All I want is to get home and deliver my baby safely
On the outskirts of Durban, tens of thousands of Malawians and other African nationals have been uprooted from lives built over years — sometimes decades — by a wave of xenophobic pressure demanding all foreigners leave South Africa by June 30. With no official mandate but the force of fear behind it, this campaign has emptied informal settlements and filled a makeshift camp at Sherwood Park beyond all capacity, where pregnant women, children, and men wait in deteriorating conditions for buses to carry them more than 2,000 kilometres home. It is a reminder that belonging, when it rests on tolerance alone, can be revoked without warning — and that the human cost of that revocation is measured not in policy but in lives dismantled and carried away in a single bag.
- An unofficial but coordinated campaign — amplified through social media — has given foreigners a June 30 deadline to leave South Africa, with threats of arson against landlords who shelter migrants.
- Up to 10,000 Malawians are now packed into Sherwood Park camp in Durban, a site never built for such numbers, where diarrhoea has broken out, sanitation has collapsed, and the winter cold presses in on families crowded into tents.
- Police deployed teargas and rubber bullets when attempting to relocate detainees for document verification, leaving an eight-months-pregnant woman gasping for air and vowing never to return.
- Authorities in KwaZulu-Natal have acknowledged the situation is spiralling beyond their control, with more arrivals each day and no reliable way to track the flow of displaced people.
- The crisis has crossed borders: Ghana, Nigeria, and Mozambique have all begun repatriating their own nationals, turning a local eruption of xenophobia into a continent-wide humanitarian emergency.
In a field on the outskirts of Durban, thousands of Malawians are waiting in tents — waiting for buses that will carry them back across more than 2,000 kilometres to a country many left because it offered them nothing. The camp at Sherwood Park has swollen to an estimated 10,000 people, pressed into a space never designed to hold them.
The violence that drove them here came in waves. Over recent weeks, groups moved through South Africa with a single message: foreigners must leave by June 30. The demand carries no legal weight, but it has been amplified through social media with menacing effect. Landlords were warned their properties would burn if they sheltered migrants. Informal settlements were targeted. People who had lived in South Africa for a decade or more concluded that staying was no longer survivable.
Inside the camp, conditions are deteriorating rapidly. Aid groups and religious organisations distribute food, water, and diapers, but supplies fall short. The few toilets are overwhelmed. Diarrhoea has spread. Hasani Amadi, twenty-five, worked at a coffin factory before arriving at the camp. This week he and others turned away two busloads of anti-immigrant agitators who had come, apparently, to provoke. "They said we must move from the informal settlements," he said. "Now we are here, trying to get back home, they are following us."
Gazembe Bwana spent fourteen years in South Africa as a tiler. He built a job, a home, a life. He is leaving with one bag. Nasira Mbongo is eight months pregnant and has been at Sherwood Park since Monday. When police moved in to relocate some detainees for document verification, they used teargas and rubber bullets. Mbongo could barely breathe. Her landlady had been warned: remove all foreigners or the property would be burned with them inside. "All I want is to get home and deliver my baby safely," she said. "I will never consider coming into South Africa again."
By the time authorities began to grasp the scale of the crisis, around 1,340 women, children, and sick men had already boarded buses home. The head of KwaZulu-Natal's home affairs department acknowledged the situation was spiralling beyond control. Plans to establish another refugee centre feel like a temporary measure in a crisis that is spreading: Ghana, Nigeria, and Mozambique have all begun repatriating their nationals. The camps keep growing.
In a field on the outskirts of Durban, thousands of Malawians are living in tents, waiting. They have given up their jobs, their homes, the lives they built over years in South Africa, and now they are simply waiting—for buses that will carry them back across more than 2,000 kilometres of road to a country many left because there was nothing there for them. The camp at Sherwood Park has swollen to as many as 10,000 people, according to some estimates, all of them pressed into a space never designed to hold them, all of them desperate to leave.
