Foreign and Hardworking: What South Africans Overlook

I'm a Foreign National in South Africa — Here's What I See That You Don't

Foreign and Hardworking: What South Africans Overlook

By Lilo | May 2025

Let’s talk honestly — because I’m tired of whispering when the room is already loud with opinions.

I’m a foreign national. I have permanent residency, a clean record, and a desire to grow — not just for myself, but with the country I’ve come to call home. But every now and then, I hear it again: “Foreigners are taking our jobs,” “They don’t belong here,” or the ever-popular “They’re the reason there’s crime.”

Let me pause you right there.

Let’s not pretend that the government was ever fair. Many South African citizens are unemployed — not because foreigners came in and snatched their dreams — but because the roots of this crisis go deeper: corruption, failing institutions, underfunded schools, and businesses looking for cheap, exploitable labour. Immigrants just happen to be the easiest scapegoat. Why? Because we’re visible, vulnerable, and voiceless in most conversations.

But here I am. Speaking.

You see a Zimbabwean man pushing a trolley, selling vegetables? I see a survivor. Someone with dignity. Someone who crossed borders not to steal, but to serve — to feed his family, to start over. You complain about a Congolese woman braiding hair in the taxi rank? I see a hustler — a skilled entrepreneur who didn’t wait for opportunity to knock, but built her own door. That’s not a threat. That’s inspiration.

Are there illegal immigrants in the country? Yes. Should there be policies that ensure safety, security, and fairness? Absolutely. But how can we have that conversation if we’re too busy screaming instead of listening?

Let me ask this — and ask it plainly: if a South African employer is offering R500 a week with no contract and zero benefits, and a desperate foreigner takes that job… who’s the real problem? The worker who took the only option they had, or the boss who created a system of exploitation?

Lately, it feels like the outrage isn’t even about legality anymore. Most South Africans aren’t asking, “Is this person legal?” — they’ve moved straight to “All foreigners must go.” No nuance. No second thought. And truthfully, I understand the frustration — there are foreigners who break the law, and that should never be ignored. But what about the rest of us? Those of us here legally, working hard, paying taxes, respecting the law, and trying to build honest lives? Are we all just guilty by association now? That’s not justice. That’s a shortcut to division.

Let me be clear: I’m not writing this to ask for pity. I’m not here to say “love all foreigners” or pretend everyone with an accent is an angel. No. I’m here to say: we’re not the enemy. We’re neighbours. Workers. Friends. And sometimes, we’re the very people feeding communities and fixing broken systems where no one else will.

If South Africans and legal/illegal immigrants stopped fighting over crumbs, maybe we’d finally look up and realise who’s eating the whole cake.

So next time you see a hardworking foreigner doing what needs to be done — don’t roll your eyes.

Ask yourself: what can I learn from that drive?

I Wanted To Be Honey Boo Boo... Until I Grew Up

I Wanted To Be Honey Boo Boo... Until I Grew Up

Let’s rewind to the early 2010s. TLC had just dropped one of the wildest, most chaotic, most entertaining reality shows on Earth: Here Comes Honey Boo Boo. And there I was—just a wide-eyed primary school kid, in my uniform, sitting on the floor with my legs crossed, absolutely glued to the TV. You couldn’t tell me anything. I was convinced I was meant to be a pageant queen.

From the second that pink glitter hit the screen, I was like, “Yes, that’s me. That’s the life I want. Hair spray, fake lashes, sassy poses, and all.” Meanwhile, Alana “Honey Boo Boo” Thompson was about the same age as me, doing exactly what I dreamed of—except on national TV.

But here’s where it gets real...

As I kept watching, something shifted. What started as glitter and giggles turned into yelling, drama, chaos, and tears. I saw problems. I saw addiction. Mama and Sugar Bear were fighting. Mama June was making one questionable decision after another. And somewhere in all that mess was Honey Boo Boo, trying to stay sweet and funny while holding her whole family’s emotional and financial weight on her tiny little shoulders.

Then came the baby—Kaitlyn. Her sister Anna gave birth, and for a moment, peace peeked in. It felt like the family started thinking straighter. But of course, as soon as Kaitlyn left, the whole house went back to WrestleMania.

Let’s not even talk about the weight-loss show phase, the surgeries, the bullying from pageant moms, and Mama June eating fast food straight after a tummy tuck like nothing happened. I mean—if that’s not reality TV gold, I don’t know what is.

But here’s my honest truth: I was jealous of Honey Boo Boo. I’ll admit it. I wanted that glittery stage life. But now, after watching the trailer of her 2025 reality docu-drama I Was Honey Boo Boo, I realized something big:

My life was actually better than hers.

I wasn’t under the pressure of being famous. I wasn’t bullied on TV. I didn’t have to watch my family fall apart on national television while the world laughed. I had the simple life—and for once, I’m proud of it.

Looking back now, I get it: fame isn’t always fabulous. Sometimes the people we envy are carrying burdens we could never imagine. And sometimes, the life you didn’t get is the life that saved you.

So yeah, part of me still loves the sparkle of a good pageant. But a bigger part of me is rooting for Alana—hoping she finishes that nursing degree, finds peace, and finally gets to be the kid she never got to be.

And me? I’m just out here, laying on my bed, blogging my truth, and realizing… maybe I never needed the crown. I already had the wisdom.✨

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