It’s been over a decade since former South African President and global icon Nelson Mandela passed away. Every year on his birthday, 18 July, South Africans, and everyone around the world, are asked to dedicate 67 minutes of their time to helping others. The number marks the years Mandela spent in service — from his early legal work in Johannesburg and underground activism, to his imprisonment on Robben Island alongside other stalwarts of the liberation struggle.

This year, Mandela Day arrives during a particularly volatile moment in the country. Just last week, Lieutenant General Nhlanhla Lucky Mkhwanazi publicly accused Police Minister Senzo Mchunu and other senior officials of disbanding a task team investigating political assassinations in KwaZulu-Natal, and of concealing evidence. These are serious allegations, with the potential to shake national politics. In response, President Cyril Ramaphosa has ordered the formation of a commission of inquiry.

All this unfolds against a backdrop of deepening instability. The Government of National Unity is fragile, always one disagreement away from collapse. In Mandela’s home province, the Eastern Cape, recent floods have resulted in deaths and left communities reeling. At the same time, budget cuts to key health programmes are raising alarms about the state’s ability to care for its people.

OkayAfrica took to the streets to speak to young South Africans about their thoughts and feelings about Mandela Day. For Sivenathi, a student at the University of the Western Cape, the day represents “the effort and progress made towards addressing the injustices of the past.”

She continues: “It also poses a solution for us to work together towards addressing those injustices, and taking a collaborative and bottom-up approach to addressing the issues we face as a society because of our past.”

Buhlebethu Magwaza (31) agrees. As the project lead at Youth Capital, a campaign advocating for key policy changes to solve youth unemployment, she recognises the urgency of a youth locked out of employment opportunities. She plans to spend Mandela Day helping young people format their resumes and with reading and comprehending job descriptions. For her, the day is about “collective action.”

“It’s about what you can do with your community to give back. It’s about being courageous, it’s about unity, and doing something for someone. Mandela was really about nation building and what we can do to ensure that everyone contributes to a better South Africa, continent, and even the world,” she says.

Compassion and courage are two values of the revered former statesman that she still abides by today. “To solve today’s development problems, we need to be courageous. In the same breadth, we need to be compassionate; people are going through a lot. We need to remember that we exist within our communities; therefore, we must remember to always be kind in whatever we do,” she says.

The legacy of the man, however, has not gone unquestioned. For many, Mandela’s vision of a “rainbow nation” feels increasingly out of step with South Africa’s present-day realities. The post-apartheid promise of equality and justice remains unfulfilled for millions. Rising inequality, corruption, unemployment, and deep mistrust in political leadership have led some to view Mandela Day as symbolic at best, performative at worst.

But Magwaza reckons the day is still relevant.

“Especially in a world that is going through so much,” she says. “It’s always important that you give back. You go back to communities, see what can be done, and how you can contribute. As someone who works in the youth unemployment space, I think now more than ever we need to pull together to come up with solutions,” she says.

Thapelo Tapala (13), a student, learnt that fighting for one’s rights is important while being taught about Mandela in school. But he doesn’t think that people nowadays pay attention to the day. To his generation, Mandela represents freedom. “We’re young people who need our rights and our freedom,” he says. His cousin Anesu (15) agrees that young people don’t really pay attention to Mandela Day anymore. “I think it’s just another day for them. He does mean a lot to us, even though we don’t really show it in anything we do. He fought for our freedom, and that is why we are where we are now,” he concludes.

Across Africa, people can no longer afford the cities and neighborhoods they've long called home. OkayAfrica is running This Place Called Home - a series exploring the housing crisis transforming African cities and communities, and what happens when basic shelter becomes a luxury commodity.

In the lush area of Sea Point in Cape Town, which hugs the length of the Atlantic Ocean, there's more than meets the eye. While looking picture perfect from the outside, soaring property prices mean the area is inaccessible to most working-class locals, and instead only geared for tourism. One long-time resident, Sheila Madikane, has lived and worked in Sea Point since 1987. A domestic worker and housing activist, she is one of the leaders of Reclaim the City (RTC), a social movement fighting for affordable housing, and a member of the Ahmed Kathrada House (AKH) occupation, formerly Helen Bowden Nurses Home, in Green Point, just next to Sea Point.

Under apartheid, Madikane recalls moving in with her aunt on St. Johns Road, but due to the restrictions in the apartment, she left the room early each morning to avoid being seen, and bathed using public taps. She eventually found work as a domestic worker and lived at the Mimosa apartments. When their "maid's quarters" were shut down, she struggled to find accommodation for herself, her three daughters, and her grandchild. That's when they moved into the housing occupation. She is now one of the most important voices in the struggle for affordable accommodation.

Madikane became an activist when she realized others faced the same struggles she did. Cape Town's housing crisis has deepened alongside widening inequality. The segregation entrenched by apartheid-era policies like the Group Areas Act of the 1950s pushed poor and working-class families to the city's margins. Today, the inner city remains a space largely reserved for wealthy South Africans and foreign tourists who can afford its soaring property prices. But the citizens are not going down without a fight.

Over the past decade, housing occupations led by civil society movements have surged, demanding access to well-located, affordable housing. The reality is stark. Housing demand in the Western Cape far exceeds supply. Some applicants have waited 30 years on government databases. As of September 2024, the backlog surpassed 400,000. In a country where 10 percent of the population controls 90 percent of the wealth, these occupations represent more than resistance. They are a fight for equity, dignity, and a more equal country.

Women — mothers, grandmothers, caregivers — are often at the forefront of this fight, taking matters into their own hands. They have fought for inclusivity and transformation, and the visibility of these movements has grown significantly, with wins achieved at the High Court and Constitutional Court. The government-owned building (Ahmed Kathrada House) is now home to Reclaim the City (RTC), whose rallying cry is "Land for People, Not for Profit." RTC began as a campaign against apartheid spatial planning, gentrification, and the inner city's housing scarcity, issues still urgent three decades into democracy.

Their struggle began in March 2017, when domestic workers, petrol attendants, carers, nurses, and teachers occupied the provincially owned building. Their action was sparked by then Western Cape Premier Helen Zille's decision to sell the Tafelberg site in Sea Point, which activists had earmarked for social housing. Instead of engaging, the provincial government tried to make conditions unlivable for the occupants by cutting off their electricity.

Madikane, now a key RTC figure, wrote in an open letter to Zille, "I have told you what the Tafelberg site represents to me, and other domestic workers and carers in Sea Point: for us, it is a symbol of hope, a way to desegregate our city; to recognize the struggles of working-class people; to live and work in the inner city. But we have not been heard."

The fight for Tafelberg has been ongoing with housing activists who had a major win at the Constitutional Court last year when the sale of the building was overturned. In May 2025, the Western Cape provincial government revealed its housing plans, which, after years of activists fighting, include plans for affordable and social housing in sections of the building.

In June 2024, the award-winning documentary Mother City, chronicling the ongoing Tafelberg battle, was released. The film follows activists of the RTC movement over six years as they make Cape Town’s abandoned spaces their home and use them as a base from which to lobby for the needs of the working class.

