, and dreams of stability. “We support each other,” Mbombo explains. “When one sister is struggling, the others help. That’s how we survive.”
Two decades later, Johannesburg feels like home, even if it does not always treat her as such. Mbombo smiles as she looks out onto the street outside her salon, alive with taxi hooters and street vendors calling for customers. “This city gave me a second chance,” she says. “It’s not perfect, but it gave my children and me a better life.”
According to Stats SA’s 2022 Labour Force Survey, Johannesburg’s informal economy employs nearly 30% of the city’s labour force. A significant portion of this sector consists of migrants who operate tiny spaza shops, sell food, fix electronics, and trim hair.
According to Mashabela, the city’s economy benefits from about R100-billion in annual revenue from the sale of goods, services, and rent from unofficial migrant-owned enterprises.Yet, few of these contributions are formally recognised.
“They are effectively invisible in GDP calculations and policy planning”, she notes. “But if migrants were suddenly removed, inner-city economies would collapse overnight.”
The administrative obstacles facing migrants in South Africa are immense. The Department of Home Affairs (DHA) is often criticised for its inefficiency, corruption, and restrictive restrictions. Residency, work permit, and asylum renewal applications can take years to process. In recent years, the administration has spoken more about “irregular immigration” and linked foreigners to crime and stress in society.
“Migrants become convenient scapegoats,” says Landau. “But blaming migration distracts from the need for broader economic reform and inclusive development”.
Rethinking Belonging in a ‘World-Class African City’
Amid such adversity, NGOs like theAfrican Diaspora Forum in Johannesburg, and Jesuit Refugee Service in Cape Town, provide support like psychosocial help, entrepreneurial training, and legal assistance. Through neighborhood markets, athletic events, and religious gatherings, grassroots projects often headed by migrants themselves promote social solidarity. These spaces promote intercultural dialogue and remove stereotypes. Although Jumo’s and Mbombo’s futures are still uncertain, they are not hopeless.
“Trying other cities is definitely going to be my next option,” Jumo muses. Mbombo still has hopes and dreams of sending her children to university. “I want them to have papers, education, and respect. Perhaps they may be referred to as South Africans in the future,” she says.
Their words provide a more complex conversation that the one that is often reduced to statistics and slogans. Essentially, immigrants are humans looking for dignity, not boundaries. Johannesburg’s reputation as a “World-Class African City” is seriously threatened by the way it treats foreign migrants on a daily basis.
Despite the fact that the city relies on variety and a strong economy, social animosity and laws that prohibit people from living freely in the city undermine its future goals. According to experts, inclusive migration management which includes access to documentation, support for small enterprises, and anti-xenophobic education may turn migration from a catastrophe into a positive force.
As Landau puts it, “The issue is not migrants. They are part of the solution. The question is whether South Africa is ready to embrace that reality”.
In the end, Johannesburg’s story is for everyone who lives in it. Through bravery, adaptability, and unwavering optimism, migrants like Jumo and Mbombo continue to influence the beat of the city, demonstrating perseverance, participation, and a common goal of creating a better life.
FEATURED IMAGE: A photo of a march and march protest against illegal immigration. Photo by:Nomfundo Zungu
Africa’s first G20 Summit put youth, fairness and global cooperation at the centre amid grandstanding from a key member.
The 2025 Declaration is stronger than last year’s, adding clear commitments on youth unemployment, food security and critical minerals.
South Africa kept the summit focused despite the United States’ boycott, showing that no single country is bigger than the G20.
Experts and youth leaders say this summit is a turning point, giving Africa a louder voice in global decisions.
Group photograph of world leaders at the G20 summit on 22 November 2025. Photo: Jairus Mmutle/GCIS
The first G20 Summit held on African soil opened with symbolism that felt heavier than just ceremonial. Johannesburg, the “cradle of humanity,” as President Cyril Ramaphosa framed it, hosted a meeting shaped by global fragmentation, a US boycott, and the weight of expectations that Africa would finally speak in its own voice.
The unanimous adoption of a declaration on Saturday, November 22, signals a level of global consensus on pressing matters. Beyond the speeches, the real significance of this summit lies in what the declaration promises, how it differs from past commitments, and how South Africa managed the absence of one of the world’s most powerful nations.
What’s in the declaration?
Compared to Brazil’s in 2024, the 2025 Johannesburg Declaration is far more assertive in addressing long-standing inequalities between the Global North and South. It introduces structural reforms that African states have demanded for decades.
These include deepening international financial architecture reform, expanding multilateral development bank lending capacity, and setting up the first-ever G20 Critical Minerals Framework, which pushes beneficiation and manufacturing in resource-rich developing countries.
The declaration also goes further than previous years on food security through the Ubuntu Approaches, focusing on price volatility and support for smallholder farmers.
The declaration introduces the Nelson Mandela Bay Target, which aims to reduce the number of young people who are not in employment, education or training by 2030.
This target will be supported by new training programmes, more job-creating investments, and digital skills initiatives that the G20 has committed to rolling out for young people.
Rather than simply stating a percentage, this commitment signals that the G20 now recognises young people not in employment, education or training (NEET) as a measurable crisis that requires intentional policy, financing, and monitoring a major shift from previous summits where youth were mentioned only in passing.
It essentially means governments are now expected to treat youth unemployment as a structural problem that must decline meaningfully, not symbolically.
Dismissing the boycotter in chief and the future
For Frank Lekaba, Senior Lecturer at the Wits University, South Africa handled its diplomatic tensions with the US strategically.
“Ramaphosa refused to let the absence dominate the narrative,” he says.
Lekaba repositioned the G20 as larger than any one member. “The message was clear: there’s the G20, and then there are member states. None is bigger than the G20.”
Youth representatives also see this summit as a turning point. Levi Singh, the sherpa of the Y20, says the declaration “contains good context” for addressing youth unemployment, even if gaps remain.
“While it doesn’t prioritise youth issues as strongly as it could, the participation of young people is finally being recognised,” he says.
He praises the South African presidency for modelling a more people-centred, human-focused approach to multilateralism. “It showed that the G20 can be a platform for the Global South. It located Africa’s voice inside the G20.”
With the US absent, some feared the summit would fracture. Instead, South Africa secured unanimous agreement on a declaration that places Africa’s priorities at the centre of global governance discussions.
FEATURED IMAGE: G20 signage outside the media centre at Nasrec. Photo: Likho Mbuka
Johannesburg's underground punk rock scene has always been about more than simply music. From the beginning, it's been a site of rebellion against injustice and a community for those who dare to go against the norm. In this episode of We Should Be Writing, Mbali Khumalo takes you into this world, with guests from the […]
