•Beyond condolences…when Nigerian lives become diplomatic footnotes — years of blood, fear and unanswered questions
As killings, alleged police abuses and xenophobic attacks continue, Nigerians are asking a painful question: how many more must die before Abuja moves from condemnation to consequence?
There is something chilling about the repetition.
Another Nigerian is killed in South Africa. Abuja issues a statement. Officials demand an investigation. The Nigerian community mourns. Politicians express outrage. Diplomatic consultations are announced. A few days or weeks pass.
Then the cycle begins again.
The latest victims are Bishop Michael Taiwo Fakunle and James Uchechukwu Nwankwo.
Fakunle was killed at his residence in Kensington, Johannesburg, on September 4, 2026. Nwankwo died a day later in Cape Town following what Nigerian authorities described as alleged “gruesome interrogation techniques” by South African police. The circumstances of both deaths remain subject to investigation, and allegations concerning responsibility must therefore be treated as allegations until established by competent authorities.
But the two deaths have reopened a much older wound.
For Nigerians living in South Africa, and for millions watching from home, the issue is no longer simply about two men who died in separate incidents. It is about whether Nigerian citizenship continues to carry any meaningful protection when a Nigerian is thousands of kilometres from home.
It is about whether a government can repeatedly condemn the killing of its citizens abroad without eventually demanding measurable accountability.
And it is about whether South Africa, a country whose liberation struggle Nigeria supported politically and materially during the apartheid era, can continue to watch recurring violence against African migrants without doing considerably more to prevent it.
The questions have become harder to ignore.
A death toll that refuses to disappear
The scale of the problem is difficult to quantify with precision.
There is no publicly available, comprehensive, independently audited database covering every Nigerian killed in South Africa over the past decade, categorised by motive, perpetrator and outcome of investigation. That limitation matters.
But the available record is disturbing.
In September 2026, Nigeria’s ambassador-designate to South Africa, Femi Fani-Kayode, said eight Nigerians had been murdered in the country in 2026, including Fakunle and Nwankwo, and that more than 100 Nigerian nationals had been killed in South Africa between 2022 and 2026. He further alleged that more than 30 of those deaths involved South African police or defence personnel. Those figures are official Nigerian estimates and should not be mistaken for a fully independently verified national database.
Reuters and Associated Press have separately reported the Nigerian government’s figure of 98 Nigerians killed since 2022 in mob, hate-related and extrajudicial incidents.
Whatever the precise number, the trajectory is difficult to dismiss as isolated criminality.
The killings sit within a much larger history of xenophobic violence.
In 2008, South Africa experienced one of the most notorious outbreaks of anti-foreigner violence in its post-apartheid history. Human Rights Watch documented at least 62 deaths, including South Africans and nationals of other African countries, while tens of thousands were displaced. Nigerians were among those caught up in the violence.
The pattern returned in 2015.
Thousands of foreign nationals were attacked in Durban and elsewhere. Foreign-owned shops were looted, people were displaced and several people died. Human Rights Watch subsequently reported that authorities had failed to thoroughly investigate or successfully prosecute those responsible for the violence.
Then came 2018 and 2019.
In 2018, xenophobic violence in Soweto left at least four people dead, while foreign-owned shops were looted. Human Rights Watch noted that virtually no one had been convicted for previous major outbreaks, including the 2008 and 2015 violence.
In 2019, another wave swept through Johannesburg and other areas. At least 12 people were initially reported dead, thousands were displaced and foreign-owned businesses were looted. Human Rights Watch later found evidence indicating that at least 18 foreigners had died during the unrest, despite the South African government’s lower official figure.
The important word throughout this history is impunity.
Amnesty International said in 2019 that years of failure to hold perpetrators accountable had left refugees, asylum seekers and migrants exposed to repeated attacks. Human Rights Watch reached a similar conclusion in its subsequent reporting, documenting violence, displacement and discrimination and arguing that insufficient accountability helped perpetuate the cycle.
A decade can pass. A government can change. A new diplomatic agreement can be signed.
But if perpetrators repeatedly escape meaningful consequences, the message received by vulnerable communities is remarkably consistent.