Cissie Gool House (CGH)

That same year, across the city in Woodstock, another occupation was forming in a highly gentrified neighborhood. Housing leader Bevil Lucas, a veteran anti-apartheid activist, was asked to join the occupation of the former Woodstock Hospital, which had been vacant since 1992. A portion functioned as a day hospital until 2018. Lucas, a longtime Woodstock resident, is now part of what is known as the Cissie Gool House (CGH).

He was drawn in by the name "Reclaim the City." "It's something that I could identify with. I felt that this sits well with my political orientation of trying to find a space in which democratic practice can exist and in which social needs of people, such as housing, can and should be delivered," he tells OkayAfrica. Initially hesitant due to health concerns and trauma from state violence under apartheid, Lucas asked himself: "Do you want to get into this again? Are you ready for another round?"

Lucas has no regrets. "The pessimism that I had was completely undone when I moved into the occupation. I think what sparked it was the level of internal organization, the participatory decision-making, the campaigns about land and housing, and the hands-on work it took to make it livable. It's a space where people make their future by participating in it. As an activist, it's very rewarding that you can see how something takes shape by participating in it."

Both AKH and CGH are named after anti-apartheid heroes and emerged in response to the Tafelberg ruling, demanding state accountability. CGH prides itself on its structure and ethos of care. Over 1,000 people now live there in 350 self-built households. Residents and volunteers have ensured access to electricity, water, waste collection, and even vegetable gardens.

Yet, the city wants to sell the site to private developers for mixed-use development and social housing. A move that could displace most CGH residents. Woodstock, like neighboring Bo-Kaap, is a gentrification hotspot. Many locals have already been evicted or priced out of their homes.

The broader fight dates back to the post-apartheid housing advocacy of groups like the Housing Assembly (founded in 2009) and Ndifuna Ukwazi. The latter has provided crucial legal, research, and advocacy support, including the People's Land Map, which identified 2,787 underutilized public sites for potential housing development.

Singabalapha

One of today's most visible acts of resistance is Singabalapha, meaning "We belong here" in isiXhosa. Originally, shack dwellers and backyarders from Langa, Gugulethu, Nyanga East, and Khayelitsha occupied a defunct nursing home in Observatory in September 2019 but were evicted a month later. In defiance, they set up camp on the pavement next door.

They first lived in tents, but were evicted by the city. Soon after, they sought out legal help. In 2020, they had a win in the High Court, which prevented the group from being evicted. Now they reside in informal homes along the main road, highly visible and highly contested. While some call it an eyesore, Singabalapha is a defiant reminder that people won't be pushed back to the townships.

A recent short film captures the hardships residents face. "There is no such thing as freedom for us. We know that. That's why we came out on our own. If you don't do it yourself, no one will," occupier Barbara Vuza says in the documentary.

Vuza moved to the occupation to be closer to the city for work. She had been on the city's housing list since 1985 but received no word back. She lives in Singabalapha with her sister and eight other relatives. She has been one of the leading activists and a spokesperson for the movement.

A space for true democracy

At the core of each occupation is a call for affordable housing near workplaces, schools, and services. Apartheid's spatial planning locked many out of economic opportunity, but these residents refuse to be banished to far-off, underserved areas.

However, perhaps the biggest surprise of all is how these communities have become spaces for actual democratic processes. Meetings guide decision-making. Residents grow food, maintain buildings, and organize together. While much of the country is steeped in radical inequalities, here, against all odds, is a semblance of true community and democracy.

Amplifying voices

Residents say the city still refuses to engage. They have repeatedly asked not to be portrayed as criminals and building hijackers. CGH resident and housing leader Karen Hendricks told a protest crowd, "When we went to occupy Cissie Gool House in 2017, we did it to protest the sale of the Tafelberg site. But we also did it because this city is gentrified. The land is sold to private developers; they are prioritized above the people, the communities, and the neighborhoods that exist. So we are saying here today that we will not have another forced removal like there was in apartheid."

AKH echoes this sentiment in their joint statement. "Ahmed Kathrada House is not just a home. It is where we meet and deliberate on our work and campaigns. It is a place with a view of the sea. We, too, want to live close to where we work; we want to improve our lives, and we want the systems that sustain the status quo to be dismantled. We demand social and affordable housing."

Johannesburg is facing yet another mayoral shakeup amid worsening service delivery, rising utility costs, and political infighting. Africa's most economically significant city has cycled through nine mayors since 2016, most removed through unstable coalition arrangements.

The latest developments include steep tariff hikes, renewed protests in Soweto, and growing uncertainty ahead of the 2026 municipal elections. The city's political leadership crisis has national and continental implications.

The city's broken pulse

To understand why Johannesburg's mayoral seat has become a revolving door, you need only listen to the voices from its townships. In Soweto's Dube township, Mpotseng Jairus Kgokong, a veteran of the Black Consciousness Movement (BCM), activist, and longtime resident, describes how service failures have worsened under the parade of short-lived leadership.

"Councilors are disconnected. We don't know them," Kgokong tells OkayAfrica. "In December 2023, my area, Dube, had been without power for two months. We requested a meeting with the councilor. She said, 'I will not come to the meeting,' then went on holiday to Durban. Later, she said, 'By the way, in my performance agreement, there is no mention of Eskom. I don't know why you're bothering me about this.' That's disgusting, but I'm not surprised. It means this woman's agreement is only tied to internal HR performance. The Municipal Electoral Act governs her relationship with us. I don't think she knows anything about that."

Electricity in Dube was restored in July 2024, eight months after the outage. "We've had no electricity in some places for over three years. Why? Why are some areas without water for weeks? People like me can afford alternatives. Others can't. And if they have to pay for these alternatives while still being charged by the city, it's not sustainable. The City Council has been far too slow to fix things."

This disconnect between leadership and lived reality plays out across the city's neglected neighborhoods. Entrepreneur Masechaba Nonyana, owner of Native Rebels restaurant and live music venue in Soweto, echoed similar concerns following fresh protests in Meadowlands over service delivery.

"I don't know how the people of Soweto are going to react to these electricity hikes. I'm lucky. I've got alternatives — candles, fire, solar, and gas. But most people don't. Just last week, people were protesting in Meadowlands over electricity," she tells OkayAfrica. "In all honesty, things are not different for us," she adds. "We've been struggling with resources and infrastructure since we started. The only thing is our people have less buying power, but I don't think our politicians can help us with that."

Her words, perhaps unintentionally, capture two things at once: the depth of distrust in government and the deep-seated culture of self-reliance that has grown in the absence of reliable leadership. For many in Soweto and across Johannesburg's neglected neighborhoods, survival has never depended on the state. It has been a matter of perseverance, grit, and making the most of what you have.

But this resignation comes at a cost. When residents stop expecting their government to work, the pressure for systemic change dissipates, leaving whoever occupies the mayor's office to operate in a vacuum of diminished expectations and political accountability.

Meet the candidates so far

Against this backdrop of civic exhaustion, the mayoral race presents a complex picture. With the 2026 elections approaching, parties are maneuvering behind the scenes, but no official candidate lists have been released. A few names have emerged, though the process remains uncertain.

Insiders say some parties feel the "mayoral seat has become politically toothless," a ceremonial post with "no real power to implement change but full accountability when things fall apart." As one councilor put it, "You inherit the dysfunction, but the public still blames you when the lights go out."

