Xenophobia has become a recurring affliction in South Africa. For often flimsy and unsubstantiated reasons, native South Africans repeatedly turn on foreigners, with Nigerians frequently at the receiving end.
Foreigners are accused of taking jobs, “stealing” women, and cornering economic opportunities. Nigerians, in particular, are routinely profiled as drug traffickers, an allegation that, while not entirely baseless in isolated cases, has been dangerously weaponised to stigmatise an entire community.
The latest flashpoint—the claim that the Igbo community in South Africa had installed an Igbo king, Solomon Eziko, in the Eastern Cape Province—once again exposed how quickly misinformation can ignite violence. Protests erupted, fuelled by outrage over what was portrayed as a violation of sovereignty and constitutional order.
In KuGompo City, the anger morphed into destruction. Vehicles and buildings reportedly owned by foreigners were torched by protesters acting on a questionable narrative. Yet, as is often the case, facts lagged far behind fury.
Both the Nigerian High Commission in South Africa and Ohaneze Ndigbo South Africa promptly debunked the coronation story. But by then, the damage had already been done.
On July 29, 2025, similar anti-Nigerian protests erupted in parts of Ghana, where demonstrators demanded that Nigerians leave. Their anger was partly triggered by claims that an Eze Ndigbo in Ghana, Chukwudi Ihenetu, intended to acquire 50 acres of land to build an Igbo village. This assertion was later shown to be exaggerated.
Nigerians were also branded kidnappers, ritual killers, and prostitutes. Such sweeping generalisations reveal more about prejudice than reality.
In South Africa, hostility towards Nigerians has simmered for decades. Since 1998, they have lived under periodic threat. In 2018, violence in Hillbrow, Central Johannesburg, led to the loss of Nigerian lives and businesses.
The 2019 riots marked a particularly dark chapter, with widespread looting and destruction of Nigerian-owned businesses. The backlash in Nigeria was swift, as angry youths vandalised South African corporate interests such as MTN and Shoprite in retaliation, triggering a diplomatic row.
Since 2019, over 120 Nigerians have been killed in South Africa in a cycle of violence that shows little sign of abating.
At its core, much of this hostility is driven by a combustible mix of envy, economic frustration, and entrenched prejudice. Nigerians and other African migrants often fill labour gaps and carve out business niches where opportunities exist. Their visibility and, in some cases, relative success, can breed resentment.
Yet, the persistence of these stereotypes is deeply troubling. It is made worse by historical amnesia. Nigeria played a pivotal role in the struggle against apartheid, offering material and moral support when it mattered most. Many South Africans were educated in Nigeria during those years, and the country was recognised as one of the frontline states in that struggle.
What Nigeria receives today in return is a stark departure from that shared history. It defies both gratitude and common sense that a nation once supported in its darkest hour now turns on its benefactors’ citizens.
Still, the blame cannot be externalised entirely. South Africa’s internal challenges, including persistent inequality, unemployment, and systemic dysfunction, have created fertile ground for scapegoating. Foreigners, visible and vulnerable, become convenient targets. Nigerians did not create these structural problems, yet they are made to bear their consequences.
Compounding matters is Nigeria’s own economic reality. A struggling domestic economy continues to push citizens abroad in search of opportunity. Better governance at home would reduce this outward pressure and, by extension, some of the tensions it creates.
South Africans must recognise that the world is interconnected. No country exists in isolation. South African citizens live and work in Nigeria, just as South African companies operate profitably within its borders. Retaliatory hostility would serve no one and would further erode the fragile ideal of African solidarity.
For its part, the Nigerian government must shed its reactive posture. Too often, it responds only after crises have escalated. Diplomatic engagement should be proactive, not belated. Nigerian missions abroad must be alert, responsive, and deeply engaged with host communities.
The Nigerian High Commission’s clarification on the Eastern Cape episode came only after rumours had circulated widely and tensions had already reached a boiling point. This delay is not a trivial matter; in volatile environments, timing can mean the difference between calm and chaos.
However, the High Commission deserves credit for issuing a 10-point advisory to Nigerians in South Africa at the height of the tension. The guidance to maintain a low profile, exercise caution, remain law-abiding, and prioritise personal safety was both necessary and pragmatic.
But advisories, while useful, are not a substitute for strategy.
There was a time when African statesmen envisioned a continent without borders. That vision remains largely unrealised. In contrast, Europe has institutionalised mobility among its citizens, demonstrating what is possible with political will and functional systems.
Africa, and Nigeria in particular, must confront a difficult truth: aspirations of unity cannot coexist indefinitely with recurring hostility and weak governance.
Nigeria needs competent and visionary leadership capable of building a resilient economy that reduces the compulsion to migrate under duress. At the same time, Nigerians abroad must recognise their responsibilities as guests in other lands, respecting the laws and norms of their host countries.
Ultimately, xenophobia is not just a South African problem; it is an African challenge. Allowing it to fester unchecked risks deepening the existing fractures across the continent.
