About a fortnight ago, I wrote about the kind of welcome visitors receive when arriving at our airports. It’s not ideal if you’re unlucky enough to fall victim to an airport scam — but how often does that really happen? I suspect I was just unfortunate. Every other visit has been perfectly fine.
But what about the reverse situation? I find myself shocked, dismayed and — as a white person — deeply uncomfortable with the treatment that many Africans report facing when applying to travel to Europe.
On the surface, the process seems similar to the online visa application required to enter many African countries: a letter of invitation, a copy of your passport and other documentation. However, key differences emerge in practice. To visit Africa, the letter of invitation typically comes from the host. For Spain, for example, it must be issued by the police following an interview — arguably more of an interrogation — with the host. This process also incurs a fee, reportedly comparable to the cost of the visa itself.
Next, there are mandatory pre-travel requirements. These may seem reasonable if the visa is granted — but at the application stage, there’s no guarantee it will be. Applicants are often required to present return flight tickets and travel insurance, which may be non-refundable if the application is unsuccessful. Applicants must also provide evidence of adequate financial means — but without clear guidelines on what qualifies as “adequate.”
A friend of mine recently travelled to Dar es Salaam to submit her visa application. It was a significant effort involving time, expense and stress. She presented every document required: the police-issued letter of invitation, confirmed flight tickets, insurance, passport, bank statements — the full list. She described being treated in a manner that could be described as dismissive, but she maintained her composure. Then came a lengthy wait.
Weeks later, just before her intended departure date, she was summoned to return to the embassy — another costly and time-consuming trip. Her application was refused on the grounds of “insufficient funds.” No explanation was given as to what would have been sufficient. It appeared to be a discretionary decision, lacking transparency.
Fortunately, she had access to support and was eventually able to re-apply successfully and travel — but only after enduring a bureaucratic ordeal. It’s difficult not to view such processes as needlessly burdensome and inconsistent.
As a British citizen, I take some comfort in hearing that the UK visa process may be less demeaning — though far from perfect. But even so, the broader system raises serious concerns around fairness and human dignity. There’s a growing argument that such procedures infringe on the fundamental right to freedom of movement.
Why do embassies need to retain applicants’ passports while making decisions? A Tanzanian national who travels for business may need to visit Kenya, Rwanda or South Africa while waiting for a visa decision. Requiring them to surrender their passport restricts that ability.
And what happens if they face a medical emergency in another country? Or need to attend a last-minute professional engagement? These rigid systems don’t account for such realities.
This isn’t just about one country or one embassy. It’s about whether visa systems, as currently implemented, reflect the principles of dignity, fairness and reciprocity. These questions merit legal, political and public scrutiny. Someone — or some organisation — may well have grounds to test this system in court.