The Nigerian who becomes a suspect before becoming a victim
There is another dimension to the crisis that Nigerians in South Africa repeatedly describe: the transformation of nationality into suspicion.
A Nigerian shopkeeper can become a symbol of illegal immigration.
A Nigerian trader can become a convenient explanation for unemployment.
A Nigerian young man can become associated with organised crime because other Nigerians have been accused of crimes.
A foreign national can be attacked because of an allegation against somebody else.
Human Rights Watch has documented what it described as a pattern of collective punishment in South Africa, in which foreigners were attacked because of crimes allegedly committed by individual migrants.
The danger of such thinking is obvious.
Criminality is individual. Citizenship is collective. One does not logically establish the other.
South Africa has every right to enforce its immigration laws and prosecute foreigners who commit crimes. Nigerian nationals living in South Africa are equally subject to South African law.
But immigration enforcement, criminal investigation and policing cannot legitimately become substitutes for mob justice.
Nor can allegations of criminality justify violence against an entire nationality.
South African President Cyril Ramaphosa has previously stressed that immigration enforcement is the responsibility of the state, not private vigilante groups. In 2025, a South African High Court also blocked Operation Dudula from obstructing migrants’ access to healthcare facilities.
That distinction matters because the current crisis has increasingly involved groups demanding that foreigners leave, sometimes accompanied by threats and violence.
The state cannot outsource immigration enforcement to angry mobs.
When the police become part of the question
Perhaps the most troubling aspect of the latest Nigerian complaints is that some allegations involve the very institutions Nigerians expect to protect them.
Nwankwo’s death has intensified concerns about alleged abusive interrogation by South African police. Nigeria’s ambassador-designate has also alleged that more than 30 Nigerians were killed by members of the South African Police Service or Defence Force between 2022 and 2026.
Those claims require independent investigation rather than automatic acceptance.
But they cannot simply be ignored.
Human Rights Watch has for years raised concerns about police conduct in South Africa, including excessive use of force and inadequate accountability. Its 2022 assessment said authorities had failed to end what it called rampant impunity for abusive police behaviour and noted inadequate resources for training on lawful interrogation techniques and human rights.
That is why the Nigerian government’s demand for transparent investigations into the deaths of Fakunle and Nwankwo is important.
But an investigation announced is not an investigation completed. And an investigation completed is not accountability.
The families of victims need to know who killed their relatives, why they were killed, whether state agents were involved, whether evidence was properly gathered, whether suspects were prosecuted and whether courts ultimately delivered justice.
Without that chain, the word “investigation” risks becoming another diplomatic ritual.
Abuja’s familiar vocabulary: condemnation, concern and dialogue
Nigeria’s latest official response followed a familiar script.
The Ministry of Foreign Affairs condemned the killings, demanded thorough and transparent investigations and urged South African authorities to identify and prosecute those responsible.
It also pointed to the long-delayed Nigeria-South Africa early-warning mechanism intended to help both governments identify and respond to emerging threats.
Nigeria says it has signed the relevant memorandum while South Africa has yet to complete its side of the process.
The problem is that Nigerians have heard versions of this language before.
“Concern.”
“Condemnation.”
“Dialogue.”
“Engagement.”
“Investigation.”
These are all legitimate tools of diplomacy. But diplomacy is not merely the ability to express outrage politely. Diplomacy is also the ability to convert national outrage into policy.
That is where Abuja is increasingly being challenged.
Critics argue that successive Nigerian administrations have been too cautious in dealing with Pretoria because of the economic and strategic importance of the relationship.
South African companies have enormous commercial footprints in Nigeria. MTN and MultiChoice’s DStv are among the most visible examples. South African banks and other companies also have significant interests in the Nigerian market.
This economic interdependence has become part of the argument over how Nigeria should respond.
Senator Adams Oshiomhole has been among the loudest voices demanding stronger action. In May, he called for measures against South African companies operating in Nigeria, including consideration of revoking licences for firms such as MTN and DStv.
His argument is essentially one of reciprocity: if Nigerian lives and interests are not adequately protected in South Africa, Nigeria should be prepared to use its own economic leverage.
