Abahambe or Abahlale? South Africa’s question of belonging

On social media timelines and in street conversations, a phrase has become shorthand for South Africa’s current tension “Abahambe? Abahlale?” Should they leave, or should they stay? This question has gained momentum alongside the “March and March” protests in recent weeks in Gauteng and now in Cape Town this past weekend, where demonstrators have called for stricter immigration enforcement, tighter border control and, in some cases, the removal of undocumented migrants.

At the same time, it sits uncomfortably against Africa Day, marked yesterday (25 May), which aims to affirm unity, solidarity and shared belonging across the continent. The contradiction is difficult to ignore.

Translated from isiZulu, “Abahambe?” means “Should they leave?” and “Abahlale?” means “Should they stay?” On the surface, it is a binary question. In reality, it reflects a more layered struggle over belonging, legality, economic pressure and identity in a country still navigating inequality and historical displacement.

Africa Day’s vision vs. street-level reality

This year’s Africa Day theme focuses on water security and sustainable sanitation under the African Union’s Agenda 2063. It speaks to a long-term vision of shared infrastructure and collective survival across borders. However, online and offline, the dominant mood draws less from continental unity and more from scarcity, frustration and fear.

The “March and March” protests and the immigration debate

Organisers and supporters have framed the “March on March” protests as a response to unemployment, strained public services and competition for limited opportunities. In communities where jobs are scarce and service delivery is inconsistent, frustration has found a visible target. Communities often place migrants, particularly those without documentation, at the centre of that anger. Yet even within that anger, people frequently lose the distinctions that matter.

Concerns about immigration policy are not automatically the same as hostility toward foreign nationals. But in the speed and heat of public discourse, those lines blur easily. That is where “Abahambe or abahlale” becomes more than a phrase. It becomes a filter through which people sort others into categories of belonging or exclusion.

Structural problems that migration did not create

South Africa’s unemployment crisis, inequality and uneven access to housing and healthcare are real pressures. They shape how people interpret every additional strain on public systems. However, I do not think migration is the root cause of these structural problems. It is one visible expression of a wider regional reality driven by disparity, conflict and uneven development across the continent.

A father’s reminder on Africa Day

A conversation I had with my father yesterday on Africa Day brought this into sharper focus. He wished me a “Happy Africa Day, ntombam,” before unpacking its meaning. He reminded me that this day emerged from the liberation era, when African states supported one another in struggles against colonialism and apartheid. That history is not symbolic alone; it shaped the idea that African futures are interconnected, not isolated.

Former president Thabo Mbeki has repeatedly warned that poverty across the continent remains deeply entrenched a reminder that the promise of African unity still exists alongside persistent economic hardship. His reflection echoes the gap between Africa Day’s ideals and the lived realities that continue to define much of the continent. That conversation made clear that present-day realities now sit alongside that legacy in uncomfortable ways.

Governance, belonging and the limits of enforcement

In South Africa, communities often experience the government not as a stabilising force but as a source of frustration. Service delivery protests, rising living costs and persistent unemployment shape how communities respond to anything people perceive as additional pressure. Migration becomes one of those pressure points because it is visible, immediate and politically charged.

The question, then, is not only who belongs, but what belonging means in a society where many already feel excluded from economic participation. If my observations serve me right, “Abahambe or abahlale” captures that tension in a way official language often cannot. It is raw, direct and emotionally loaded. But it is also reductive. It flattens a complex mix of documented migrants, undocumented migrants, refugees, long-term residents and citizens into a single forced choice.

It also raises a deeper question about governance whether enforcement alone can address what is fundamentally an economic and structural challenge. Border control may respond to legality, but it does not create jobs. Deportation may signal political action, but it does not resolve failing services or economic stagnation.

At the same time, dismissing public frustration would miss the point. These concerns stem from lived experience. The risk lies not in recognising that frustration, but in how easily communities redirect it into exclusionary narratives that harden over time.

The Digital world and the danger of lost nuance

There is another layer to this conversation that lives almost entirely online. As a Millennial, I go onto social media not just to create content, but to engage. That world overflows with voices, opinions, threads, clips, counter-arguments and outrage cycles that move faster than my reflections.

In that space, people constantly pull you into positions. They expect you to declare where you stand, to pick a side and respond quickly and visibly. But if you do not know who you are, and if you do not stand your ground, you can easily get lost in the discourse itself. It is not just about being informed. It is about being anchored.

Without that grounding, every trend becomes persuasive, every argument feels urgent and every comment section starts to feel like truth rather than noise. The danger is not only misinformation, but fragmentation the loss of personal clarity in a sea of competing certainty.

That dynamic matters here because “Abahambe or abahlale” is not only a street-level question. It is also a digital one. It circulates, sharpens and polarises in real time. Social media does not merely reflect public opinion; it intensifies it, often stripping away nuance in the process.

Between urgency and intention

Africa Day, in contrast, asks for something slower. It asks for memory, context and an awareness of shared histories that a scrolling feed rarely surfaces.

South Africa now sits between these two worlds: the immediate pressure of economic hardship and the longer arc of continental connection. The protests represent urgency. Africa Day represents intention. Social media amplifies both, often without distinction. And in the middle sits the question Abahambe or abahlale?

There are no simple answers. But there is a warning embedded in how people ask the question. When society reduces complex realities into binaries, it may feel like clarity. But it often comes at the cost of understanding.

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