Her first attempt to secure asylum was rejected. The officials she spoke with at the Asylum Office in Pretoria in 2019, claimed that she did not properly explain the dangers posed to her life in Saudi and Yemen where she has citizenship. Her inability to speak English fluently meant that she could not properly articulate her situation and that the officials involved rushed the process. She claims the entire process lacked empathy. It was purely bureaucratic and discriminative.

“My fingerprints, a personal photo, and my personal information were taken. My passport was taken in by Home Affairs and I was given a date for my first interview on October 29, 2019, and after the interview, my request was initially rejected.”

She says that her asylum application document allowed her to remain in the country for three months, then upon renewal another three months. Then it was extended by a year.

She has been allocated a case worker and was instructed to submit a written testimony which she has, but has seen no change to her status. Without being granted asylum, Khadija lives in limbo. She is unable to secure proper employment or get a driver’s licence and she cannot even open a bank account.

Khadija says she is still hoping for a change to her situation. She is hoping that her application, after review, will be approved, and she is relying on her case worker at the Asylum Office in Pretoria to make this a reality.

The process has been long, financially and emotionally draining. Without a secure revenue of income, she could not afford a lawyer and without a lawyer she feared that her case was as good as rejected again.

Desperate and alone, Khadija reached out to a friend for assistance; Dr Elham Manea. Another Yemeni living in Sweden and working as a Professor at the University of Zurich. She asked Manea to help highlight the urgency of her situation in a letter to the Asylum Office. From the Institute for Political Science at the University of Zurich, Dr Elham Manea, Khadija’s friend, writes “Her (Khadija’s) situation is doubly compounded by real and direct threats of persecution in Yemen and Saudi Arabia.” Manea has studied the political situation for years and works in advocacy campaigning for Human Rights in the region. In a three-page letter she outlines Khadija’s plea, the death penalty for apostacy in both Yemen and Saudi, the raging war in Yemen, and the threat of male violence in the form of honour killings. Still, no response from the Asylum Office or Khadija’s case worker.

Another of Khadija’s friends, a Saudi expat, who was in a similar situation as Khadija, and who has been granted asylum in Canada, also wrote to the Asylum Office in Pretoria attempting to explain Khadija’s predicament and need for asylum. Nourah Mazhar describes herself as a “feminist and women rights activist… former Muslim and Bisexual [and a] dissident.” Like Elham Manea, Nourah Mazhar pleads for Khadija’s case to be taken seriously saying that “several have lost their lives already” trying to flee Saudi’s patriarchal hold on women. Again, the plea falls on deaf ears. From the Asylum Office, only silence.

Khadija has spent the past year and a half frantically pleading with government departments, NGO’s and civil society organisations to help her secure her residency. She fears she is running out of time. Her asylum documentation expires in just eighteen months. It will be renewed as per government COVID-19 protocols, but Khadija will continue to live country-less, without a job or financial security and unable to attain basic support.

Furthermore, Khadija is afraid that if her application is rejected, she will be deported, she tells me, “I don't want to lose my right to asylum and be deported and killed.”

In March of this year, she was finally heard somewhere. An Australian NGO gave her $700 to hire a lawyer.

When I asked her why she thinks the case worker refuses to attend to her case, she said “The employee in the Asylum Office who picked up my case is not interested in my life.” She also said: “The Asylum office doesn't have an idea about Islam and Yemen and Saudi Arabia.”

Saudi Arabia’s blasphemy laws include the death penalty for apostacy. Guardianship laws mean that women who disobey the authority of their male guardians can be imprisoned where they would experience extreme violence and injustice, including rape and prolonged jail sentences.

And in Yemen, the destruction of war places the possibility of justice for Khadija and others far from within reach.

All of this has been well documented in the media and by advocacy campaigns and international NGOs.

Khadija keeps a wealth of evidence of her ordeals; photographs and documents, legal recordings and letters, still, she says, “The Asylum Office does not believe me.”

Khadija says that her dream is to be a journalist or a pilot. She wants to live in safety so that she can be free to realise her aspirations and live her life without fear of persecution.

When I asked Khadija why she chose South Africa as her destination of asylum she said she was inspired by Nelson Mandela “his struggle, and his long imprisonment followed by success due to persistence.” She says this reminds her of her own struggle against oppression and injustice.

“South Africa is a democratic country,” she says, “where all its citizens and residents have the freedom of belief and are protected by the law.”

For asylum seekers like Khadija, the dream of a just, democratic South Africa is far from a reality.
Xenophobia, corruption, broken and dysfunctional government structures and procedures, ignorance, as well as a general lack of interest or empathy are all hinderances in Khadija’s path to freedom.

If you, or someone you know, can assist Khadija with her case, please send us an email at
info@atheistmuslims.co.za


-- AMSA