Chronicles of an ungrateful foreigner: Would Archbishop Desmond Tutu be proud?

On 12 July 2020, about four months after the COVID lockdown in South Africa, I made some predictions about the reasonable possibilities with regard to immigration issues.

See, “Here's what will happen, in no particular order” on Facebook.

My temporary asylum permit was to expire that August (2020) and would not be renewed throughout the state of emergency.

As things stand, on 1 January 2023, I walk around the streets of South Africa, for all intents and purposes an illegal human being in South Africa, perfectly eligible for immediate deportation.

Yes, let all the xenophobic people commence their celebrations!

I’ve been a “victim” of about three police street searches in Johannesburg and Pretoria. To get away from those law enforcers, I’ve had to be very crafty: From straight out lying about where my papers were, to straight out, well, lying about my papers. 

On one of those occasions, I was saved by a taxi driver who paid some bit of money to a police officer in Johannesburg who begged the officer to understand that people were really trying to survive, and detaining them would be destruction of their lives, including the lives of their children.

Oh, there was that time when I had to give my expired documents to a police officer and I had to humbly tell them the truth that I was still trying to renew them. Convincing them was not as easy as the bloody xenophobic souls would love to believe.

Just recently, on 30 December 2022, as my comrades and I made their way from the CPS Summer School held in Mpumalanga (20-30 December 2022), we were the subjects of a random police stop and search operation. I froze all that time, hoping that they wouldn’t enquire about our papers.

It seems to me that, sadly, the South African police know nothing about immigration issues – and the related human rights. They also know nothing about immigrants’ official documents and lives, as well as the complexities thereto.

Oh, just to slightly digress, late 2014 I got a scholarship to study in one good European university, with everything fully funded, and the only thing that kept me away from that scholarship was the lack of a passport.

As the holder of a “temporary asylum seeker” permit in South Africa, I was automatically ineligible for a passport.

I tried all I could to get a passport, and even wrote to then minister of home affairs Malusi Gigaba, but that guy who had naturalised the Guptas didn’t see me rich enough to give me a passport. His response to my letter, a letter crafted by the SACP, was met with a rude response! What an ugly soul!

Okay, so be it then! He’s today a species I hate for the rest of my life.

Oh, enough excursion for today, it’s time for me to review my predictions on the home affairs front, as made in 2020.

Sometime in November 2022, I was a “distinguished” guest at the South African home affairs immigration centre in Pretoria, Marabastad, now known as the Archbishop Desmond Tutu Refugee Reception Centre.

The Desmond Tutu Centre deals with immigration issues.

It’s important to state in this regard that I and my comrades have been asylum seekers in South Africa for the past 12 years.

What this means, in practical terms, is that, though we’ve been in South African soil, we’ve really been on “No Man’s Land” between Swaziland and South Africa for all these years, with no real rights and no prospects of personal growth – unless, of course, we engage in some illegal projects out there.

On 21 November 2022, I was horrified to see fellow working-class people being subjected to horrendous conditions at the Desmond Tutu centre. An old man and a woman literally sleeping on the concrete floor at around 2pm (after queuing from around 4am or 5am) was enough for me to summarise about the inhumane character of the South African immigration system.

By the way, to get attention at the centre, immigrants must ensure to arrive at around 4am! Latest!

Yes, it’s the truth! Or else you might be told to “come back tomorrow”.

I’ve heard many stories of people told to come back the next day and they didn’t even know where they’d be sleeping that night in order to comply with the directive.

Where does the queuing happen? Outside the centre! I’ve witnessed helpless immigrants get robbed as they waited in the queue in the morning before offices opened at 8am. Yes, it seems crazy, but this is what actually happens almost on a daily basis. Those from Bangladesh, Pakistan and other Asian countries often are the worst victims. Sometimes I think that they’re mere slaves who’ve been trafficked and thus have nowhere else to go. Could this be a reality? I don’t know, but then the South African government doesn’t seem to be interested in getting to the bottom of this.

As the year 2023 commences, I’m in the same boat as I was many years back. I’ve just jumped into another new year with a heavy burden of hopelessness on my shoulders.

Many people who don’t take one single step in our lives, we the foreigners, don’t understand our problems. Perhaps they don’t even care.

So, what do such people call us whenever we complain about the inhumane South African home affairs processes? Yes, “ungrateful foreigners!” That’s what they call us! If only they could walk a few steps in our shoes, they would probably appreciate our difficulties.

In 2023 I’ll be making another uneventful trip to the Desmond Tutu Centre. I hope for the best, though hope is lost at this point.

Here’s to 2023!