It's not comfortable for us to stay here anymore, so we have to go.
In the early hours of a Wednesday morning, hundreds of Ghanaians boarded chartered flights home from Johannesburg — not by choice, but by necessity. South Africa, a nation that has long drawn migrants seeking opportunity, is once again confronting the recurring tension between economic anxiety and the violence it can unleash against the foreign-born. Ghana's government, reading the signs of history, moved to protect its citizens before that tension could turn fatal, as it has before.
- A citizen-led movement called March and March has issued a June 30 ultimatum for illegal immigrants to leave South Africa, spreading protests from Durban across multiple provinces and reigniting fears of the xenophobic bloodshed that killed 62 people in 2008 and 12 in 2019.
- For the estimated 25,000 Ghanaians living in South Africa, the escalating rhetoric has made daily life feel like a countdown — businesses have stalled, safety feels precarious, and the line between peaceful protest and violent pogrom feels dangerously thin.
- Ghana's government responded by organizing a phased airlift: 300 citizens departed Wednesday morning, with 500 more to follow after screening, all of them registered through the Ghanaian embassy in a methodical, government-managed withdrawal.
- Among those departing is Rudolph, who spent a decade building a salon and a life in South Africa — he told the BBC he would never return, saying simply, 'I think we will find peace at home.'
- Ghana's High Commissioner framed the repatriation as sovereign duty, while also pledging reintegration support for returnees and arguing that removing undocumented Ghanaians would ultimately benefit South Africa's economy.
- With South African local elections scheduled for November, analysts note a familiar pattern: anti-migrant sentiment tends to intensify in election seasons, leaving foreign nationals caught between political calculation and genuine public grievance.
Before dawn on a Wednesday, chartered buses arrived at Johannesburg's OR Tambo airport and Ghanaians — some with luggage, some with almost nothing — began boarding flights home. The airlift, organized by Ghana's government, was a direct response to a surge of anti-immigrant protests sweeping South African cities, and a recognition that for many of the estimated 25,000 Ghanaians living there, the situation had become too dangerous to wait and see.
The protests were organized by a citizen-led movement called March and March, which framed its campaign as a push for immigration reform and issued an ultimatum: illegal immigrants must leave South Africa by June 30. For Ghanaians who had built lives, businesses, and communities in the country, that deadline carried the weight of history. South Africa had seen 62 foreign nationals killed in xenophobic violence in 2008, and at least 12 more in 2019. The current protests were described by organizers as peaceful — but the memory of what peaceful protests had previously become was not easily set aside.
Among those departing was Rudolph, who had spent a decade in South Africa running a salon. Watching the demonstrations spread from city to city, he concluded that something worse was coming. 'It's not comfortable for us to stay here anymore,' he told the BBC. He said he would never return.
Ghana's High Commissioner Benjamin Quashie described the repatriation as a government's fundamental duty to its citizens, acknowledging that Ghanaians felt their lives and livelihoods were at risk. He outlined plans to help returning citizens reintegrate and restart the businesses they had left behind. The initial group of 300 departed Wednesday morning, with the remaining 500 to follow once screening was complete. Few passengers spoke to journalists; those who did conveyed not anger, but a quiet, resigned sense of loss.
South Africa's government has condemned violence against foreigners while simultaneously acknowledging the need to address illegal immigration — a careful balance that offered little comfort to the hundreds of people boarding planes that morning. Some analysts have linked the resurgence of anti-migrant sentiment to November's local elections, a pattern that has repeated itself before. For those leaving, the political calculus behind their displacement was beside the point.
Before dawn on Wednesday, dozens of chartered buses pulled up to the departures level of Johannesburg's OR Tambo airport. It was 3 a.m. local time. Men, women, and children filed out—some carrying bags, some with nothing but what they wore. They were Ghanaians, and they were leaving South Africa.
This was not a voluntary exodus born of wanderlust or career opportunity. Ghana's government had organized the airlift in response to a surge of anti-immigrant protests sweeping through South African cities. The first group numbered 800 people, all of whom had registered with the Ghanaian embassy for repatriation. A smaller contingent arrived separately in a police van, kept apart from the main group and monitored by officers. Embassy and airport staff processed each passenger methodically.
