The Africa Hugh Masekela Sang About.

The Africa Hugh Masekela Sang About

No African Should Be Foreign in Africa

This week, my thoughts are with every African living in fear because of xenophobic tensions in South Africa. They are with Zimbabweans, Mozambicans, Malawians, Congolese, Ethiopians, Nigerians, Somalis and 

many others who have spent recent days wondering whether the place they 

call home will still welcome them tomorrow. 

They are also with South Africans who are frustrated by unemployment, inequality and the daily struggle to build better lives for their families. Fear

 has a way of convincing people that someone nearby must be responsible for problems whose roots run much deeper.

It is during moments like these that I find myself thinking about Hugh Masekela.

Not simply because he was one of Africa’s greatest musicians, but because he was one of Africa’s greatest witnesses. Through music, he documented a continent many of us have forgotten. An Africa of movement, labour, sacrifice, longing and shared destiny. 

His masterpiece Stimela tells the story of a train carrying African men to South Africa’s mines from across the continent. They came from lands we now call Zimbabwe, Mozambique, Malawi, Lesotho, Zambia and beyond, leaving

 families behind in search of work that would help build lives both at home and in the country that needed their labour.

When I listen to Stimela, I do not just hear a song. I hear our grandfather’s generation. I think of the countless African men who climbed onto those trains, leaving wives, children and parents behind in search of work.

 They descended into some of the world’s deepest and most difficult mines,

 often under conditions that asked too much of the human body and spirit. 

Many returned home changed. Some never returned at all. Yet their labour, sacrifice and dignity helped build one of Africa’s largest economies.

The truth is that many South Africans today are the children and grandchildren of those brave men. So are many Zimbabweans, Basotho, Mozambicans, Malawians and others across the region. Our family trees are more intertwined than our politics sometimes allows us to remember. 

That is why it pains me whenever an African is told to “go back home.” For many of our grandparents, South Africa was already part of home long before passports decided otherwise.

Long before colonial governments drew straight lines across maps in European capitals, Africans had already spent centuries moving across this continent. Communities traded across kingdoms. Families settled beyond what are now national borders. Languages travelled. Cultures mixed.

 Commerce flourished. Rivers connected people more often than they divided them. Africa functioned not as isolated nations but as a vast 

network of relationships, exchange and shared humanity.

The borders we know today were largely imposed during the colonial partition of Africa. They served administrative and political purposes rather than reflecting the lived realities of African communities. 

A family separated today by an international boundary may have belonged 

to the same kingdom only a few generations ago. Many ethnic groups still span multiple countries, reminding us that identity has never fitted neatly inside the borders printed on modern maps.

South Africa itself cannot be separated from this shared history. Generations of Africans travelled there to work in industries that became central to the country’s economic development. During the struggle against apartheid, many African nations opened their borders to South African exiles, students, activists and freedom fighters.

 Across the continent, ordinary people made sacrifices because they understood that South Africa’s freedom would ultimately strengthen 

Africa’s future.

None of this diminishes the genuine challenges facing South Africa today. Unemployment remains painfully high. Crime continues to affect communities. Economic inequality continues to wound the country.

 These realities deserve serious attention and thoughtful policy responses. Yet history reminds us that societies rarely solve structural problems by turning neighbours into enemies. The temptation to identify a visible group as the source of complex economic frustrations is not unique to South Africa. 

It has appeared throughout history and across continents, often leaving societies more divided while the underlying problems remain unresolved.

What troubles me most is not simply the hostility directed towards fellow Africans. It is what that hostility says about our collective memory.

 We seem to have forgotten how interconnected our histories really are. 

We speak of foreigners as though our ancestors never crossed rivers, 

mountains and kingdoms in search of opportunity, safety or community. 

We discuss migration as though movement across Africa is something new, when in truth it is one of the oldest features of African civilisation.

Perhaps that is why Stimela still feels so relevant decades after it was written. The train in Masekela’s story carries more than miners. It carries a reminder that Africa’s story has always been one of movement. 

Every passenger represents a family, a language, a culture and a dream. Every station reminds us that prosperity has never been created by one nation alone but through the contributions of many African peoples working together.

As someone who was born in Zimbabwe and now proudly calls Rwanda home, this reflection is deeply personal. I have experienced the generosity 

of being welcomed into another African country. I know what it feels like to build a life beyond the place of your birth while remaining grateful for 

where you came from. That experience has only strengthened my belief 

that hospitality is one of the continent’s greatest traditions. It is a tradition 

worth protecting.

I also write this because I love South Africa. Its music has inspired me. Its thinkers have challenged me. Its entrepreneurs, designers and creatives have influenced how I see the world. Even now, many of us are supporting South Africa at the World Cup. We celebrated when Bafana Bafana qualified for the second round because their progress felt like Africa’s progress. 

That is what makes this moment so painful. The same people who cheer for South Africa’s success are being made to feel unwanted in South Africa’s streets. That contradiction should trouble all of us.

To my South African brothers and sisters, this is not a letter of accusation. It is 

a letter of love. 

We have celebrated your victories as our own. We rejoiced when apartheid fell because your freedom was Africa’s freedom. We cheered when Bafana Bafana reached the second round because your joy was our joy. We have danced to 

your music, learnt from your universities, admired your resilience and proudly called you family.

We still do.

I know that millions of South Africans reject hatred just as millions of Africans across the continent reject it. A loud minority should never be allowed to define an extraordinary nation. 

South Africa has given Africa some of its greatest gifts: Nelson Mandela, Desmond Tutu, Miriam Makeba, Hugh Masekela, Oliver Tambo, Steve Biko, remarkable entrepreneurs, artists, writers and innovators who have inspired us all. That is the South Africa I know. That is the South Africa I choose to remember.

I pray that this difficult moment passes. I pray that fear gives way to understanding, and that frustration gives way to wisdom. Above all, I pray that Africa remembers itself, because no map should ever be powerful enough to make brothers become strangers.

We love you, South Africa. We always will. We forgive those who have chosen hatred, because they do not represent the best of your nation. We believe in a better South Africa, and we believe in a better Africa.

No African should be foreign in Africa.

Thank you for reading.

Warm regards,

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