This reluctance speaks to a deeper crisis: when political parties themselves view the city's top job as thankless and ineffective, what does that say about the state of local governance?

Dada Morero (ANC)

The incumbent mayor, officially sworn in on 16 August 2024, took over after Kabelo Gwamanda's resignation, the latest casualty of Johannesburg's coalition politics. Since then, Morero has implemented a series of cleanup and revitalization initiatives aimed at stabilizing Johannesburg's image and restoring basic functionality.

His administration has launched several cleanup and revitalization initiatives, including a six-week "inner-city cleanup blitz" across 11 wards, the "KleenaJoburg 100 Spots" campaign targeting illegal dumping, monthly walkabouts to repair potholes, an R296 million electrification program in informal settlements, and an R3.03 billion investment plan utilizing AI leak detection and smart surveillance.

Yet critics question their depth. Zark Lebatlang, a Joburg councilor for ActionSA, remarked, "It looks good in the pictures, but in terms of a sustainable program, there is no clear impact."

Back in Soweto, Kgokong cuts through the rhetoric, "Cemeteries are overrun. Mosquitoes breed in the drains. There hasn't been fumigation in years, and there is a rodent infestation. We're led by people who don't know what they're doing. They're not in office to serve. They're there for prestige."

Meanwhile, Morero's political survival remains precarious. The Democratic Alliance (DA) tabled a motion of no confidence against him on 25th June 2025, accusing his coalition of mismanagement and service failure. The motion collapsed after ActionSA and other parties walked out, denying it the votes — a strategic move driven by coalition partners' frustration with the DA's handling of the motion and wider political posturing. These political games are a familiar story in Joburg's fractious council chambers.

Perhaps most damaging to Morero's community-focused image is the July 1st rollout of steep tariff hikes, which will hit already struggling residents with electricity increasing by 12.7 percent, water and sanitation by 13.9 percent, refuse removal by 6.6 percent, property rates by 4.6 percent, and a prepaid surcharge raised to R270. These increases may undermine his community efforts and deepen the perception that the city is bleeding its poorest residents while failing to deliver lasting solutions.

Helen Zille (DA)

If Morero represents continuity within dysfunction, Helen Zille's potential candidacy promises disruption. Whether that's salvation or further chaos remains hotly debated. Zille, a veteran journalist and politician, has commanded attention since the start of the election cycle. A former mayor of Cape Town and Western Cape Premier, she currently chairs the DA's Federal Council. Zille has confirmed she formally submitted her candidacy by the June 15 deadline, having recused herself from the DA's Federal Executive to avoid conflicts of interest.

Zille's supporters point to her tenure as mayor of Cape Town from 2006 to 2009, often remembered for notable infrastructure improvements and strong fiscal discipline. She led efforts to overhaul the city's financial management, which contributed to Cape Town achieving clean audits under her leadership. Key projects included upgrading water infrastructure, improving road maintenance, and expanding access to basic services in some historically underserved areas.

But her record comes with significant baggage. Critics argue that her focus on strict financial controls and audits sometimes came at the expense of immediate service delivery to marginalized communities. Some informal settlements felt neglected during her term, with accusations that bureaucratic efficiency overshadowed the urgent needs of the urban poor. Her tenure also saw tensions flare over statements and policies perceived as pro-colonial or xenophobic, fueling deep divisions in public opinion.

These concerns extend even within her own party. Some DA members expressed unease over her candidacy, worried that her return to the political frontline could alienate younger voters and reignite ideological fractures within the party. Yet the DA leadership has rallied behind her, with party leader John Steenhuisen saying, "Helen's decision to step aside from the executive was the right one. She's shown leadership by ensuring that the process remains above board, and we support her candidacy fully."

Zille herself frames her campaign around familiar themes. "If we restore service delivery and functionality, the city will fly." But former Johannesburg mayor Herman Mashaba, now leading ActionSA, offers a pointed critique that gets to the heart of the governance philosophy debate. "The people of Joburg need service delivery, not just clean audits and ticking boxes. When I was mayor under the DA, I had to return millions of rands to the fiscus because the bureaucracy was so focused on clean audits that money meant for service delivery was left unused. That's a failure of governance that hurts our people," he told OkayAfrica.

Coalition disarray

Understanding why candidates face such daunting odds requires grappling with the political mathematics that has made Johannesburg ungovernable. Since 2016, no party has held an outright majority, forcing fragile alliances that repeatedly unravel amid infighting and competing agendas.

Previous mayors Mpho Phalatse and Kabelo Gwamanda both fell victim to this instability. Phalatse was ousted after her coalition fell apart in 2022, and Gwamanda resigned after failing to maintain support. This revolving door politics has left Johannesburg with a governance vacuum, eroding public trust, and hampering long-term planning. Each collapse of a coalition resets policy priorities, abandons programs, and forces new administrations to waste time rebuilding relationships. For residents waiting for basic services, these disruptions are the difference between having electricity and living in darkness.

Even the most stable coalition would struggle with Johannesburg's financial constraints. The mayor inherits a structural deficit: municipal debt has ballooned due to unpaid service fees, revenue has shrunk from widespread non-payment, and escalating costs for electricity, water, and maintenance strain budgets. National regulations cap borrowing and require strict compliance, limiting flexibility.

Coalition instability compounds these fiscal challenges through delayed budgets and inefficient spending. The result is a governance vacuum where the mayor's office holds limited power yet bears full responsibility for failures.

The disconnect

This systematic breakdown of political instability and fiscal constraints has created what residents like Kgokong perceive as a crisis that transcends party politics. For him, the rot isn't limited to the ruling party or any single coalition — it's systemic. "It's not ANC or DA or whoever. It's the whole system. People use their positions to climb. They're not in office to serve. They're there for prestige," he says.

In his academic journal article, political analyst Professor Patrick Bond from the University of Johannesburg frames this crisis in broader terms. "The city's collapse is rooted in entrenched inequality and elite-driven development. Until leadership shifts from symbolic reform to structural change, the poorest will keep paying the highest price," he stated.

Kgokong's frustration with coalition politics captures the lived experience of this dysfunction. "Coalitions are meant to bring compromise, but these people bring nothing but ego. You can't lead if your only loyalty is to your party. You lead for your community. That's the deal. If you can't swallow your pride, get out of the way."

As Johannesburg heads toward its 2026 municipal elections, the question isn't just who will be the next mayor — it's whether the structural forces that have led to the downfall of nine previous mayors can be overcome by any individual, regardless of their party affiliation or personal competence. For the millions of residents still waiting for reliable electricity, clean water, and basic dignity from their government, the answer will determine whether Africa's economic powerhouse can be rescued from its downward spiral.

The “raised-by-a-single-mother" narrative is common in rap. So much that rap songs about fatherhood are few and far between.

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For Fathers' Day, we dug for some rap gems from South Africa which show appreciation to fathers, and those of rappers talking about their roles as fathers, in this updated list.

Featuring selections from South African names like Nasty C, Stogie T, Cassper Nyovest, Riky Rick, Reason, ProVerb and more, this list of 13 songs will take you into the love, care, and, sometimes, neglect that comes along with fatherhood.

