The Africa we once believed in was built on solidarity, courage and responsibility. It was an Africa that understood that freedom was incomplete unless it was shared. Recovering that Africa requires remembering one fundamental truth, that our greatest threat is not the person who crosses a border in search of opportunity, but the failure to build societies where every person has the chance to live with dignity, security and hope.
By Shu’aibu Usman Leman
There are memories that remain with us not simply because they belong to the past, but because they carry lessons about the values that shaped our understanding of ourselves, our societies and the kind of future we once imagined. Some memories become moral landmarks; they remind us of what we stood for, what we sacrificed for and what we hoped our continent would become. Whenever I reflect on the recurring episodes of xenophobic hostility directed towards fellow Africans in parts of South Africa, I find myself returning to my years as a student in a Nigerian university during the 1980s. Those memories are not merely nostalgic recollections of youth. They represent a period when Africa’s challenges were viewed through the lens of shared responsibility, when the suffering of one African nation was understood as a concern for the entire continent.
Those were years when Nigeria carried itself with a deep sense of continental responsibility. Our universities and polytechnics were not merely institutions where young people pursued academic qualifications; they were also intellectual and political spaces where the great questions confronting Africa were debated. They were places where discussions about colonialism, liberation, justice, development and the future of the continent shaped the consciousness of a generation.
Among us were South African students and lecturers whose presence on Nigerian campuses reflected a powerful national commitment to the liberation struggle. They were not refugees in the ordinary sense of the word; they were representatives of a larger African struggle. Their presence reminded us that apartheid was not only a South African problem but an injustice that affected the moral conscience of the entire continent. Nigeria’s willingness to welcome them demonstrated a belief that African freedom could not be separated from African unity.
The anti-apartheid struggle was not a distant political issue discussed only by diplomats, government officials or international organisations. It was part of our everyday reality. It influenced conversations in lecture halls, student residences and social gatherings. Students across Nigerian universities and polytechnics organised fundraising activities to support the liberation movements. Many of us contributed whatever little we could spare from our modest allowances. We were not wealthy students, but we understood that solidarity was never measured by the amount given. It was measured by the willingness to stand with others when justice demanded it.
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Those small contributions represented a much larger principle, that the suffering of fellow Africans was not someone else’s problem. They reflected an understanding that Africa’s destiny was interconnected. The oppression of South Africans under apartheid was seen as a wound on the entire continent, and the struggle against that oppression was considered a shared responsibility.
Among the memories that remain particularly vivid is my encounter with young South Africans who studied alongside us. I still remember always boarding the University of Jos campus bus from the Students’ Village Hostel to the Bauchi Road Main Campus with some of them. At that time, I did not see them as foreigners. They were simply fellow students, young Africans pursuing education and opportunity in circumstances where apartheid had attempted to deny them both.
Those ordinary journeys on a campus bus have remained meaningful to me because they represented something far greater than the moment itself. They represented an Africa where borders existed but did not become barriers to human connection. They represented an Africa where identity was not defined only by nationality but also by shared history, shared struggles and shared aspirations.
That spirit of solidarity did not emerge by accident. It was rooted in a deliberate national vision and a broader Pan-African philosophy. Nigeria’s foreign policy during the era of General Murtala Mohammed, and the commitment sustained by subsequent administrations, especially that of General Olusegun Obasanjo, reflected an understanding that African liberation was a collective responsibility.
Nigeria’s support for anti-colonial and anti-apartheid struggles was based on the conviction that political independence would remain incomplete if millions of Africans continued to live under systems of racial domination and exclusion. The country used diplomatic influence, political support and material assistance because it believed that Africa’s progress depended on the freedom and dignity of all its people.
This commitment was not motivated by narrow interests alone. It was driven by the belief that a continent divided by suffering could never achieve its full potential. The objective was not simply to help individual countries gain independence; it was to contribute to the creation of an Africa built on dignity, cooperation and mutual respect.
It is against this historical background that the present reality becomes deeply painful. The recurring outbreaks of xenophobic hostility towards African migrants in South Africa represent more than isolated expressions of anger or intolerance. They reveal a deeper crisis involving governance, economic insecurity, social frustration and the weakening of historical memory.
Xenophobia is often described as a problem of individual attitudes, but its roots are frequently connected to broader social conditions. When citizens experience unemployment, poverty, inequality and declining confidence in public institutions, frustration begins to accumulate. When governments fail to address these challenges effectively, vulnerable groups often become convenient targets for public anger.
This pattern is not unique to South Africa. Across the world, societies experiencing economic uncertainty have often searched for simple explanations for complex problems. Migrants, minorities and marginalised communities can become symbols onto which wider frustrations are projected. Yet history repeatedly demonstrates that blaming vulnerable groups does not solve the problems that created the frustration in the first place.
