"We're just trying to survive": Voices from Johannesburg's migrant communities as deportations surge

On a Tuesday morning in the Johannesburg CBD, Mary Adeyemi sits in the cramped office of the Jeppestown Community Aid Centre, her hands trembling as she recounts her narrow escape from an immigration raid three weeks ago. The 34-year-old Nigerian national, who arrived in South Africa five years ago on a tourist visa, has since become one of thousands of undocumented migrants facing increased scrutiny from authorities.

"When they came, I was working at a restaurant near Bree Street," Adeyemi explains, her voice steady but measured. "The immigration officers didn't give us time to explain anything. They just said we had to go." She managed to evade capture, but the experience has left her unable to return to formal employment.

Her story reflects a broader crisis unfolding across Johannesburg's most densely populated neighbourhoods. According to the Socio-Economic Rights Institute of South Africa, approximately 45,000 undocumented migrants live within the Johannesburg metropolitan area, with significant concentrations in Hillbrow, Berea, and Yeoville. Recent government enforcement operations have intensified, with deportations reaching record numbers—nearly 8,000 individuals removed from the province in the past four months alone.

At the Yeoville Community Centre, caseworkers report overwhelming demand for assistance. "We've seen a 60% increase in people seeking help with documentation or legal advice since April," says Thembi Nkosi, a programme coordinator. "Many are simply trying to regularise their status, but the process is expensive and confusing."

For those like Adeyemi, economic desperation compounds legal vulnerability. "I send money home every month," she explains. "My family depends on me. But if I can't work safely, how do I survive?" Average remittances from the Johannesburg migrant community exceed R2,500 monthly per person, according to informal sector research conducted by local NGOs.

The situation has created a humanitarian shadow economy. Migrants increasingly rely on informal networks in areas like Fordsburg and the inner-city markets, accepting wages as low as R80 daily for unprotected work. Exploitation is rampant, yet reporting to authorities remains impossible due to deportation fears.

At the Refugee Social Services office in Braamfontein, counsellors note rising mental health crises among clients. "People are living in constant fear," one staff member reflects. "Fear of raids, fear of exploitation, fear of having nothing."

Adeyemi's ultimate hope remains simple: "I just want to work legally and support my family. I'm not asking for much—just a chance to contribute properly to this country."

This article was compiled by AI from the sources linked above and screened before publishing. See our editorial standards.