‘Oh cool, you’re from South Africa? Which country?” I can’t stop my eyes widening at this bizarre response — a new variation on the stereotype of the geographically challenged foreigner who thinks “Africa” is a country. If there’s one thing I’ve learnt about travelling as an African, it’s that we assume the responsibility of correcting all manner of odd responses and shades of ignorance.
Recently, however, I have faced far more sobering responses to my origins — and it is no coincidence that they all come from fellow Africans abroad. “South Africa?” they’ll ask with a steely look, and proceed to interrogate me on my country’s xenophobia. Our hatred of the (black) foreigner strides ahead of us, singling us out as the continent’s bully and prompting questions that all boil down to “What is wrong with your country?”
Trying to explain why SA is so ravaged by contempt for our neighbours that we attack and kill with impunity is no easy task. My opinion is that it is caused by a combination of government apathy, lack of historical awareness, a very narrow vision of ourselves and a sense of entitlement — all nurtured by a government that prefers grants to innovation and education and turns a blind eye when xenophobia masquerades as crime.
Recently, I’ve also come to think that it may be related to the fact that South Africans just don’t relate to the broader continent. We’re nestled at the southernmost tip of a landmass that comprises 54 countries. Our history is vastly different from that of our neighbours. We have a much higher white population than they do. We have better infrastructure, a well-established democracy (things are bad, but trust me, they could be worse), and a general sense that we are “different” — read: “better than the rest of Africa”.
When I was in high school — a public, majority-white, ex-Model C school — you never heard of classmates planning family trips to Rwanda or Senegal. Europe was the place to be. Even today, I don’t hear my friends back home yearning to visit neighbouring countries. When I visited Kenya for the first time last year for research, it occurred to me that I had spent the past five years travelling the world, yet had never set foot in another African country. This said more about circumstances than my own choices. Every international competition, leadership programme, college rotation city or job ever offered me simply did not list Africa as an option. If I sought opportunities for growth and learning, I was forced to look everywhere other than my own continent. The same is true for many Africans who wish to “make it big”. The assumption is that success lies abroad; and the narrative is reinforced when many of the most prestigious scholarships, competitions and opportunities disregard African countries as a viable location. My own university’s “global rotation programme” — the reason why I travel so much and live in a different country every semester — does not include a single African city on its itinerary.
Now, having visited four African countries and currently working in Accra, I’m more determined than ever to be conscious about my travel choices. Visibility matters. I am also determined to convince other Africans to travel within Africa.
One of the major hindrances to an appreciation of our continent is mobility, or the lack of it. Poor aviation infrastructure, visa complications and antiliberal economic policies continue to inhibit the movement of Africans between regions, yet recent examples of African countries that have chosen to do things differently offer a promising model for us.
In 2018, Rwanda made headlines by being the first African country to grant a visa on arrival for all nationalities. Contrast this with countries like Cameroon, Egypt, Mali, Morocco and Nigeria, which all require visas in advance from South African passport holders. According to the Africa Visa Openness Index, on average, Africans need visas to enter 55% of states within the continent. Regional policies that directly address barriers to mobility can have a profound impact. When Rwanda’s government took on the goal of a #VisaFreeAfrica, the country saw a 24% increase in tourism arrivals and a 50% increase in intra-African trade. Trade with the Democratic Republic of the Congo alone increased by 73%.
Second, airlines in Africa are notorious for being ill-managed, unprofitable and commercially expensive (we need not look further than our very own SAA). Perhaps this is why Africans make up roughly 12% of the world’s population yet only 2.5% of the world’s airline passengers. It’s still cheaper to buy a return flight from New York to Paris than a one-way from Johannesburg to Accra. There is strong evidence to suggest that countries with liberal economic policies and at least a partially privatised national airline have a more sustainable and profitable aviation industry. For citizens, this means cheaper, more frequent flights to a wider range of destinations.
Forget the global village — there is an African village right on our doorstep, and I think we’ve forgotten that we live in it too.
Political and economic barriers aside, there needs to be a cultural push to visit other African countries. Africa is huge. Living in SA does not nearly capture the scope of what is unfolding around us. The rest of the world is awakening to the fact that this continent, demographically the youngest and soon to house a quarter of the global population, is a hotbed of innovation, creativity and cultural wisdom. Unfortunately, many Africans themselves still don’t see the rest of the continent as an attractive destination for travel or business.
But people are starting to challenge this narrative. For millennials, especially, destinations in Africa are becoming more appealing as they offer meaningful travel experiences and open doors to cultural and entrepreneurial opportunities. People like me are quite happy to swap Milan for Mombasa or Kyoto for Kigali — we want to see more of our own continent. I wish I had been given the opportunity in school to learn French, Arabic or Swahili. How might my path have differed had my grade 10 exchange taken me to Algeria, not Germany?
I’ve experienced how visiting other African countries and interacting with enterprising diasporans has enriched my sense of identity and expanded my view of the world in ways that are simply not possible elsewhere. I no longer consider myself a “global citizen”; I am a “global African”.
Forget the global village — there is an African village right on our doorstep, and I think we’ve forgotten that we live in it too.
• Mqamelo is an economics and data science student at Minerva Schools at KGI
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