Over 250,000 people were registered as asylum seekers and refugees – people displaced by force – in South Africa in 2024. About 4% of them were from Burundi, some 3,000km away.
When people think about refugees, they often imagine families fleeing war and finding safety in another country. As social scientists, we’re also interested in what happens after they arrive. Does finding safety also mean finding a place to belong?
We believe that everyone has a story to tell, and we listened to the stories of Burundian refugees living in Chatsworth, Durban. This is a suburban area that was set aside for people of Indian descent under South Africa’s racial apartheid laws (repealed in 1991).
Our study brings to light the complex reasons these men and women left Burundi: conflict, political violence, persecution and fear for their lives. Burundi has endured decades of political turmoil, marked by recurrent episodes of ethnic violence, authoritarianism and civil wars.
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We wanted to understand what everyday life looked like once Burundians were in the destination country.
South Africa allows refugees and asylum to settle and integrate without confining them to a camp system. However, displaced people must carve out lives within fragile economies, contested political spaces and precarious social landscapes.
Read more: Burundi at 60 is the poorest country on the planet: a look at what went wrong
Rather than focusing on the challenges of access to employment, shelter, or legal documents, we explored something less visible but equally important: how people hold on to hope while carrying the weight of loss, living with scars of war, grief and uncertainty.
We interviewed 15 Burundian refugees and asylum seekers, including their community leaders, in Chatsworth in 2025. From what emerged, the adopted “home” space of Chatsworth represents both safety and struggle.
The study reminds us to see refugees not simply as people in need of assistance, but as individuals with dreams, talents, families, and hopes for the future.
From Burundi to Chatsworth
Originally designed under apartheid’s Group Areas Act as a relocation site for Indian South Africans, Chatsworth has evolved into a multicultural township marked by socio-economic challenges and increasing migrant settlement.
For Burundian refugees, Chatsworth is both a space of possibility, where religious networks, informal economies and community solidarities provide forms of stability, and a space of precarity.
We collected data through walking in and around the area; we visited homes, restaurants and community spaces such as Catholic church venues. We met men from Burundi who were mostly contracted under a large South African grocery store delivery business.
Community leaders and other participants were accessed through organisations working with migrants, refugees and asylum seekers in the city of Durban, primarily through Refugee Pastoral Care, a programme run under the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Durban.
Every few years, anti-foreigner sentiments and organised activities flare up in South Africa. In June 2026 another wave of violence swept across the country, including the central areas of Durban, not far from Chatsworth.
Nevertheless, some Burundians in our study viewed South Africa and Durban (and suburbs like Chatsworth) in particular, as a place where they could find shelter and protection from physical harm. They were grateful to have escaped the violence of their home country and to be able to work and support their families.
Yet some also said they never truly felt accepted by the surrounding communities. One participant summed it up powerfully by saying that Chatsworth was
safe for my body, but not for my heart.
Another important finding was that hope is not simply wishful thinking. For the people we spoke to, hope was something they practised every day. Hope meant working long hours so children could attend school. It meant saving small amounts of money whenever possible. It meant attending church or mosque, where faith offered strength during difficult times.
For some, education represented the greatest hope for the future. Parents believed that although they had lost opportunities because of conflict, their children might enjoy a better life. Hope became a reason to keep moving forward despite heavy uncertainty.
For Burundians, as a refugee or asylum seeker, sorrow remained a constant companion. In this study, almost everyone carried painful memories of Burundi. Some had lost family members during the conflict there.
These memories remained vivid even after many years. Some still dreamed of returning home one day to rebuild their lives in peace.
The research also revealed that women and men sometimes experienced displacement in different ways. Women carried the responsibility of caring for children while also earning an income through informal work. They described drawing strength from women’s savings groups and prayer meetings, where members encouraged one another and pooled small amounts of money to cope with daily challenges.
Some men, on the other hand, spoke about losing the social status they once enjoyed in Burundi. Former teachers, business owners and professionals now found themselves doing physically demanding work simply to survive. Although some felt they had lost part of their dignity and identity, providing for their families gave their lives purpose.
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As one pointed out:
I was a big man back in Burundi, all the politicians and the people in the army, Hutu or Tutsi, they know me, I was a very successful businessman … but when the war started, I was hunted like an animal. They took everything …
Hope and heartbreak
In this study, hope and sorrow reveal themselves as existing side by side. It is easy to think of refugees either as victims or as inspiring examples of resilience. The reality is far more layered and complex.
The Burundian refugees we met were both hopeful and heartbroken. They mourned the lives they had lost, while working hard to build new ones. They appreciated the safety South Africa offered while still longing for home and acceptance.
Their stories show remarkable courage, but they also remind us that recovery from displacement is about much more than crossing a border. It is about rebuilding a life, finding a sense of belonging, and holding on to hope even when sorrow never fully disappears.
Tackson Makandwa, Postdoctoral Researcher in the Department of Anthropology, University of KwaZulu-Natal
Maheshvari Naidu, Full Professor in Anthropology, University of KwaZulu-Natal