Hear 13 South African hip-hop songs about fatherhood below.

Nasty C - “Dear Oliver”

Nasty C has come a long way; from spitting raps in front of his classmates in high school to becoming one of the most influential rappers shaping a new wave of South African — and indeed, African — hip-hop. The self-proclaimed “coolest kid in Africa” bares his heart on “Oliver,” a tender track tucked at the very end of his 2023 album I Love It Here, produced by the incomparable No I.D. With lines like “you give me drive like I tossed you a pair of keys / I thought before I’d have you, I would’ve asked your mama to marry me,” the song captures the raw emotion and anticipation of a father-to-be. It belongs in the same breath as Tupac’s “Letter 2 My Unborn" – a heartfelt testament to paternal love. If a father’s love could be wrapped in a song, Nasty C’s “Oliver” would be a definite contender.

Stogie T - “Son Of A Soldier”

There’s no magic to fatherhood. One simply shows up, consistently, and grows through the process. When fully surrendered to, fatherhood can become a transformative experience, perhaps even the highest expression of love. On “Son of a Soldier,” supreme emcee Stogie T reflects on a life shaped by exile: raised by parents devoted to the liberation struggle, losing his father young, and globetrotting with his mother while receiving a political education of the highest calibre. Yet the song is also steeped in the trauma of paternal absence. “Son of a cadre, only one of them made it / some agent laced my daddy whisky with a foreign agent,” he raps, an arresting line that distills the quiet violence of exile and the sacrifice of a freedom fighter’s life cut short.

HHP - “Mmago Prago”

The late, great HHP was a maverick storyteller, Biggie Smalls-level precise, wielding potent Setswana with ease, mixing in isiZulu, Afrikaans, and any other language he could lay his hands on. An entertainer extraordinaire, his brilliance often masked the darkness he carried. So when he died by suicide in 2018, the nation was left gutted, robbed of its beloved summer hitmaker, and confronted with a grief no groove could shake.

HHP’s reflections on fatherhood leaned heavily into his own shortcomings. In one devastating line, the chorus goes: “I guess it’s true that a baby ha se lerato,” a sobering reminder that the presence of children doesn’t always mean love is alive in a relationship. Using the mic like a confessional booth, he unpacks heartbreak, regret, and the quiet ache of broken intimacy. He tells us his partner left after twelve years: “She tells me she’s tired of drying tears, she packed up her stuff le tsa ngwana, eena o ikela makhaya” (“along with the child’s things, she is going back home”). Elsewhere, he admits to the reasons behind their unraveling – being too busy, never making time to truly love her.

Khuli Chana - “Diary”

Khuli Chana has a rare gift for releasing off-grid bangers, songs that often start life on his Facebook page or in private circles before reaching a wider audience. “Diary” is one such gem. First shared online years before it found a home on his 2018 Planet Of The Have Nots album, his return to form after a quiet spell, it remains one of the most vulnerable songs in his catalogue.

On “Diary,” Khuli pours his soul onto the page, unpacking the complexities of family and fame. He makes a promise to defend his sister from the man who got her pregnant, vents about the pressure from his aunts to settle down – something he would later do with Lameez Holworthy – and sends heartfelt condolences to fallen friends. But it’s in the second verse that the song truly stings: “Ten years later, everything is looking good but not me and pops / I wonder how he felt after he heard I got shot ‘cause he ain’t bother to reach out.”

It’s a passing line, just two bars, but it lands like a gut punch. A reference to the 2013 incident when police opened fire on his vehicle, nearly killing him. It also gestures to something deeper: a silence between father and son that lingers even in moments of near-death. That kind of estrangement can shape a man. Fractured father-son relationships have real consequences, and it’s often up to the wounded to find the courage to break the cycle.

Cassper Nyovest “Superman" (ft. Tshepo Tsola)

Cassper Nyovest featured Lesotho music legend Tshepo Tshola, who is the rapper's dad's favorite musician, on a song he dedicated to all fathers. In the song, Nyovest talks of his father as a superman for the lessons he taught him (“Thanks for teaching me to believe in The Word/ Thank you for teaching me to never hit a girl/ Thank you for teaching me to cry when I hurt/ Thank you for teaching me to cry when I hurt") and for protecting him from bullies in school, among other things. Tshepo Tshola's vocals give the song soul and a nostalgic feel.

A-Reece “Family" (ft. P-Jay and Amanda Black)

“Family" is one of A-Reece's best songs—the storytelling is astounding as the rapper narrates how he grew up with parents who were sleeping on separate beds, and how it affected him and his siblings. A-Reece's mother was the breadwinner as his father was jobless and didn't care for the family. It led to Reece assuming the breadwinner role at 16. He hated life because of his father. But the song ends on a good note, as Reece has forgiven his father, who now has a job, and is playing his role. "Family" is an intense, painful, and beautiful song from a gifted rapper. Amanda Black's hook is a tearjerker of note.

Emtee “Avery"

Emtee's debut album Avery was named after his son and the title track is dedicated to him. Over a mellow key-heavy beat, Emtee pours his heart out, revealing that his son is the best thing that has ever happened to him, and is the reason he hustles and makes sure he gets the best for him. What makes the song effective is that it's told in second person, so it's like you are listening to a father talking to his son, giving him advice and telling him how much he loves him.

Reason “No Sleep" Remix (featuring Tumi, L-Tido, Ginger Trill and Monoea)

The remix of Reason's song “No Sleep" isn't entirely about fatherhood but Reason's verse is. The rapper had just lost his son, and it led to one of his best verses to date (and he has a lot of those). He was remorseful and broken, spitting touching lines like: “I'm thinking how can they doubt me/ They thinking how can you not sleep?/ I'm thinking the most I spent on my son was a funeral paid with rhyme schemes/ Rest in peace to Lil O/ May God accept his little soul/ I'll do my best to live with the fact that he'll never see me kill shows."

ProVerb “The Journey"

ProVerb's music has always been autobiographical. Towards the end of his second album Manuscript (2006), ProVerb took some time to talk to his unborn child, and gave us access. The music he was given by Battlekat was fitting—a warm bass line, smooth keys and soft percussion. The rapper spoke of his excitement, fear and apprehension of the idea of being a first-time father. He rapped: “I'm being brave for the sake of everyone involved/ But truth is I'm a little afraid of what's going on/ I haven't even told your grandmoms/ Don't think I'm a coward, I just communicate better through my songs." His delivery was also smooth—as if he was giving his baby a lullaby.

Riky Rick “Papa Song"

On “Papa Song," Riky Rick talks of his late father and how growing up without a father affected him after being a drug addict, he eventually became a stronger man. There is vulnerability in his voice and the sinewy synths add to the song's somber mood.

An excerpt: “I miss you, pops, we miss you, pops/ To tell you the truth, no one cared if you were rich or not/ All I ever wanted was daddy to hold me down, to ask me questions/ They say my daddy never around when you got sick, I think I got the feeling you'd die/ But I never had the courage to cry/ So now I'm at the bar/ I'm thinking my life done/ 'Cause everything you know you meant to teach it to your son/ And everything you need to know you meant to learn it from your daddy"

ProVerb ft. HHP “Bread Winners"

On his third album, 'Verb was a different man than the man he was on his previous two albums—the unborn baby he was talking about on “The Journey" had done some growing up. “Bread Winners" saw him and fellow rapper HHP celebrate fatherhood and being responsible family men. “Breadwinners" even featured ProVerb's baby's vocals. The video, which was shot in a mall and contributes to the song's narrative, showed the two emcees shopping for babies' toys and clothes.

