In South Africa, the “missing middle” is defined by DailyNews as a group of people who are not “poor enough” to qualify for government assistance and are not “wealthy enough” to afford housing or tertiary education without falling into debt. On paper, they are meant to be managing. In reality, they are constantly negotiating survival. Being middle class in South Africa is not about comfort. It is about fragility. It is the knowledge that one unexpected expense could undo everything. It is understanding that when systems fail, they expect the love of your family to fill the gap.
Our parents did everything they were told would lead to stability. They worked hard. They paid taxes. Month after month, money was deducted from their salaries in the name of building a country that promised opportunity in return. We were raised to believe that education would secure a better future. But when it was time to go to university, that promise disappeared.
On paper, we earn too much to be eligible for financial aid schemes. In truth, we cannot afford tuition without giving up everything else. Income brackets did not account for rising prices, increased family responsibilities, or the thin line between stability and crisis. We are considered capable, but capability is not the same as capacity. So families rearrange their lives to make our education possible, not easier. Not secure. Possible. They use their emergency savings for us. They postpone their own needs. They absorb stress quietly. And we end up absorbing something too: guilt
We, as children, are a part of the missing middle and we end up feeling guilty when our fees increase. Guilty when emails from the school arrive. Guilty knowing how the pursuit of education stretches our parents’ finances thin. Guilty watching our parents sacrifice their needs. Passing your courses does not bring relief; it brings the question of whether the sacrifice was worth it
University was supposed to be a space of growth. For many, it often feels like a space of fear. Every email from the finance office tightens your chest. Every new semester carries uncertainty. You learn quickly that academic success is not enough. You can pass every course and still be blocked from registering because of historical debt. Effort is not what stops you: money is.
We watch students turn to crowdfunding campaigns such as BackABuddy, where they are forced to explain personal financial struggles to strangers just to clear their historic debt. There is something deeply painful about having to publicly justify why you deserve an education. That is not resilience. That is what happens when the system steps back.
When the #FeesMustFall movement began, we were still children. Years later, we now understand it differently. It was not chaos; it was exhaustion from being excluded from the system. It led to expanded funding through the National Student Financial Aid Scheme (NSFAS), but the missing middle remains largely unsupported. We are still expected to cope quietly.
As a Black student from a working- to middle-class background, it is evident how inequality shapes access in subtle ways. Universities assume we can afford upfront payments, private accommodation, laptops, and have access to emergency funds. These assumptions reflect a history where wealth was racially distributed and never fully dismantled. Apartheid ended, but its economic legacy still shapes who struggles to finish a degree.
People call families like ours resilient, but resilience suggests choice. We are not choosing strength, we are enduring necessity. We are all deeply grateful for our families. Their love, sacrifice, and gratitude made our access to education possible. However, gratitude cannot justify a system that transfers public duty to individual sacrifice.
Education is meant to reduce inequality. For the missing middle, it often deepens anxiety and debt. The pursuit of education should not come at the cost of our families’ stability. No family should have to break themselves to secure their child’s future. Until the missing middle is recognised and supported, South Africa’s promise of equality will remain unfinished, and families will continue paying a price that was never theirs to bear.
Buhle Jantjies
Originally posted on the PDBY website: Managing On Paper, Surviving Reality
