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Another Batch of Our People Has Returned — But at What Cost?
E don happen again. Another 111 Nigerians have touched down on home soil after being evacuated from South Africa, bringing the total number of our citizens brought back from the so-called Rainbow Nation to a staggering 2,037 people. Two thousand and thirty-seven human beings — with dreams, businesses, families, and futures — who had to pack their bags and run from a country they called home.
Let that number sink in. That's not a statistic. That's a community. That's a market. That's a church congregation. These are real Nigerians who woke up one day and decided that their lives were worth more than staying in a place where they were no longer welcome — or worse, where they feared they might not survive another week.
The Human Stories Behind the Numbers
When you see "111 evacuees" in a headline, e easy to scroll past. But abeg, let us pause and think about who these people really are.
Some of them are traders who spent years building shops in Johannesburg, Lagos boys who hustled from nothing to something in places like Hillbrow and Yeoville. They woke up one morning to find their stores looted, windows smashed, and neighbors who once greeted them now looking at them like strangers — or worse, like enemies.
Some are young women who followed their husbands to South Africa looking for a better life, only to find themselves counting days indoors because stepping outside had become a game of survival. Imagine explaining to your children why the kids next door suddenly stopped playing with them. Imagine packing fourteen years of your life into two suitcases because the alternative is unthinkable.
Some of these returnees are students. Brilliant young Nigerians who enrolled in South African universities, dreaming of degrees that would change their families' stories. Now they're back home, mid-semester, trying to figure out how to continue their education from scratch.
And then there are the business owners — the ones who cry the most quietly. The man who built a restaurant from zero, who knew every supplier's name, who had regulars who asked for him by name. He's back now. His investment? Gone. His savings? Scattered. His spirit? Trying its best to hold on.
Xenophobia or Afrophobia? Let's Call It What It Is
South Africa don dey use the word "xenophobia" for too long to describe what is clearly targeted violence against Black African immigrants. But scholars and activists have been pushing back on this — because the violence is not directed at white foreigners, Indian shopkeepers, or Chinese business owners. It is specifically aimed at fellow Black Africans. Nigerians, Zimbabweans, Mozambicans, Malawians — people who look just like their attackers.
That's why many now prefer the term "Afrophobia." And it is important that we name it correctly, because the name shapes the solution. If this is Afrophobia — hatred of Black African immigrants — then South Africa has a very specific and deeply uncomfortable problem with its own identity and post-apartheid promise.
The irony is not lost on any of us. Nigeria and other African countries were among the loudest voices calling for South Africa's liberation during apartheid. Our parents marched. Our governments sanctioned. Our solidarity was real. And now, the children of those who were liberated are chasing our citizens out with machetes and fire.
So What Is the Nigerian Government Actually Doing?
Evacuation is good. Oya, clap for the government — they evacuated people. But abeg, let's have a serious conversation here.
Evacuation is not a policy. Evacuation is a reaction. And when you've reacted 2,037 times, you have to ask yourself: when does the prevention strategy kick in?
What diplomatic pressure has Nigeria put on Pretoria? Have there been concrete consequences for South Africa's failure to protect Nigerian citizens? Because from where we stand, the relationship between Abuja and Pretoria has continued largely as business as usual — trade deals, diplomatic handshakes, photo opportunities — while our people keep running for their lives.
There are some real questions the Nigerian government needs to answer:
- What happens to the evacuees when they land? Are there proper reintegration programmes, psychological support, or financial assistance to help them rebuild? Or do they just get dropped off at the airport and left to sort themselves out?
- What about the properties and investments left behind? Nigerians in South Africa have billions of naira worth of businesses and assets. Is anyone advocating for compensation?
- Is Nigeria leveraging trade relationships? South Africa needs Nigerian markets too. Are we using that economic muscle to demand better protection for our citizens?
- What is the Nigerian embassy in South Africa actually doing day-to-day? Beyond the evacuations, is there active consular protection, community liaison, or early warning systems?
The Bigger Picture We Cannot Ignore
There is something painful about watching African countries tear each other apart when the real work of development, security, and prosperity demands unity. The African Continental Free Trade Area (AfCFTA) is supposed to be creating a borderless continent of opportunity. How do you build that dream when one member state's citizens are burning another member state's people out of their shops?
South Africa's government has repeatedly condemned the violence, but condemnation without consequence is just noise. And Nigeria's government has repeatedly evacuated citizens, but evacuation without strategy is just damage control.
Our people deserve better from both governments.
A Word to the Returnees
If you are one of the 111 who just landed, or one of the 2,037 who came back before them — e go be. We see you. You are not a failure. You are not a statistic. You are a Nigerian who survived something many people cannot imagine, and you came home. Home is not always what we hoped, but home is ours.
Nigeria has problems — plenty of them. But your story does not end at that airport. The same resilience that built your life once can build it again. And this time, we hope — we demand — that the government that flew you back also invests in making sure you have something to land on.
Because bringing people home is only half the work. The other half? That's what separates a responsive government from a truly responsible one.
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