Every May 25th, as the drums of Africa Day echo across our continent, my heart becomes a confluence of pride and a quiet, persistent ache. Pride for the resilience and spirit of our continent, for the giants—Nkrumah, Nyerere, Selassie, and countless unsung heroes—who lit the path towards a united, liberated Africa. Their vision, enshrined in the founding of the Organisation of African Unity (OAU) in 1963, was not merely political; it was a deeply spiritual call for interconnectedness, for a shared destiny that would bind us as one people.
Yet, the ache remains, a yearning for that dream to fully bloom in the lives of Africa’s children, particularly the youth. We speak today of the African Continental Free Trade Area (AfCFTA), economic integration, and shared prosperity. These are essential pillars of our continental renaissance. But can our economies truly integrate if our peoples remain separated? Can the spirit of Ubuntu—that profound understanding that “I am because we are”—truly flourish if it is hemmed in by the very borders we seek to transcend? How can our goods and services, the fruits of our labor, cross these lines if we, the hands that create and the hearts that connect, cannot?
Ubuntu: The philosophy that must become practice
Ubuntu. The word itself is a balm, a reminder of our shared humanity, our inherent duty of hospitality and community. It is the philosophy we, as Africans, often present to the world, a testament to our welcoming spirit that has survived centuries of disruption. Our tourism campaigns paint vibrant pictures of this warmth, inviting the world to experience Africa.
But does this celebrated hospitality extend with the same open arms to a fellow African seeking to traverse our continent as it does to a tourist from afar? When a sister from Kigali or a brother from a bustling market in Lagos approaches a border within our Africa, are they met with the embrace of Ubuntu, or the cold scrutiny of a visa regime? This dissonance strikes at the heart of who we claim to be versus who we are in practice.
For our youth, especially, this contradiction cuts deep. A generation that connects seamlessly across digital borders through social media and technology finds itself stymied by physical barriers that make no sense in their interconnected worldview. They see themselves as Africans first, then Nigerians, Kenyans, or Ghanaians second. Yet our visa systems tell them they are foreigners in their own continental home.
From rhetoric to reality: Making brotherhood tangible
The language of brotherhood and sisterhood flows eloquently from the speeches of our leaders at continental gatherings. But when a young innovator from Nairobi dreams of collaborating with peers in Dakar, or a student from Accra seeks knowledge in Kampala, the echo of that brotherhood often fades against the stark reality of bureaucratic hurdles and visa denials.
How can our youth develop a strong African identity when the continent itself seems to reject their movement? How can they see Africa as their promised land when it’s easier for them to travel to former colonial capitals than to neighbouring African cities?
The true spirit of Africa Day, born from an unyielding quest to throw off colonial yokes, must now, with equal fervor, address these internal, self-imposed barriers. Our ancestors knew a continent of fluid movement, where trade, culture, and kinship were the currents that nourished our diverse societies, long before the cartographers of empire etched their arbitrary lines upon our land. Those lines were instruments of division; it is a source of quiet sorrow that our visa policies sometimes perpetuate that very fragmentation.
Visa-free Africa: Ubuntu in practice
A visa-free Africa is not merely a policy adjustment. It is the most authentic expression of Ubuntu in our modern age, the truest measure of our commitment to that proclaimed brotherhood. More than that, it is the foundation upon which we can build the African identity our youth desperately need.
It is Ubuntu in practice: not just a philosophy, but a lived reality where we welcome our kin, share our spaces, and acknowledge. When we allow a fellow African to enter our national space without undue impediment, we affirm, “You are of us. Your journey enriches ours. This land is your inheritance, too.”
It is identity formation in real time: When young Africans can move freely across their continent, they don’t just learn about Africa—they become African in ways that transcend national boundaries. A student from Zambia studying in Morocco, an entrepreneur from Mali expanding to Kenya, an artist from Botswana collaborating in Ethiopia—these experiences create a generation that sees the entire continent as home.
Africa as the promised land
This vision becomes especially urgent when we consider the hostile environment our youth face beyond our borders. Visa rejections from Western embassies, deportations, mistreatment, and racism paint a clear picture: the world that once beckoned to African dreams is closing its doors. Fortress Europe builds walls both literal and bureaucratic. Even traditional destinations like the Gulf states impose increasingly restrictive conditions on African workers.
But this global rejection, painful as it may be, offers us an opportunity for introspection and redirection. If the world will not welcome our children, then we must make Africa so attractive, so full of opportunity, so integrated and dynamic, that our youth see it not as a consolation prize but as the ultimate destination.
This isn’t about turning inward in bitterness, but about turning toward each other in love and recognition. Our youth possess talents, skills, energy, and creativity that can transform this continent—but only if we give them the freedom to deploy these gifts wherever in Africa they can have the greatest impact.
Practical steps toward continental unity
The African Union Passport initiative is a step toward this vision. Yet we must also consider the countless ordinary Africans for whom obtaining any passport/travel document remains a significant financial and bureaucratic challenge. If our aim is true freedom of movement for all, not just for a select few, then our solutions must be as inclusive and accessible as the spirit of Ubuntu itself.
Could we not pioneer systems—secure national ID cards enhanced with biometric data—that truly place this freedom within everyone’s grasp?
The AU’s Protocol on the Free Movement of Persons exists; its journey to full ratification and heartfelt implementation requires the active participation of every African citizen. Civil society, youth organizations, business communities, and ordinary citizens must become advocates for this continental integration.
Concerns about security and resources are legitimate and must be addressed with wisdom, robust cooperation, and smart application of technology, not as insurmountable walls to our shared progress, but as challenges for our collective African ingenuity.
A call to continental action
This Africa Day, as we celebrate our shared heritage, let us also engage in profound introspection about our shared future. Let us ask ourselves how the beautiful ideals of Ubuntu and brotherhood can be woven more deeply into the fabric of our continental policies and daily practices, for a continent where our shared African identity is not just historical memory or political ideal, but a daily, lived, liberating experience.
The journey our founders began on May 25th, 1963, continues in every act that brings us closer. For in the end, the strength of African identity lies in the shared purpose that unites us, the common destiny that calls us, and the collective responsibility we bear to ensure that every African child sees this entire continent as their birthright, their opportunity, their home.
The Ubuntu philosophy reminds us that we are because we are together. Let us now make “together” a geographical reality, not just a political aspiration. Let us make Africa the promised land it was always meant to be—for all her children, wherever on the continent they may be born, wherever their dreams may lead them within our shared African home.