No country has created jobs by attacking migrants. No society has improved healthcare, education or infrastructure by excluding outsiders. No government has strengthened its institutions by encouraging citizens to search for enemies rather than demanding accountability from leaders.
The politics of scapegoating offers an emotional escape because it creates the illusion that removing a particular group will resolve deeper structural problems. However, unemployment is not caused by the presence of foreigners alone. Weak public services are not created by migrants. Poor governance is not the responsibility of ordinary people seeking better opportunities. These challenges require serious policy responses, institutional reforms and accountable leadership.
Throughout my career as a journalist, I have advocated what I describe as presence-based reporting. This approach requires the media to move beyond political ceremonies, official statements and carefully prepared public appearances. It demands that journalists examine whether government policies actually translate into improvements in the daily lives of citizens.
The true measure of leadership is not found in speeches delivered or promises repeated. It is found in whether citizens have access to quality education, reliable healthcare, security, infrastructure and meaningful economic opportunities. Governance must ultimately be judged by outcomes rather than intentions.
When governments fail to provide these foundations, societies become vulnerable to the politics of blame. Instead of asking difficult questions about economic management, corruption, institutional weaknesses or policy failures, public debate is redirected towards identifying convenient enemies.
This is where the role of journalism becomes critical. A responsible media must challenge narratives that simplify complex problems into accusations against vulnerable communities. Journalism must investigate the causes of social challenges rather than merely report the anger they produce. The responsibility of the media is not only to reflect public sentiment but also to interrogate it.
South Africa’s experience is especially significant because the country’s own liberation was achieved through international African solidarity. The struggle against apartheid was supported by Africans across the continent who believed that racial oppression anywhere in Africa affected the dignity of Africans everywhere.
Many countries opened their doors to South African activists, students and political movements. They provided support at considerable economic and political cost because they understood that freedom was not meaningful if it existed only within national borders.
To witness Africans turning against Africans today is therefore deeply troubling. It represents a painful departure from the values that inspired generations of liberation activists. The dream was never that independence would produce new divisions among Africans. The dream was that freedom would create a continent where dignity, opportunity and respect could flourish.
However, this challenge extends beyond South Africa. Across Africa, governments sometimes find it easier to identify external enemies than to confront internal weaknesses. When unemployment remains high, when inequality increases and when institutions fail to deliver, vulnerable groups often become targets of frustration.
The pattern is familiar, that instead of addressing failures of governance, political leaders and public voices sometimes encourage narratives that shift responsibility away from those with power and towards those with the least ability to defend themselves.
The danger of this approach is that it weakens the very foundations needed for continental progress. Africa cannot achieve economic transformation, regional integration or shared prosperity if its people are encouraged to see one another as threats rather than partners.
The future of Africa depends on cooperation. Migration within Africa is not simply a challenge; it is also an opportunity. Across history, movement of people, ideas, skills and cultures has contributed to economic growth and social development. African societies have always been connected through trade, education, family ties and cultural exchange.
Rather than treating migration only as a problem, governments should develop policies that manage movement responsibly while protecting the rights and dignity of all people. Regional cooperation must focus on creating opportunities so that migration becomes a choice rather than a desperate necessity.
The solution to Africa’s challenges is not stronger walls between African nations but stronger institutions within them. Citizens must demand governments that deliver measurable results. Leaders must focus on building economies that create opportunities rather than searching for groups to blame. Civil society must defend the principle that dignity should never depend on nationality.
Above all, Africa’s younger generation must recover the historical memory of an era when solidarity was understood as both a moral obligation and a practical necessity. They must remember that many of the freedoms enjoyed today were achieved because Africans supported one another across borders.
I often return in my thoughts to those journeys on the campus bus with my South African colleagues and to those students who contributed their modest resources to a liberation struggle beyond Nigeria’s borders. Those moments remind me of an Africa that believed in collective responsibility and shared destiny.
They remind me that the continent’s greatest achievements have always emerged when Africans recognised their common humanity. They remind us that our strength has never been found in division, but in cooperation.
That Africa has not disappeared. It has simply been obscured by the pressures, disappointments and failures of the present. Recovering it requires more than remembering the past; it requires action in the present.
Africa must reject the temptation to create scapegoats for problems that require serious leadership. It must reject the idea that another African nation’s citizens are enemies rather than partners. It must demand governments that work, institutions that inspire trust and societies that protect the dignity of all people.
The Africa we once believed in was built on solidarity, courage and responsibility. It was an Africa that understood that freedom was incomplete unless it was shared. Recovering that Africa requires remembering one fundamental truth, that our greatest threat is not the person who crosses a border in search of opportunity, but the failure to build societies where every person has the chance to live with dignity, security and hope.
