Creates a new generation of exiles
ment shut down the internet.
“I went into a panic mode. I said to myself, ‘Do these guys really think social media is such a big threat that they would shut down the internet’,” she said.
Moyo was known as an online activist. She put two and two together, and figured that, if the government had shut down the internet, they may try to shut her down too. So she ran.
She packed a bag and left for Francistown in Botswana with R175 in her pocket. Despite her circumstances, it was not a dramatic escape.
“I was in this fugitive mode, but it was so uneventful,” she laughs. “Along the way it was chilled. There was one roadblock and they just asked how’s the situation in Bulawayo. I guess those cops were also worried [about the protests]. When I got to the border I was so scared. I thought maybe there’s a list and these guys probably have my name.”
But even if her name was on the list, the border officials had no way to check it: their internet was shut down just like everyone else’s.
Once upon a time, Zimbabwe played host to South African exiles fleeing the apartheid regime. But after South Africa’s democratic transition and Zimbabwe’s reversion to authoritarianism, first under Mugabe and now Mnangagwa, the tables have turned. South Africa has become the refuge of choice for Zimbabweans fleeing both economic hardship and political oppression.
Nicholas Mabhena Egqabutho, the head of the Zimbabwe chapter of the African Diaspora Forum, helps to settle in new arrivals. In January, he noticed a sudden spike in the number of activists coming through.
“We have seen a number of activists that have come through, that were rounded up in Zimbabwe or threatened to be rounded up in Zimbabwe,” he said. Overwhelmed by the sudden influx, Egqabutho asked Butholezwe Nyathi to help.
Nyathi fled to South Africa in 2003. At the time he was a nurse in Zimbabwe and was involved in underground political activities, including an attempt to establish a new nurses’ union. He had been receiving suspicious phone calls and realised that he was on state security’s radar.
“I ran away without making any proper arrangements,” said Nyathi.
He was assisted initially by other members of the MDC, which maintains a structure in South Africa. But life was tough. “I couldn’t practise my nursing in South Africa. I worked in a construction company just to survive. I found myself sharing a bed with three or four guys and would wake up in the morning to stand in the street where they hire guys for construction,” he said.
Nyathi was only able to practise nursing again in 2007, once his refugee status had been registered by the South African government. He has not been home to Zimbabwe since he fled. “In 2018, last year in March, I couldn’t bury my dad. I last saw him in 2009. My auntie passed yesterday. I can’t even go and bury her. Last time it was my dad; this time it’s my auntie. It’s painful.”
He has been assisting with logistics for this year’s new arrivals, helping to find them a place to stay and guiding them through the daunting bureaucratic process of registering with the home affairs department.
Kauzani and his family were among those he has helped.
“I think if we help comrades, if we stick together and stay organised, if we keep each other company, then we can encourage those in the same situation,” Nyathi said.
But he warns the new arrivals that, like him, they could be in for the long haul: “This Zimbabwean thing has been going on for a long time.”
Exile is not a life sentence for everyone. Some of the Zimbabweans who fled to South Africa in January have returned home, willing to risk the consequences.
“I’m back in Zimbabwe, but I am maintaining low activity because I’m not sure what the situation is. And I’m getting reports that they are looking for me,” said Mfundo Mlilo, the director of the Combined Harare Residents’ Association.
Mlilo was in Harare when the crackdown began. He is a prominent activist and had been mobilising members to participate in the national shutdown. On January 16, he got word that two trucks packed with police and soldiers were en route to arrest him. He got in a car immediately and drove to Zambia. From there he flew to Johannesburg.
“It was scary. At that moment my father-in-law had been picked up and beaten up heavily,” he said. “I feared for my life and escaped.”
Once in South Africa, Mlilo got support from the Action Support Centre and Freedom House. He was given accommodation in a compound along with 70 other activists. It was a difficult, stressful time.
After one month in exile, he made the decision to return home. More than half of those he stayed with in the complex have made the same decision. Circumstances on the ground have changed — for now, at least.
“The risk profile keeps on changing over time. [Before] it was harm, injury or death, it moved to detention and trial, and now they may even have lost interest. The situation now has calmed down. We hear very little about targets from the state, there have been very few people targeted, only isolated incidents,” he said.
The crackdown has had a devastating effect on civil society, according to Mlilo. “Because of the violent response by the state we have had people go into hiding and rethinking … It has indeed affected the ability of civil society to organise. The state is aware that a violent crackdown disheartens people, demobilises people. The targeted attacks disturb the whole process,” he said.
But that does not mean the state has won. “This thing was simmering for some time and people are angry about many other things. The fuel thing lifted the lid. The situation has not changed. We have flagrant violations in human rights, collapse in social services, the economic situation turning bad. Over time these demonstrations will continue to come back again. In fact, it is going [to be] even worse.”