The immediate trigger was a wave of demonstrations against illegal immigration that had begun in Durban and spread to other provinces. A citizen-led movement called March and March had organized the protests, framing them as a push for immigration reform. The group had issued an ultimatum: illegal immigrants should leave South Africa by June 30. For many Ghanaians already living in the country—an estimated 25,000 of them—the deadline and the escalating rhetoric felt like a countdown to danger. The country's history made that fear concrete. In 2008, xenophobic violence had killed 62 foreign nationals. In 2019, at least 12 people died in attacks on foreigners. The current protests, organizers insisted, remained peaceful. But the memory was fresh enough.
Rudolph, who had built a life in South Africa over a decade, running a salon and establishing himself in the community, decided the risk had become too great. "It's not comfortable for us to stay here anymore, so we have to go," he told the BBC. "I think we will find peace at home." He watched the protests spread from city to city and concluded something worse was coming. He said he would never return.
Ghana's High Commissioner Benjamin Quashie framed the repatriation as a government's duty to protect its citizens. He acknowledged that Ghanaians in South Africa felt their lives were in danger, that their businesses had stalled, that they no longer felt welcome. The government, he said, had a responsibility to act. When pressed on Ghana's own role in preventing illegal migration to South Africa, Quashie outlined a reintegration strategy for returning citizens—helping them restart businesses they had abandoned. He also suggested that removing undocumented Ghanaians would actually benefit South Africa's economy and demonstrate that Ghana did not tolerate its citizens living illegally abroad.
The repatriation was scheduled in phases. The initial 300 departed Wednesday morning, with the remaining 500 to follow once screening was complete. Few of the departing passengers wanted to speak to journalists. Those who did conveyed a sense of loss and resignation—not anger, but the quiet acceptance of people who had decided their presence was no longer wanted.
Some analysts have speculated that the resurgence of anti-migrant sentiment may be tied to local elections scheduled for November, a pattern familiar in South African politics. The government itself had condemned criminal acts against foreigners while acknowledging the country needed to address illegal immigration more effectively. It was a careful balance—condemning violence while validating the underlying grievance. For the 800 Ghanaians boarding planes that Wednesday morning, such distinctions offered little comfort.
Notable Quotes
The Ghanaian government listened to the plight of its citizens in South Africa, who felt that their lives were in danger, who felt like the economic activity that they were engaging in had come to a standstill, who felt unwelcome in this country.— Ghanaian High Commissioner Benjamin Quashie
The protests started in Durban, and they've escalated to other provinces. So definitely something bad could happen.— Rudolph, a Ghanaian salon owner departing South Africa
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why did Ghana decide to organize this airlift now, rather than waiting to see how the protests developed?
The government was responding to what its citizens were telling them—that they felt unsafe. Once you have a deadline like June 30 and you see protests spreading across provinces, waiting becomes a liability. The government had to act before the situation deteriorated further.
But 800 people is a fraction of the 25,000 Ghanaians there. Why not more?
These were people who had registered, who had made the decision themselves to leave. The government can't force repatriation. What they did was create the mechanism for those who wanted out to actually get out. The remaining registrations were still being processed.
Rudolph said he'd never return. Do you think most of these people feel that way?
Probably many do, at least right now. When you've built something—a business, a life—and you feel forced to abandon it, the wound is deep. Whether that hardens into permanent exile or softens over time depends on what happens next in South Africa.
The High Commissioner mentioned a reintegration strategy. What does that actually mean for someone like Rudolph?
It means Ghana is trying to help returnees restart. But restarting in Ghana is not the same as what they had in South Africa. The salon Rudolph ran, the clientele he built—that's gone. The strategy can help with capital or business advice, but it can't restore what was lost.
Is there a risk this airlift makes things worse—that it validates the protesters' message that immigrants should leave?
That's the paradox. By organizing the repatriation, Ghana is essentially saying the protesters have a point worth acting on. At the same time, the government is trying to distinguish between legal and illegal migrants. But for people on the ground, those distinctions blur when the overall message is that foreigners are unwelcome.
What happens to the Ghanaians who don't register for the airlift?
They stay and navigate an increasingly hostile environment. They're betting either that the protests will fade or that they can weather the storm. But with a June 30 deadline looming and no guarantee of safety, that's a high-stakes gamble.