Families have been forced to call the plastic dome‑shaped structures in Mdantsane’s NU1 settlement “home” for more than two decades, turning what was billed as temporary housing into a lingering nightmare. The rows of translucent igloos, each stamped with alphanumeric codes such as “NK”, line the narrow lanes where mothers stir pots over open fires, children do their homework on makeshift tables and elders reminisce about a life they hoped would be short‑lived. A viral video that swept social media last week exposed the stark reality: these shelters, erected after the 2008 floods, have become the only roof over many heads for over 20 years.
What began as an emergency response to a natural disaster has morphed into a chronic crisis, underscoring the Eastern Cape’s staggering housing backlog of more than 700,000 units. While the provincial government touts progress on new township developments, the pace at which informal settlements are upgraded remains glacial, leaving residents in a state of perpetual limbo. The structures, originally intended to be dismantled within a few months, now teeter under the weight of rusted metal frames and faded plastic, their interiors cramped and poorly ventilated.
Our reporters on the ground heard a chorus of frustration from residents who claim they have repeatedly lobbied municipal officials, only to be met with vague assurances. “They told us it would be temporary, but they never gave us a date,” says Thabo Mkhize, a father of three who has lived in the same dome since 2003. “My youngest child is now 18 and still sleeps in the same plastic shelter my parents did.” Mkhize’s story is far from singular; a recent community survey by the South African Housing Coalition identified that 42 % of households in NU1 have occupied the igloos for more than 15 years, with many citing deteriorating health conditions due to dampness and lack of proper sanitation.
The municipal authorities, meanwhile, point to constrained budgets and a backlog of applications as the primary hurdles. In a statement released on Wednesday, the Buffalo City Metropolitan Municipality acknowledged the ageing “temporary” units but argued that limited fiscal space and the ongoing National Housing Policy overhaul have delayed large‑scale interventions. “We are committed to delivering sustainable housing solutions,” the statement read, “but this requires coordinated effort across national, provincial and local tiers of government.”
Residents, however, are not waiting for bureaucratic timelines. Grassroots organisations such as Community Action for Dignity (CAD) have organised nightly vigils outside the settlement’s main aisle, brandishing placards that read “TEMPO‑RAY is over – build us homes now”. The movement has attracted attention from local MPs and even sparked a petition on Change.org that has amassed over 12,000 signatures. The pressure is mounting as reports of malaria outbreaks and respiratory illnesses rise, directly linked to the substandard living conditions within the plastic enclosures.
The human cost of prolonged temporary housing in Mdantsane
Beyond the stark statistics lies a human story of resilience bruised by neglect. Nomsa Dlamini, a single mother who runs a small tea stall from the shelter’s entrance, recalls the day the plastic roof cracked during a sudden storm. “The rain poured in, and I feared for my baby’s safety,” she recounts, eyes glistening. “We have learned to improvise – we patch the holes with tarpaulins and pray they hold until the next rain.” Her narrative mirrors that of many families forced to adapt to a structure that was never designed for permanence.
Healthcare workers from the Mthatha Regional Hospital have flagged an uptick in skin infections and asthma cases among children from the settlement. Dr Lerato Mthembu, a paediatrician, warned that “the continuous exposure to mould, dampness and indoor pollutants is a recipe for chronic disease, especially in a community already grappling with high unemployment and food insecurity.” The cumulative effect is a cycle of poverty and ill health that the government’s Social Relief of Distress grants have yet to break.
Political analysts suggest that the temporary housing debacle could have broader electoral implications. With municipal elections looming in 2028, opposition parties are seizing the narrative, accusing the ruling African National Congress of mismanagement and broken promises. “If the state cannot deliver safe, permanent homes to its most vulnerable citizens, it erodes trust in democratic institutions,” notes Sipho Khumalo, a political commentator based in Port Elizabeth.
Despite the mounting pressure, concrete steps remain elusive. The municipality has unveiled a tentative plan to replace 1,500 temporary structures with brick‑and‑mortar units over the next three years, but critics argue that the timeline is overly ambitious given the current fiscal constraints. Moreover, land allocation issues continue to stall progress, with many residents lacking formal titles to the plots they occupy, complicating redevelopment efforts.
As we reported earlier, the Eastern Cape’s housing crisis is not confined to Mdantsane; similar temporary settlements dot the province’s landscape, from the outskirts of King William’s Town to the coastal fringes of Port St Johns. The common denominator is a promise of “temporary” that has stretched into decades, leaving an entire generation to grow up under plastic roofs that were never meant to be homes.
The plight of Nduma family, who have lived in their igloo since 2001, underscores the urgency. Their eldest son, now a qualified electrician, says he will no longer accept “temporary” as a lifelong sentence. “We have contributed to the country, we pay taxes, we deserve a proper house,” he declares, his voice echoing through the cramped hallway of the settlement.
The story of Mdantsane’s “igloos” serves as a stark reminder that temporary housing solutions, when not paired with clear exit strategies, become permanent failures. The human cost is tangible – in health, dignity and future prospects – and it is a burden that South Africa can no longer afford to ignore. The hope remains that sustained advocacy, transparent governance and decisive funding will finally transform these plastic shells into the safe, lasting homes their occupants have waited for for far too long.