Other Nigerian lawmakers have gone further, advocating diplomatic or economic measures against Pretoria.
Yet the Nigerian Senate ultimately favoured diplomatic accountability rather than simply adopting the most sweeping proposals for economic retaliation.
That debate deserves seriousness rather than slogans.
Retaliation can produce leverage, but it can also punish businesses and citizens who had nothing to do with the violence. Any sanctions would therefore need to be lawful, targeted, proportionate and tied to clearly defined objectives.
The central issue should not be revenge.
It should be accountability.
The Oshiomhole question: how much leverage is enough?
Oshiomhole’s interventions have nevertheless captured something that diplomatic communiqués often cannot: the growing impatience of Nigerians.
He has argued that Nigeria cannot continue to protect foreign investment while appearing unable to protect Nigerian lives.
His position has attracted support among Nigerians who believe Abuja’s response to South Africa has been too restrained. Other Nigerians have warned against economic retaliation that could damage ordinary people or provoke reciprocal hostility.
Both concerns deserve consideration.
There most populous nation and one of its largest economies. It was central to the diplomatic and political struggle against apartheid. It remains one of South Africa’s most is, however, a deeper question underneath them.
What leverage does Nigeria actually possess, and is Abuja prepared to use it?
Nigeria is not a powerless country.
It is Africa’s most populous nation and one of its largest economies. It was central to the diplomatic and political struggle against apartheid. It remains one of South Africa’s most important African partners.
The relationship therefore has considerable political weight. But influence that is never converted into consequences eventually becomes little more than symbolism.
South Africa’s own unfinished reckoning
It would be wrong, however, to reduce the entire story to South Africans versus Nigerians.
South Africa has extraordinarily high levels of violent crime that affect citizens and foreigners alike.
Some Nigerian community leaders themselves acknowledge this.
The president of Ohanaeze Ndigbo in South Africa, Dr ABC Okokoh, has argued that the country’s violence is broader than attacks on Nigerians, while alleging that Nigerians are particularly vulnerable to high-handed treatment by police.
That distinction is important.
Not every Nigerian murdered in South Africa is necessarily a victim of xenophobia. Some may be victims of ordinary criminal violence. Some allegations may ultimately prove unfounded. Some deaths may have motives unrelated to nationality.
The solution is not to label every violent death “xenophobic.” The solution is to investigate every suspicious death properly enough to establish what actually happened.
That is precisely why the absence of credible, publicly accessible data is so damaging.
When there is no authoritative database, competing narratives fill the vacuum.
Families have one story. Community organisations have another. Governments produce figures. Officials dispute them. Social media magnifies the most dramatic claims. And the dead disappear beneath the argument.
The economics of fear
There is also a less visible cost.
A Nigerian who lives in Johannesburg, Cape Town, Pretoria or Durban does not need to be attacked physically to understand that the environment has become hostile.
Fear changes behaviour. Businesses close earlier. People avoid certain neighbourhoods. Children become anxious. Relatives in Nigeria repeatedly call to ask whether loved ones are safe. Some migrants abandon businesses they spent years building. Others leave South Africa altogether.
During the 2026 crisis, Nigeria began repatriating citizens. Reuters reported that 1,695 Nigerians had voluntarily evacuated by September amid the renewed violence.
For every person who leaves, there is an economic story as well as a human one: a shop abandoned, rent lost, inventory destroyed, savings depleted and years of accumulated social capital erased.
The Nigerian diaspora is not an abstraction.
It is made up of traders, professionals, students, religious leaders, mechanics, entrepreneurs, families and workers.
They send money home. They invest. They build businesses. They maintain families. They are also Nigerian citizens.
The ghosts of 2008
Perhaps the most damning aspect of the present crisis is how familiar it sounds.
In 2008, Human Rights Watch reported that more than 60 people died during xenophobic violence and tens of thousands were displaced. It also noted concerns about the government’s response and the limited number of convictions.
Eleven years later, Amnesty International described recurring xenophobic violence as a consequence of years of impunity.
