Nigeria finances South Africa while South Africa hunts Nigerians
Thirteen years after a South African president suggested his country need not 'think like Africans,' the ideology behind those words has hardened into systematic violence against Black migrants, prompting Nigeria to evacuate 801 of its citizens from South African streets. The episode forces a reckoning with a quiet paradox: South African corporations like MTN and MultiChoice have grown wealthy on Nigerian consumers even as Nigerian nationals face dispossession and assault in South African cities. A Nigerian columnist now argues that the oldest principle of statecraft — reciprocity — obliges Abuja to answer through economic instruments rather than silence, reminding the world that solidarity, not exceptionalism, is what once freed South Africa itself.
- 801 Nigerian citizens have been evacuated from South Africa after a wave of targeted attacks so systematic that observers coined a new term — Afrophobia — to distinguish it from ordinary xenophobia.
- The violence is not random but ideological: a post-apartheid mythology of South African exceptionalism has taught some citizens to blame neighboring Africans for domestic poverty, creating a permission structure for expulsion.
- The economic irony is acute — MTN Nigeria alone generates 27% of the group's global revenue, meaning Nigerian consumers are directly subsidizing the South African shareholders and state coffers of companies whose home country hunts Nigerians.
- Nigeria's political class remains divided: one senator has called for revoking operating rights for South African firms, while others favor quiet diplomacy — a debate that has so far produced neither protection nor consequence.
- The columnist argues that tax policy, competition law, and investment restrictions are legitimate foreign policy tools, and that Nigeria's leverage over South African balance sheets is the only language likely to produce a genuine change in behavior.
In October 2013, Jacob Zuma told an ANC gathering that South Africa should not 'think like Africans in Africa, generally.' The remark was more than a slip — it revealed an ideology of exceptionalism that would quietly define South Africa's relationship with the rest of the continent for years to come.
Thirteen years later, that ideology has produced violence systematic enough to demand its own vocabulary. Xenophobia felt too neutral; what was happening was Afrophobia — hatred calibrated specifically for Black Africans from beyond South Africa's borders. The Nigerian government recently evacuated 801 citizens who had fled attacks in which the message, city by city, was the same: go home. The violence was fed by a familiar story sold to economically desperate communities — that foreign Africans were the cause of local poverty, and expelling them was the cure.
The cruelty of the moment is sharpened by a profound irony. South African companies have built enormous fortunes on the very continent their national mythology claims to transcend. MTN Nigeria generated ₦5.2 trillion in revenue in 2025 — roughly 27 percent of the entire group's global earnings. MultiChoice has collected billions from Nigerian households through DStv, GOtv, and Showmax subscriptions. Nigeria does not merely receive South African investment; in a meaningful sense, Nigeria finances South Africa.
This reality makes the central question unavoidable: what does Nigeria owe its own citizens? When President Ramaphosa defended policies to support South African enterprise, he was invoking a logic Nigeria could apply with equal legitimacy. Reciprocity is not a radical idea — it is the oldest principle of statecraft, practiced routinely by the United States and others through tariffs, sanctions, and investment rules. Senator Adams Oshiomhole called for revoking the operating rights of South African firms, though he remained a lone voice as others placed their faith in negotiation.
The columnist invokes the juju musician Ebenezer Obey to answer the conceit of indispensability: no nation is irreplaceable, and only God sustains all. There is a bitter symmetry in a country whose liberation was secured through pan-African solidarity now deploying the logic of exclusion against those same neighbors. The answer, the argument goes, is not mob retaliation but statecraft — delivering a message through the language South African corporations will actually hear: the language of their balance sheets. Reciprocity is not revenge. It is simply the rule that has always governed commerce between nations.
In October 2013, Jacob Zuma stood before an ANC gathering at Wits University and declared that South Africa should not "think like Africans in Africa, generally." The remark—later remembered as the "I am not an African" speech—sent a tremor across the continent. It was a statement that revealed something far deeper than a careless slip of the tongue. It exposed an ideology that would come to define South Africa's relationship with its neighbors: the belief that the country stood apart, more civilized, more entitled, somehow less African than the rest of the continent.
Thirteen years later, that ideology has metastasized into violence. Three days before this column was written, the Nigerian government had evacuated 801 of its citizens from South Africa. They fled a campaign of attacks so systematic that it demanded a new word. Xenophobia—that 200-year-old English term borrowed from Greek roots meaning fear of the foreign—was too broad, too neutral. What South Africa was practicing was Afrophobia: a hatred calibrated precisely for Black Africans from outside its borders. The message from city to city was uniform: "Go home. Go back to your country."
