There’s a phrase I’ve heard more times than I care to count since emigrating from my home country of South Africa.
“You’re running away from South Africa.”
Sometimes it’s said casually. Sometimes jokingly. Sometimes with judgment. And sometimes with that tiny but noticeable hint of bitterness that stings a lot more than people realise.
But here’s the truth — we didn’t run away.
We ran towards something.
And there is a world of difference between the two.
When I think of South Africa, my heart still swells with the same pride as Siya Kolisi singing the national anthem before each Springbok game. It will always be home in ways no other place can ever replicate. It’s the smell of your summer braai, the sound of hadedas at dawn, family gatherings that run late into the night, and a resilience that lives deep in our bones. Leaving that behind is not something anyone does lightly.
No one packs up their life, says goodbye to friends and family, navigates visas, finances, fear, and grief, and thinks, “This will be easy.”
Leaving South Africa (or any country for that matter) isn’t an act of cowardice. It’s an act of courage.
Many of us left because we wanted more certainty. More safety. More opportunity. More balance. More peace. Not because South Africa failed us — but because we wanted something different for ourselves and our children. Wanting a better quality of life is not a betrayal. It’s a deeply human instinct.
When I moved to the UK and then Australia, it wasn’t about turning our backs on where we came from. It was about turning to face toward where we were going. Toward a life where kids can play outside without worry, where weekends feel slower, where the future feels a little less heavy.
That doesn’t mean life here is perfect. It isn’t. We’ve traded one set of challenges for another. Homesickness doesn’t magically disappear. You miss birthdays, funerals, weddings, and everyday moments that can’t be recreated over FaceTime. You ache for familiarity. You grieve a version of life that no longer exists.
But grief and gratitude can coexist. They aren’t mutually exclusive, as you come to realise over time as an immigrant.
What many people don’t see is that emigration is not an escape — it’s a reinvention. It’s starting again when you already had a life, a life that for the most part you probably were happy with, even loved. It’s rebuilding from the ground up: careers, friendships, routines, and identity. It’s holding onto your accent, your traditions, and your humour while learning to belong somewhere new.
And here’s the part that matters most to me: choosing to leave does not mean we love South Africa any less.
In fact, I’d argue it means we love it deeply. We carry it with us in how we speak, how we parent, how we show up and hold space for others. South Africa lives in our stories, our children, our language, our food, our values, and our sense of community — even here in Australia, or wherever you have chosen to now call your home.
So, when someone says we’re “running away,” I gently but firmly disagree.
We’re running towards safety.
We’re running towards opportunity.
We’re running towards a future we consciously chose, for ourselves and for our children. And their children too.
And that choice doesn’t need defending.
Every South African who leaves does so for their own reasons, at their own pace, with their own mix of excitement and heartbreak. There is no single narrative. No right or wrong decision. Just deeply personal ones.
If you stayed, I respect that.
If you left, I see you.
If you’re somewhere in between — dreaming, planning, or doubting — know this: wanting more doesn’t make you ungrateful. It makes you brave.
We didn’t run away.
We took a chance, and ran towards a new life abroad.
No Comments