Human Rights Watch subsequently documented continued attacks and said that the South African government had done too little to ensure that perpetrators were investigated and held accountable.
The chronology tells its own story:
2008. Violence.
2015. Violence.
2018. Violence.
2019. Violence.
2021–22. Renewed anti-foreigner mobilisation.
2026. Another wave, another diplomatic crisis, another evacuation and another list of dead Nigerians.
The issue is no longer whether South Africa has a xenophobia problem. The issue is whether enough has been done to break the cycle.
What would serious Nigerian action look like?
There is a danger in reducing the debate to the choice between “do nothing” and “retaliate.”
There are many steps between diplomatic silence and economic warfare.
Nigeria could establish a permanent, publicly accessible database of Nigerian deaths and serious attacks in South Africa, with the date, location, circumstances, investigating agency, case number, prosecution status and outcome.
It could require regular reporting from its diplomatic mission on unresolved cases.
It could fund independent legal representation for families of victims where necessary.
It could insist on direct liaison between Nigerian officials and South Africa’s Independent Police Investigative Directorate in cases involving police officers.
It could negotiate a binding mechanism for rapid notification whenever a Nigerian national dies in police custody or during a police operation.
It could make the proposed early-warning mechanism genuinely operational rather than allowing it to remain another diplomatic document.
It could work with other African governments whose nationals are similarly affected.
It could take appropriate cases before regional and continental human-rights institutions.
And where diplomatic engagement repeatedly fails, Nigeria could consider carefully targeted, lawful measures with clearly stated objectives and review mechanisms.
None of this requires hostility towards South Africans. It requires seriousness.
The legal route is already on the table
Human rights lawyer Femi Falana has proposed perhaps the most consequential alternative: legal action.
Falana has urged the Nigerian government to consider proceedings against South Africa before the African Court on Human and Peoples’ Rights over alleged failures to protect Nigerians and properly investigate serious violations.
His argument draws on the precedent of the Court’s landmark Norbert Zongo case.
In that case, the African Court found Burkina Faso responsible for violations connected to the failure to properly investigate the 1998 assassination of investigative journalist Norbert Zongo and his companions. In its reparations judgment, the Court ordered financial and symbolic reparations and directed that investigations be reopened.
The case is significant because it establishes an important principle: a state’s responsibility does not necessarily end with the commission of a killing. Serious failures to investigate and prosecute can themselves engage human-rights obligations.
That does not automatically mean South Africa is legally responsible for every death of a Nigerian within its borders. Nor does the Zongo judgment establish that Nigeria would necessarily win a case against South Africa.
It does, however, demonstrate that African institutions can provide avenues beyond diplomatic protest. And that is precisely the kind of avenue Abuja should examine seriously.
South Africa cannot police xenophobia with speeches
Pretoria, too, has responsibilities.
South African officials have repeatedly said they oppose xenophobia and support engagement with Nigeria.
Foreign Minister Ronald Lamola said in July that South Africa remained committed to dialogue and that the government opposed xenophobia. He also said South African authorities had received a list of about 100 Nigerians reported killed and had verified the cases.
That acknowledgement should now lead somewhere.
South Africa should publish regular updates on investigations into attacks against foreign nationals.
Cases involving alleged decision to suspend official visits to South Africa and boycott legislative activities hosted by South African authorities is a significant departure from the familiar pattern of statements and consultations. Reuters reported that the move came amid frustration over persistent anti police abuse should receive independent scrutiny.
Authorities should prosecute individuals who organise or participate in violent xenophobic attacks.
Political leaders should avoid rhetoric that scapegoats migrants for structural problems such as unemployment, crime and failing public services.
And law enforcement must make it unmistakably clear that immigration enforcement belongs to the state, not to mobs.
South Africa’s constitutional democracy is capable of this. Indeed, its history makes it especially important.
A country whose own people once endured institutionalised racial oppression should be extraordinarily sensitive to the danger of allowing nationality or ethnicity to become a licence for collective punishment.
Nigeria must also look in the mirror
There is an uncomfortable truth on the Nigerian side. Governments often discover the language of citizen protection only after citizens have died.