The violence was not random. It was rooted in a particular delusion. Black South Africans, facing their own economic desperation, had been sold a story: that their poverty was the fault of Africans from elsewhere. Their exceptionalism had taught them to blame outsiders for their own failures, to view the expulsion of foreigners as an economic cure. Zuma's words had given permission to a national mythology—that South Africa was too good for Africa, and that Africa was the problem.
Yet there is an irony so sharp it cuts. South African companies have built fortunes on the very continent they claim to transcend. MTN, the telecommunications giant, generates more than a quarter of its global revenue from Nigeria alone. In 2025, MTN Nigeria brought in ₦5.2 trillion in revenue—roughly 27 percent of the entire group's earnings. MultiChoice, which operates DStv, GOtv, and Showmax, has collected billions from Nigerian households year after year. Every airtime purchase, every subscription renewal, every stream has flowed directly into the pockets of South African shareholders, South African pension funds, and the South African state's tax coffers. Nigeria does not merely receive South African investment. Nigeria finances South Africa.
The question, then, becomes unavoidable: What does Nigeria owe its own citizens? When President Cyril Ramaphosa addressed the violence in June, he spoke of South Africa's duty to "support local enterprise" and ensure that South Africans "participate meaningfully in the economy." The logic was sound. But if South Africa may deploy policies to strengthen domestic business, why should Nigeria hesitate to do the same? Reciprocity is not invention. It is the oldest principle of statecraft. The United States has used tariffs, sanctions, and investment restrictions for decades to pursue foreign policy goals. Tax policy, competition law, procurement rules—these are legitimate instruments available to any government that chooses to use them.
One senator, Adams Oshiomhole, had called for Nigeria to "take away the South African rights" from companies like MTN. He was a lone voice. Other leaders believed negotiation would soften hearts hardened by exceptionalism. But exceptionalism says, "We are better than you." At its most arrogant, it adds, "Without us, you cannot survive." Years ago, the juju musician Ebenezer Obey answered that conceit in song: "Without me, my friend will not eat; without me, my friend will not drink." Then he rebuked the boaster: "Stop saying so; only God Almighty sustains all." No nation is indispensable.
There is a cruel symmetry in the moment. A people whose freedom was secured by the sacrifices and solidarity of other African countries now deploy the logic of exclusion against those same neighbors. Apartheid meant "apartness." The new apartheid is softer, more profitable, but no less real. And it operates through the very companies that have grown fat on Nigerian money.
The answer is not mob retaliation. It is statecraft. It is the government's responsibility to tell South African companies that they cannot continue to feast on Nigeria's vast market while Nigerians are hunted in South African streets. The message should be delivered through the only language that will be heard: the language of their balance sheets. Hold their businesses firmly enough, and the message will travel. Reciprocity is not revenge. It is simply the rule that governs all commerce between nations: do me, I do you.
Notable Quotes
South Africa cannot, through its businesses, continue to feast on Nigeria's vast market while Nigerians are hunted in South African streets.— The columnist's central argument
If South Africa may lawfully deploy policies that strengthen domestic enterprise, Nigeria should not hesitate to adopt equally lawful measures that strengthen Nigerian businesses.— The columnist on reciprocity in international relations
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why does the author keep returning to this idea of exceptionalism? It seems like more than just arrogance.
Because exceptionalism is the permission structure. If you believe you're fundamentally different—better, more civilized—then harming people from outside becomes rational. It's not cruelty; it's self-preservation. Zuma's speech in 2013 gave that belief a national voice.
But South Africa's economy depends on Nigeria. MTN alone gets a quarter of its revenue from Nigerian customers. How does that not create leverage?
It does. That's the entire argument. Nigeria has been financing South Africa's prosperity while South Africa hunts Nigerians in the streets. The leverage exists; the question is whether Nigeria's government will use it.
The author mentions reciprocity repeatedly. Is that just a fancy word for tit-for-tat?
No. Reciprocity is the principle that governs all international relations. If South Africa can use tax policy and investment rules to protect its own businesses, Nigeria can do the same. It's not revenge—it's the baseline rule of how states interact.
What would actually happen if Nigeria moved against MTN or MultiChoice?
That's the point. The author isn't saying Nigeria should do it recklessly. But the threat itself—the knowledge that there are consequences—might change South African behavior faster than any diplomatic note ever could.
Is the author arguing for economic punishment, or for Nigeria to finally act like it has power?
Both. But mostly the second. Nigeria has been passive, accepting violence against its citizens while enriching the companies of the country doing the violence. The author is asking: at what point does a government protect its own people?