Sjava (ft. Saudi) "Baba"

On the song, Sjava talks to his late father. He talks about missing him and wonders if his father is watching over him or is proud of his achievements. He tells him he is not mad at him for breaking up with his mother. He even wonders if his purpose in life to ask for forgiveness from his mother on his father's behalf. Pretty intense.

N'Veigh "1st of June"

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On his debut album titled Peanut Butter, N'Veigh dedicated a whole song to his son, expressing his dear love to his "beautiful boy." He tells the story from when his little one was born, to present day. He touches on the uncertainties that come with knowing you are about to father, citing some advice his father gave him about being a parent.

At least 78 people so far have lost their lives in the Eastern Cape’s O.R. Tambo district in South Africa, following days of relentless rainfall, SABC News reports. Among the victims are six high school learners and two adults who drowned on Tuesday, June 10, 2025, when a 22-seater minibus carrying 13 learners from Jumba Senior Secondary School was swept into a river on the R61 bridge in Decoligny, one of the worst-hit areas near Mthatha.

“[The rescue workers] waited for the water to subside. By the afternoon, only the roof of the taxi was visible, and by around 5 p.m., the windows could also be seen. When they finally got inside, there were no learners,” reported SABC News on Wednesday, June 11.

The flooding follows a severe cold front that hit South Africa beginning Sunday, June 9, bringing heavy rains and plunging temperatures across the country. The South African Weather Service had issued level 6 and level 8 warnings, but many communities, particularly in rural areas, were unprepared, and emergency response efforts have been criticized for their sluggish rollout.

President Cyril Ramaphosa acknowledged the disaster during the Africa Green Summit yesterday, where he described the situation as dire. “The Eastern Cape is suffering from floods that are unprecedented and have easily killed more than 49 people,” he said. “We send our condolences to those families who lost their loved ones and will support the Eastern Cape government to deal with this disaster.”

Ramaphosa went on to acknowledge broader climate-related challenges facing the country and the continent. “We have also witnessed deadly heatwaves, heavy rains, and fires here in the Western Cape. We have also witnessed tropical cyclones in other parts of our continent and prolonged droughts, particularly in the Free State and Eastern Cape.”

He visited the province today, where he attended the National Disaster Management Center and visited the site of the school bus accident. He also went to console Ongezwa Mhlabathi, who lost her mother and her three children.

“We are very, very disturbed that so many people have passed away, but it could have been much worse. The response teams acted quickly,” said the President during an address today.

Speaking to the SABC yesterday, Basic Education Minister, Siviwe Gwarube, expressed how a lot of the parents affected hadn’t just lost their children, but their homes as well. “It’s incredibly hard. It’s probably one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to see,” she said. The minister continued that they were still awaiting a press conference by the Department of Cooperative Governance and Traditional Affairs to declare a disaster. “That’s what will determine what kind of resources are available,” she said. The press conference had not yet been held at the time of writing.

According to reports, 127 schools and 20 health facilities in the province were damaged, with around 1000 people seeking housing in community shelters when their houses were submerged under water or washed away. Roads and bridges have also been affected.

What’s happening in the Eastern Cape plays into the broader climate justice conversation happening worldwide. The devastating floods this week are part of a pattern of intensifying climate events disproportionately affecting rural and historically underserved communities. In recent years, South Africa has swung between extremes, such as the 2022 KwaZulu-Natal floods that killed over 400 people and displaced tens of thousands, or prolonged droughts that continue to dry up reservoirs and farmlands in the Eastern Cape and Free State, threatening water and food security.

“Despite these dire circumstances, the response from the Eastern Cape provincial government has been shamefully inadequate, with no disaster management preparedness to speak of,” reads a statement from the Economic Freedom Fighters. It continues: “As a result, the EFF calls for an immediate declaration of a National State of Disaster and demands that the response to this crisis be led entirely by national government structures, not by the Eastern Cape provincial government. The scale and urgency of this disaster far exceed what this provincial administration can handle, particularly one so deeply compromised by corruption, incompetence, and a proven history of looting public resources meant to uplift the people.”

Donations can be made at the Red Cross Offices in Grahamstown, Port Elizabeth, and East London. The Eastern Cape government has also called on those who can assist to drop off any donations at government buildings in the province. Meanwhile, the Black Coffee Foundation is also on the ground, requesting items such as non-perishable food, toiletries, blankets, and warm clothing. The South African Red Cross Society has also mobilized emergency response teams to the area, and the Gift of the Givers Foundation has also urged people to donate to its bank accounts.

Women in Africa have been protesting gender-based violence for years, having to amplify their voices to get some justice. The rape of a young girl or the murder of a woman hardly moves the needle of justice until placards of "Stop Killing Us," "EnaZeda," "End Femicide," or "#ShutitAllDown" are raised in outrage.

Across South Africa, Kenya, Uganda, Ethiopia, Tunisia, Nigeria, and more, NGOs and women's shelters have had to step up in place of the government to provide aid and fight for justice for victims of gender-based violence (GBV). However, in recent times, some African countries have taken some measures to combat GBV.

In January, after years of petitions, the South African government announced that it would release the list of sex offenders and those convicted of GBV to the public. Kenya's President William Ruto set up a 42-member task force on GBV and femicide.

In Uganda, the Anti-Female Genital Mutilation Act and the Domestic Violence Act were adopted in 2010 to tackle acts against women and girls. Eight years later, the government created a special court session to rule on cases of sexual and gender-based violence. According to a 2023 report by its judiciary, the conviction rate increased from 20 percent to 70 percent in over 2000 cases.

Despite these actions, some experts say it is increasingly clear that the protection and justice for women and girls remains of low priority to their respective governments. For instance, South Africa's sex offender list is yet to be made public. Sabrina Walter, founder of Women for Change (WFCWFC), says it seems unlikely that it will ever happen.

"The promised release of the public sex offenders list was yet another empty commitment from our government," Walter tells OkayAfrica. "By withholding such critical data, the government becomes complicit in the ongoing violence. They are choosing to protect the privacy of criminals over the safety and rights of survivors."

Withholding this information allows perpetrators to continue causing harm. A sex offender can start working at schools or stay near potential victims without their knowledge, rendering them vulnerable.

A 2024 UNICEF report states that one in five women and girls in Sub-Saharan Africa have been raped or sexually assaulted before turning 18, the highest number of victims globally.

Meanwhile, when victims seek justice, the process is often grueling, financially draining, and fraught with delays. By the time a court reaches a verdict, the families of the victims are frequently left unsatisfied with the outcome. As was the case for Damilola Ayanwole, whose sister, Bamise Ayanwole, was raped and murdered in the state-operated rapid transit bus in Lagos, Nigeria in 2022.

