Fresh off a van carrying about 25 ”illegal aliens”, the 21-year-old Zimbabwean casts a worried glance as he prepares to be fingerprinted, photographed and eventually put on a train back to Zimbabwe.
The young man, who declined to give his name, says he is on the enemy list of President Robert Mugabe’s ruling Zanu-PF party for taking part in a union meeting at his workplace in Harare last month.
”They are looking for me,” he says, shaking his head in disbelief at his predicament. ”If they get me, I am in trouble.”
South Africa deports between 600 and 6 000 Zimbabweans every week from a repatriation centre aptly called Lindela — which means ”wait here” in Zulu and Xhosa. It is a sprawling compound of dormitories and other buildings tucked behind high walls in a field outside Krugersdorp, about 30km west of Johannesburg.
As Zimbabwe heads for key elections on March 31, South Africa continues to be a destination of choice for illegal migrants from Zimbabwe, who now number as many as two million, according to unofficial estimates.
And the government of President Thabo Mbeki openly admits that it is fighting a losing battle against the influx of Zimbabweans fleeing poverty and repression in their homeland, with many deportees returning to South Africa within weeks.
”We are facing a revolving-door syndrome because they want to enjoy with us the fruits of our own democratic dispensation,” says South African Department of Home Affairs spokesperson Nkosana Sibuyani.
Sitting with a dozen other Zimbabwean women at outdoor tables in the women’s section of Lindela, 19-year-old Muzi said she was picked up during a police raid at the restaurant where she worked in Johannesburg.
”We are going to be back,” she says, amid nods from the nearby women. ”We can’t survive there.”
Zimbabweans form along with Mozambicans the bulk of the 80 000 to 90 000 deportees who pass through Lindela’s doors every year, and very few manage to convince South African officials that they should stay.
Of the 8 305 Zimbabweans who have sought political asylum in South Africa since 1994, only 54 have been granted refugee status, according to the Department of Home Affairs, which maintains that the migrants are drawn to South Africa for jobs.
Muzi and others were among 1 240 Zimbabweans who were to board the weekly deportation train to make the 10-hour ride to the border, where they were to be turned over to Zimbabwean authorities.
For some like Robert who says he is an opposition member, the prospect of returning to Zimbabwe instils fear, and some detainees have leapt from the train to avoid going back.
”They will start beating us again,” says Robert from Bulawayo.
After rights groups complained about the deportations from Lindela, a new system of digital fingerprints and other technology was installed late last year to try to weed out cases of asylum-seekers among illegal migrants.
A weekly visitor to Lindela, lawyer Kaajal Ramjathan-Keogh, says she has raised concerns about unlawful detentions and ensuring that Zimbabweans and other deportees who fear reprisals at home can make their case for asylum.
”Deportation is not a solution,” says Ramjathan-Keogh, who works for Lawyers for Human Rights. ”It costs the government a lot of money and it is not solving the problem of clandestine migration.”
Ramjathan-Keogh estimates that the flow of migrants from Zimbabwe has remained steady since 2000 but that more women, some accompanied with children, are now illegally crossing the border.
”This is unusual,” she says of the influx of Zimbabwean women. ”It shows the severity of the problem.”
She proposes easing restrictions on work permits to allow Zimbabweans to ”feed their families” by working in South Africa, but with the country’s unemployment rate hovering at 40%, the government is not ready to open the floodgates to migrants. — Sapa-AFP