The violence that drove them here came in waves. Over recent weeks, groups of South Africans have moved through the country with a simple message: foreigners must go by June 30. The demand has no official backing, but it has been amplified through social media in ways that feel menacing, and it has worked. Landlords have been warned that their properties will burn if they harbour migrants. Informal settlements have been targeted. The pressure has been relentless enough that people who have lived in South Africa for a decade or more have decided that staying is no longer possible.
Inside the camp, the conditions are deteriorating. A handful of aid groups and religious organisations move through with food, water, sanitary products, and diapers, but there is never enough. The few toilets cannot handle the load. Diarrhoea has broken out. The smell of human waste hangs in the winter air. Men, women, and children crowd into tents at night, shivering. Everything requires a queue—water, food, information about when the buses might arrive. Hasani Amadi, twenty-five years old, has been waiting for days. He worked at a small coffin factory before he came to the camp. This week, he and others drove off two busloads of people from an anti-immigrant group who had come to the camp, apparently to provoke. "Why are these people coming here to harass us?" he asked. "They said we must move from the informal settlements. Now we are here, trying to get back home, they are following us."
Gazembe Bwana arrived in South Africa fourteen years ago and became a tiler. He built a life—a job, a home, relationships. He says he created work for himself, that he took no one else's position. Now he is leaving with one bag. "What has happened to me in South Africa is very painful," he said as he prepared to board one of the buses that had finally arrived. Nasira Mbongo is eight months pregnant. She has been at Sherwood Park since Monday. She signed all the documents required for repatriation, but her name has not been called. When police moved in on Wednesday to relocate some of the men to another centre where their documents would be verified, they used teargas and rubber bullets. Mbongo could barely breathe. "All I want is to get home and deliver my baby safely," she said. "I will never consider coming into South Africa again. If I have to starve, I would rather die of starvation there." She lived in Durban for three years. Her landlady told her the family had been warned: remove all foreigners or the property would be burned with them inside.
By the time authorities began to grasp the scale of what was happening, around 1,340 women, children, and sick men had already boarded buses back to Malawi. Cyril Mncwabe, who heads the home affairs department for KwaZulu-Natal province, acknowledged that the situation was spiralling beyond control. More people were arriving every day. The authorities had no way to track who was coming and going. The plan now is to cordon off the area and establish another refugee centre, but even that feels like a temporary measure in a crisis that is spreading across the continent. Ghana, Nigeria, and Mozambique have all begun repatriating their nationals from South Africa as well. The campaign against foreigners has become a regional exodus, and the camps keep growing.
Notable Quotes
Why are these people coming here to harass us? They said we must move from the informal settlements. Now we are here, trying to get back home, they are following us.— Hasani Amadi, 25, migrant at Sherwood Park camp
I worked so hard. I created jobs for myself and didn't take anyone else's job. But now I'm leaving with only one bag.— Gazembe Bwana, 44, tiler who lived in South Africa for 14 years
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why did so many Malawians decide to leave all at once, rather than try to wait it out?
Because the threat felt real and immediate. When groups are moving door-to-door with a deadline, when landlords are being warned their homes will burn, when you see informal settlements being targeted—you don't wait to see if it will actually happen. You leave.
But these are people who have been there for years. Gazembe Bwana was there fourteen years. Didn't they have protections, documentation, something?
Many didn't. They came through syndicates promising factory work, mining jobs, homes—and ended up undocumented. Even those who had built lives and jobs had no legal standing to stay. When the pressure came, they had no recourse.
The camp itself sounds like it's creating new suffering. Why not just process people faster?
Because the system was never built for this. Authorities are trying to verify documents, process repatriations, manage 10,000 people in a field with a handful of toilets. The infrastructure doesn't exist. And more people keep arriving.
What happens to the ones who don't have family or resources waiting in Malawi?
That's the question no one is answering. They're going home to a country they may have left for good reason, with nothing but what fits in a bag.
Is this just about jobs, or is there something deeper?
It's framed as jobs, but it's also about belonging. South Africa is one of Africa's largest economies. It's always attracted migrants. But when economic pressure builds, migrants become visible, and visible becomes vulnerable.