The bus driver, Andrew Nice Ominikoron, was recently sentenced to death for his crimes. But Ayanwole believes that more could have been done to achieve true justice. "The conviction is okay but still needs work," she tells OkayAfrica. "When two or three people commit a crime, and only one of them faces the penalty, it shows we need to reform our judicial system. I gave up everything that belonged to me to fight for my sister. Since February 27, 2022, I have been on this journey, and it has seriously affected me."

However, in South Africa, the court ruling was swifter in Joshlin Smith's case – the six-year-old girl sold by her mother, her mother's boyfriend, and their friend in February 2024. After an eight-week trial this year, the perpetrators (Racquel Smith, Jacquen Appollis, and Steveno van Rhyn) were sentenced to life imprisonment for kidnapping and trafficking. Still, it remains a sad case as Joshlin is yet to be found.

"This case marks a rare moment of justice in a country where most GBV cases drag on for years and often end without accountability," Walter says. "But despite months of investigation, the child has not been found, highlighting yet another devastating failure by the police."

In 2020, South Africa launched the National Strategic Plan on Gender-Based Violence and Femicide, with a ten-year roadmap to create a safe environment for women and girls. Burkina Faso upgraded its National Action Plan on Women, Peace, and Security in 2023 for a two-year duration to prevent violence against women. Similarly, Namibia plans to revamp its old national plan of action on gender-based violence.

Despite policies put in place to tackle GBV in some of these countries, there continues to be an epidemic of violence against women because governments address violence and crimes against women with a surface-level approach. Their policies might look good on paper, but the implementation is often lackluster.

Abiodun Kolawole, a lawyer and human rights activist, believes that the fundamental problem behind GBV is the government's disinterest. "It is a matter of selfishness; they don't care about women," he tells OkayAfrica. "The foundation is weak; our government has failed us all. They serve merely as decorations because, while they excel in theoretical discussions, the essence of law lies in strong implementation. If people do not feel the practical impact, then their performance grade is below F9."

“Hello Jeanie borgat, hello Jeanie borgat, sale ngapha!” The chant — part English, part street slang, part isiZulu — cuts through the other city soundscapes on De Villiers Street, the busy strip running from Johannesburg’s Park Station to the MTN Taxi Rank. Vendors use it to lure customers (“Jeanie” is a playful way of saying “jeans,” “borgat” is South African slang for denim, and “ngapha” means “this side” in isiZulu).

Every inch of the sidewalks is occupied by vendors selling secondhand clothes. The air hangs heavy with the scent of mothballs and kebabs grilling on miniature braai (barbecue) stands. There are no fairy lights here. No gingham bunting or fancy decorations. Just steel racks groaning under the weight of rubble sacks with secondhand clothes that have spent a lifetime earning their wrinkles.

These aren't just garments; they're lifelines. Suits, school shoes, work shirts, and winter jackets with torn linings. They've carried generations of Black South Africans through retrenchments, border jumps, funerals, and first interviews. This isn't a market; it's a hospice — a sanctuary where the poor come to patch their lives together with what others have discarded. Noord Street's thrift stalls have long performed a social service, clothing those left behind by every new season, trend, or political promise.

But there has been a shift lately. What used to cost R20 (about $1.10) now costs R80 (about $4.50). Sellers speak of being "cleaned out" on weekends by kids with tote bags and disposable income. "For resell," they say. What was once for survival is now for style.

It's not the first time secondhand clothing has played a transformative role. During the Great Depression, thrift wasn't fashion — it was a symbol of dignity. Churches and charities in the U.S. and Europe handed down used clothes to help struggling families stay afloat. In WWII, rationing made mending patriotic. The slogan "Make do and mend" was a matter of survival.

South Africa was no exception. Most people lived below the poverty line under Apartheid. Hand-me-downs from siblings or clothes brought by domestic workers from their white employers became Sunday bests. Poverty didn't end with Apartheid. With unemployment sitting at 32.9 percent, "make do and mend" remains a shared identity. Secondhand became synonymous with endurance.

In the decades that followed, global consumerism made thrifting uncool. It became a mark of your pocket's malnutrition. But every few years, culture flips. This time, it came with hashtags. #thriftfinds. #vintagedrip. #thriftfashion. Enter Macklemore's "Thrift Shop" in 2012, a playful anti-brand anthem with a trombone hook that made secondhand a flex. Suddenly, thrifting was proof of taste. Between 2012 and 2017, South Africa'salt scene got swept up in it. Vintage ruled every party, lookbook, and Instagram post. The world changed, but not for everyone.

In 2014, I moved to Cape Town. As a thrift lover, I looked for a De Villiers Street equivalent. Instead, I found a lifestyle. Even in hospice shops, prices were inflated. In Observatory and Woodstock, I saw racks of overpriced denim jackets arranged by aesthetic, not size. Mannequins in the windows wore knitwear with price tags that made you question if you were thrifting to save or to stand out. Incense sticks burned while over-accessorized, dreadlocked white guys in tie-dye worked the counter, each pretentious detail carefully curated.

You're encouraged to browse, linger, and discover. But you won't find the need. These stores aren't built for the poor. They cater to ring-lit students, the pseudo-bohemians — those who perform struggle but never live it. A rusted Levi's jacket costs the same as an electricity bill. "Vintage" corduroy pants could feed a family for a week. The irony is that these very pieces and the culture surrounding them originated from communities where recycling clothes wasn't a trend but a survival tactic.

Back on De Villiers Street, traders feel the pressure. Their lifeline stalls — once overlooked by the middle class — are now raided by trend-savvy hustlers looking to stock shops in Melville, Parkhurst, or Cape Town, or their online stores. Now, the poor compete with the stylish. A domestic worker searching for Sunday shoes for her child finds them marked up — cleaned, maybe — but suddenly out of reach. Thrifting has been colonized.

If Observatory is the seductive face of gentrification's thrift, then Rosebank Market is its smug little sibling. At the Sunday rooftop market at Rosebank Mall, thrift is overpriced and pretentious. Sellers sip kombucha while boasting about "authentic Levi's from 1983" and throwing shade at H&M. Their stalls look like magazine shoots, complete with mirrors, rugs, and handwritten price tags with eco-slogans. They talk about "curating a vibe" like they've discovered a new world. But what they won't say is this: much of that curated stock is bulk-bought from places like Noord Street or Salvation Army shops — marked up, styled, and sold to people who wouldn't dare set foot downtown.

Thrifting has climbed the food chain, and those it once served are now being priced out. The new thrift economy doesn't redistribute; it extracts. This isn't to say people shouldn't thrift or that style should be policed. The climate crisis is real. The fashion industry is a top polluter. Thrifting, at its best, slows consumption and extends life cycles. The world needs fewer landfills and more shared wardrobes. However, here's the catch: the moral high ground becomes murky when sustainability is only accessible to the well-off. When being "eco-conscious" means spending hundreds on a second-hand trench coat. When saving the planet is a privilege.

The real question isn't "Should we thrift?" It's who gets to? Who gains when thrift gets expensive? Who loses when resale platforms like Yaga, Depop, or curated Instagram pages hoard good-quality stock and drive up prices? What happens to the woman who once relied on second-hand school uniforms but now sees them restyled as retro — and unaffordable?