Nigeria has millions of nationals living abroad. They work in Britain, the United States, Canada, Ghana, South Africa, the Middle East, Europe and elsewhere.
A credible diaspora protection policy cannot be activated only when bodies come home. It must exist before the crisis.
That means knowing where Nigerians are concentrated, maintaining emergency contact systems, monitoring threats, maintaining legal partnerships and having evacuation plans ready.
The government has demonstrated some of this capacity during the latest South African crisis. It has repatriated citizens and issued safety warnings.
But emergency evacuation should be the last line of defence, not the principal measure of citizen protection.
A functioning foreign policy should make it possible for Nigerians to live lawfully abroad without constantly wondering whether their government will have the courage to intervene if things go wrong.
Beyond revenge
There is an understandable temptation to demand revenge.
A Nigerian is killed; therefore South African interests in Nigeria should suffer.
A Nigerian business is destroyed; therefore a South African business should be punished.
The emotional logic is easy to understand. But states should be governed by something more disciplined than anger.
Nigeria’s objective should be to make the killing of Nigerians abroad costly in terms of law, diplomacy, reputation and, where appropriate, economic consequences—not to create another cycle of collective punishment.
That distinction is crucial.
The answer to xenophobia cannot be reciprocal xenophobia. The answer to police brutality cannot be retaliation against innocent South Africans. The answer to impunity must be accountability.
The diplomatic relationship has reached a credibility test
The Nigerian National Assembly’s September decision to suspend official visits to South Africa and boycott legislative activities hosted by South African authorities is a significant departure from the familiar pattern of statements and consultations. Reuters reported that the move came amid frustration over persistent anti-migrant violence and the reported deaths of 98 Nigerians since 2022.
But even this should be understood as one step, not an end in itself. The real test will be what happens after the headlines fade.
Will Abuja publish the names and status of unresolved cases? Will Pretoria prosecute perpetrators? Will police officers implicated in deaths face independent investigation? Will the early-warning mechanism become operational? Will families receive justice and, where appropriate, compensation?
Will Nigeria use African institutions to pursue cases where domestic remedies fail? Will bilateral agreements be reviewed against measurable commitments rather than diplomatic assurances?
Those are the questions that matter.
A Nigerian life should not become a diplomatic footnote
For years, Nigeria’s relationship with South Africa has been framed in terms of trade, investment, continental leadership and African solidarity.
All of these matter. But solidarity cannot mean silence.
African brotherhood cannot mean that one African country’s citizens are repeatedly attacked in another and the principal response is another meeting.
Diplomacy should protect relationships. It should not protect relationships at the expense of human lives.
The Nigerian government swore an oath to protect Nigerian citizens. That obligation does not disappear at the border. Neither should the South African government’s constitutional and international obligations disappear when the victim is a foreigner.
The death of Bishop Fakunle should therefore not become another statistic. Nor should the death of James Nwankwo.
Their cases should become tests.
A test of whether South Africa will investigate allegations against its citizens and African institutions can protect Africans established facts. Those are serious figures attributed to Femi Fani-Kayode/Nigerian authorities, while Reuters/AP have reported the separate Nigerian-government figure of 98 deaths since 2022. of xenophobic violence, but individual killings can have different motives and should be identified as such only when investigations establish them. This distinction will make the feature considerably more defensible for an international readership security personnel with the seriousness they demand.
A test of whether Nigeria will transform outrage into sustained policy. A test of whether African institutions can protect Africans from one another.
And, ultimately, a test of whether the two countries can prove that the phrase “African solidarity” means something more than diplomatic ceremony.
For more than a decade, the warnings have been there.
The bodies have been there. The displaced families have been there. The burnt shops have been there. The diplomatic communiqués have been there.
What has been missing is a sufficiently durable system of prevention, accountability and consequence.
That is the real scandal.
Because when a government repeatedly says it is shocked by the killing of its citizens, but the killing continues, eventually the question ceases to be whether the government is shocked.
The question becomes whether it is prepared to act.
And for Nigerians watching another set of coffins emerge from South Africa, that question is no longer abstract.
It is painfully, urgently, human.
