By Ejire Folakunmi
It is difficult to understand how we got here. How did we move from calling ourselves brothers to treating each other like enemies? How did survival turn into suspicion, and frustration turn into violence?
The recent events in South Africa have once again brought this painful reality to the surface. Videos circulating online show groups of locals blocking fellow Africans, demanding proof of identity, threatening violence, and deciding who belongs and who does not.
These are not isolated incidents. Since early April, there has been a rise in anti-foreigner protests targeting Nigerians, Ghanaians, Zimbabweans, and others.
The common argument is familiar. Foreigners are taking jobs. Foreigners are increasing crime. Foreigners are straining resources.
But let us think about this critically.
South Africa’s unemployment rate is over 30 percent, one of the highest in the world. That is a serious issue.
But can we honestly say that immigrants are the root cause of such a deep, structural problem? Or is it easier to blame the visible outsider than confront the harder truths within?
Because this is the uncomfortable angle many avoid. Xenophobia is not really about foreigners. It is often a reflection of internal frustration, economic pressure, and leadership gaps.
When systems fail, people look for someone to blame. And too often, that blame falls on those who are simply trying to survive.
There was a time when many believed this hostility was mainly directed at Nigerians, fueled by stereotypes and narratives about crime.
But what we are seeing now goes beyond nationality. It is no longer about one group. It is about anyone considered “not from here.”
A Zimbabwean woman selling boiled eggs in Durban reportedly lost her life over a dispute involving just 50 rand. Think about that. A human life reduced to a moment of anger and a misplaced sense of entitlement. That is not frustration. That is a breakdown of values.
Groups like Operation Dudula have amplified the “South Africans first” message, organizing protests and pushing for the removal of foreign nationals. While governments have promised crackdowns and police have intervened in some cases, the deeper issue remains unresolved.
It raises a bigger question. What does it truly mean to be African?
There is a saying in Yoruba that describes Africa as a place one runs to for refuge from hardship. A land meant to offer safety, not fear. Yet today, many Africans are unsafe not because they left the continent, but because they moved within it.
As Kwame Nkrumah once said, “I am not African because I was born in Africa, but because Africa was born in me.” If that is true, then an African cannot be a foreigner on African soil.
So what are we really fighting?
This is not about defending borders. Every nation has that right. But when defense turns into hostility against people who look like you, speak like you, and share your history, then something deeper is broken.
We cannot justify violence with unemployment. We cannot excuse hatred with economic hardship. And we cannot build a future by turning on ourselves.
Because in the end, if Africa becomes a place where Africans are not welcome, then we have all lost something far greater than opportunity.
We have lost our identity.