A hierarchy is forming, and like always, it follows class lines. Noord merchants are adapting to demand, which is fair. But the result is clear: the poor are being priced out of the system they built. What we're witnessing is economic gentrification. And like all gentrification, it starts with erasure. The jacket becomes a statement. The scarf becomes vintage. The wearer disappears. The systems of care — the stalls, the markets, the clothing banks — are drained of meaning. In this new thrift economy, memory is optional.

But we must resist that. We must remember: secondhand culture wasn't born on Instagram. It was about warmth. Getting hired. Dressing kids for church. It was an economy of care — a way to stretch thin lives across long winters. So no, this isn't a hit piece on fashionistas or cool kids in Docs. Thrift if you must. But do it with awareness. Know every item has a history, a geography, and a class.

A plane carrying the first batch of white South Africans granted refugee status by the U.S. government landed near Washington, D.C. today, Monday May 12, 2025. The 49 Afrikaner refugees are entering the U.S. at a time when the Trump administration is bent on dismantling most of the country’s refugee resettlement programs and generally laying siege on immigrants and immigration rights.

Earlier this year, U.S. President Donald Trump claimed that South Africa’s government is persecuting its minority white population and proceeded to sign an executive order stopping all financial aid to South Africa. Trump also offered resettlement to white South Africans, and about 70,000 people reportedly indicated interest in relocating to the U.S. as refugees.

The first batch of refugees is part of a “much larger-scale relocation effort,” according to White House Deputy Chief of Staff Stephen Miller. The Trump administration’s acceptance of Afrikaner refugees is the latest escalation of its strained relationship with South Africa, even though its stance is partly based on gross misinformation.

Earlier this year, South African President Cyril Ramaphosa signed a land expropriation bill that gives the government the power to take over lands that haven’t been used for long periods and lands not being adequately utilized. Following loud complaints by the Afrikaner-representing civil group Afriforum, Trump went on to state that land is being arbitrarily taken away from white South Africans and also claimed that the Afrikaner population is being targeted through racist policies.

While many white South Africans have ridiculed the idea that they need to be rescued and seek asylum in the U.S., the Trump administration has made the refugee program for Afrikaners a priority. This is happening at a time when refugees and protected immigrants are having their rights to remain in the U.S. revoked.

Last month, the U.S. Department of Homeland Security (DHS) announced that it would not renew the temporary protected status (TPS) of some 7,900 Cameroonians. TPS, granted to people from countries dealing with armed conflicts and other dire circumstances, is routinely renewed every 18 months. The decision to end the TPS designation for the thousands of affected Cameroonians could lead to forced removals from the U.S. by late June.

Over half a million migrants from Afghanistan, Cuba, Haiti, Nicaragua, and Venezuela have had their TPS designation revoked.

Also, last month, the U.S. government announced that it had revoked the visas of all South Sudanese and placed travel restrictions on the East African country. It cited South Sudan’s unwillingness to accept the return of its citizens in “a timely manner.” South Sudan’s government had initially rejected the deportation of an individual from the U.S., stating that the person was from Congo.

However, following strong words from U.S. Secretary of State Marco Rubio, South Sudan accepted the deported individual, hoping to undo the visa revocation announcement, which didn’t happen. South Sudan, the world’s youngest country, is in danger of plunging into another civil war, and the visa revocation endangers the lives of those who successfully sought asylum in the U.S. and could be forcefully deported.

Trump’s stance towards Africa (and the global south) has mainly been antagonistic. He infamously referred to African countries as “shithole” countries during his first term. This makes the extension of refugee status to white South Africans a curious case, if not disturbing.

South Africa’s former ambassador to the U.S., Ebrahim Rasool, was expelled by the American government after he suggested that white supremacy plays a role in Trump’s relationship with South Africa.

According to a draft list, 22 of the 43 countries that could face travel restrictions to the U.S. are African countries. Libya, Somalia, and Sudan are among eight countries that could face an outright travel ban. Eritrea, South Sudan, and Sierra Leone would face travel restrictions, and citizens from 16 other African countries would need two months to clear serious security checks.

With Sabbatical, writer and director Karabo Lediga mines a memory to produce a no-holds-barred critique on the strangers we become once we leave home to establish our own lives. Lesego (played by the impressive Mona Monyane) is on track to become CEO at the financial firm she works for when an investigation threatens to upend her aspirations. She wakes up in her childhood home following a heavy night, and what unfolds is an up-close view of a life becoming undone.

"I had a really invasive surgery while living alone in Joburg. At the time, I didn't have anyone to take care of me post-surgery because I had a six-week recovery. I had to go home to my mom," Lediga tells OkayAfrica, adding that the period felt like a re-examination of her relationship with her mother.

Lesego's mother, Dorothy, played by the decorated, acclaimed Clementine Mosimane, who is nothing like Lediga's mother, fondly holds on to the memories of her daughter as a child. She is confident in the version of Lesego that exists in her head, a version corroded by the passage of time; this is where the conflict arises.

"We have two different cultures now because of apartheid. I had to go and learn Whiteness, and [my mother] worked hard for me to attain that. But I came back home as a foreigner, so I was really interested in examining that generational gap, which I think is very common in the global South, where people are immigrants. However, we're immigrants in our own country when we go to Whiteness and leave our homes," says Lediga.

Over a day, Lesego discovers that she is under investigation at work and that her bank accounts have been frozen. Panic ensues as she tries to undo the damage quickly taking root, leaving her mother confused and in the dark. Lesego decides to lay low for a bit, hoping that the smoke clears.

There were things Lediga was intentional about throughout the film, small details that contribute to the greater story. For instance, Lesego's mother knocks and enters her room while she's still dazed and confused, trying to figure out what is happening. She makes two universally applicable comments — one about unopened curtains and windows, and another about how late in the day it is for her daughter to still be asleep.

"There's a certain respectability that is interesting to me and that a lot of people of my generation and younger break. It's a cause for conflict, which is great for film. I'm also obsessed with nostalgia because it can be neat and romantic. It's how we remember stuff, but it's not always factual," says the director.

Being a black woman on television sets means that Lediga, who has just over two decades of experience as a writer, director, and sometimes actor on South African television classics such as the Pure Monate Show and Bantu Hour, has to consistently watch her own back by paying attention to the slightest detail. She brought this keen eye into Sabbatical, her directorial debut for a full-length feature film.

"I was very deliberate about creating the entire visual deck on my own," continues Lediga. "It's a great opportunity, to be exact, not to try to freestyle too much. It can sometimes put you in a corner, but it's good if you can be malleable. I think it's good to be prepped."

Lediga says that she wanted to distinguish between Lesego's work world, which is plush but cold and unwelcoming, and her home, which is warm and filled with distorted recollections of old events. "Much of it was borrowing from family albums, which I use a lot. Even not being too wide in the frame of the old world. It's almost like going through an album," she says.

The world of independent filmmaking requires an unrepentant attitude, an unshakable self-belief, and an abundance of community. Lediga reached out to this community about her film; her brother Kagiso Lediga's production company, Diprente, took this project on, and regular collaborators such as Loyiso Gola and Chris Forrest.

"The biggest challenge as a South African filmmaker is always casting from the heart, not from the frame. It's risky. I love making these decisions in independent film because it's a different ball game when you have a client, such as a streamer or a broadcaster. I chose who I thought was great for the role, [and] it's a risk I'm proud of," Lediga concludes.

We’re getting deeper into the year, and the music releases keep piling up. For April, our bag packs treats from Eswatini, Lesotho, Angola, Zimbabwe, and beyond. Tap in and make sure to update your listening habits with the awesomeness we have.

Internet Girl - “Treat” (South Africa)

Internet Girl’s sound is an edgy mix of pop-rock, trap, and electronica fed through effect pedals, post-teenage angst, and the fleeting state of youth—all delivered through frontman TK’s raw, unfiltered, emotionally resonant lyrics. “Bhati Ntsika where’s your posi?/ they don’t understand I got divorced parents/ and to my son I’d be the worst parent,” he raps, his voice a fuzzy haze of broken childhood promises and the looming responsibilities of adulthood. Internet Girl is the sound of now.

Jah Prayzah - “Kuno” (Zimbabwe)

Jah Prayzah has carved out many musical bags in the many years he’s been active in music, and he can twist and turn at any point to reveal a different side of his artistry. “Kuno” is the first release from his forthcoming album, Ndini Mukudzeyi. He digs deep to sing his heart out about love, legacy, and the bonds that remain unbroken after life has ended. On “Uzuyi Bheke,” he features South African rapper illRow, who details the struggle one faces when trying to escape street life and go on a straight and narrow path.

Paras Sibalukhulu Dlamini - “Yobe” (South Africa)

On his debut album, Ingoma Busuku, multi-layered vocalist Paras Sibalukhulu Dlamini finds a delicate sweet spot that swings between Zulu vocal traditions advanced by the likes of Shaluza Max and Mbuso Khoza, and an undefined, new territory that he can get to own with time. He also gathers a heavy set of cats to help him advance his vision. Nduduzo Makhathini handles production duties, while a cast of musicians from across South Africa, Switzerland, and France completes the cipher. “Yobe” sets the tone for meditative reflections on spirituality, tradition, and what it means to be an African in the modern age.

Taniâ - “Dioguito” (Angola)

Angolan artist Taniâ updates Bernardo Jorge Bangão’s classic, “Dioguito.” In her hands, the semba classic morphs into a cultural counterpoint that brings the old and new together. Her voice floats effortlessly, while Francisco Alexandre Pedro’s production adds the bounce necessary to keep head bopping.

Dlala Thukzin, Kabza de Small, MK Productions - “Muthi” feat. Zeh McGeba, Masuda (South Africa)

About a month ago, a clip surfaced online featuring Kabza De Small and Dlala Thukzin in the studio, cooking up what one can only imagine to be sizzling bangers. Some of the fruits from that collaboration are featured on 031 Studio Camp 2.0, a refreshing approach to electronic music rooted in a deep understanding of spirituality, and a future-forward mindset unafraid to break new barriers. “Muthi” is sonic alchemy delivered in Dlala Thukzin’s 3-Step grooves, Kabza De Small’s unmistakable baselines, and Zeh McGeba’s reassuring vocals. We might have another song for the summer with this one.

Sarnilo - “Autumn” (Eswatini)

“Autumn leaves are falling, hear me out I’m calling,” sings Eswatini-based artist Sarnilo on her latest release, “Autumn.” In the Tru Hitz-produced song, the artist utilizes her sultry voice to confess her feelings as she glides effortlessly on the song’s gospel chords.

Thope tse Khang - “Lerato” (Lesotho)

Lesotho’s Thope tse Khang are household names, made famous by their daring, provocative lyrics and addictive famo melodies. “Lerato” is taken off their second offering since signing to the Universal Music Group in 2024. Titled Ha E Lume, it’s a four-track collection of the material the group has come to be known for.

Voltz JT - “Crisis” (Zimbabwe)

Voltz JT is an emcee’s emcee. He has the vocal tone to command audiences, and the lyrical content makes him one of the dopest coming from the African continent right now. “Crisis” details the difficulties people from different corners of the world are experiencing right now; salaries don’t increase, only the cost of living does.

K.O - “Pharadise” (feat. Young Stunna)

On ” Pharadise,” revered artist and producer K.O dips into his emotionally charged bag (see: “Skhanda Love,” “Hate Love”) to unearth a beacon of hope for hustlers in the city of Johannesburg. “And my patience is running low; I wanna know,” he raps, taking the position of someone who has to suffer at the hands of these hustlers. Young Stunna, who also appeared on one of K.O’s biggest songs, “Sete,” adds his spiritually-tinged flavor on the chorus, begging and pleading to his creator to give him the power to overcome. “Pharadise” is the last single until his fourth studio album, Phara City, drops this June. In a statement, the rapper described the work as “a mirror held up to our lives, reflecting the raw, beautiful chaos we navigate every day.”

When U.S. Secretary of State Marco Rubio announced in April that President Donald Trump's administration had revoked visas for all South Sudanese citizens, citing South Sudan’s failure to accept deportees “in a timely manner,” it sounded like South Sudan was being punished for refusing to cooperate.

But the reality was far more ridiculous and unfair.

The problem centered on a single passenger: a man on a U.S. deportation flight whom South Sudan refused to accept because he was Congolese, not South Sudanese. Yet America didn’t care.

Even after South Sudan capitulated days later and agreed to take in the Congolese man, “in the spirit of friendly relations,” the U.S. has kept the visa revocation in place. Friendly relations, it seems, are one-sided.

Across social media, South Sudanese described it as American bullying. South Sudan’s Information Minister, Michael Makuei Lueth, told the media that the U.S. was “attempting to find faults with the tense situation” in the country.

“No sovereign nation would accept foreign deportees,” he said.

South Sudan is the world’s youngest country and is on the brink of renewed civil war, threatening over 11 million people.

And yet, from the African Union and other African heads of state? Silence.

That silence is telling and extremely dangerous.

South Sudan’s visa crisis came amid rumors of a draft U.S. travel ban list in which most of the countries are African.

This is just one example of how Trump’s second-term “America First” agenda has hurt Africa, with little pushback from leaders. Since returning to office, he has frozen billions of dollars in aid, ended Power Africa, and imposed new tariffs that threaten African Growth and Opportunity Act (AGOA) trade and jobs across the continent. His policies are also threatening African students studying in the U.S.

Even South Africa, already punished after Trump suspended aid and controversially offered asylum to white Afrikaners, stood alone as it expelled the U.S. ambassador. There is no solidarity from neighbors. No AU statement.

Some may see America stepping back as a push toward self-reliance or simply wish to avoid Washington’s ire. And the African Union may still be adjusting under new leadership. The newly elected AU Commission Chairperson and commissioners took office in March.

But history shows the AU can speak up. In 2017, then-AU Commission Chair Nkosazana Dlamini-Zuma condemned Trump’s travel ban on several Muslim-majority countries.

“The very country to which many of our people were taken as slaves during the transatlantic slave trade has now decided to ban refugees from some of our countries,” she told the AU summit in Addis Ababa. “What do we do about this? Indeed, this is one of the greatest challenges to our unity and solidarity.”

Today, the challenge remains, but unity and solidarity seem missing.

If Africa’s institutions won’t stand up for their citizens, who will?