When NSFAS unveiled its new accommodation rules for the 2025 academic year, it didn’t just update a policy—it rewrote the rules of survival for thousands of South African students relying on public funding to stay off the streets. Starting this year, no student living in an unaccredited private room will receive a cent from NSFAS. And landlords who ignore the process? They get paid nothing. The shift is abrupt, uncompromising, and coming just months before the new academic year kicks off.
Why This Matters Now
For years, student housing in South Africa has been a patchwork of neglect. Stories of leaking roofs, broken toilets, and rooms with no running water were common, especially near universities in Johannesburg, Cape Town, and Durban. Students often paid out of pocket for substandard digs, with no recourse. Then came the 2023 protests at the University of the Western Cape, where students barricaded their dorms demanding safe housing. The government listened. By December 2024, the Department of Higher Education and Training (DHET) endorsed the NSFAS Bursary Guidelines 2025, turning long-standing complaints into enforceable law.The Accreditation Process: Fees, Forms, and Firewalls
Private landlords now have to register on the Accommodation Provider Application portal, a digital gateway that demands everything from ID copies to photos of each bedroom. The fee structure is tiered: R200 per bed for properties with 1–20 beds, dropping to R100 per bed for those housing over 100 students. That’s a potential R100,000 bill for a large student hostel. Small operators, many of whom rent out spare rooms in their homes, are groaning under the weight.After payment, NSFAS sends accredited inspectors—trained agents from DHET—to evaluate each property using a strict grading tool. Criteria include: proximity to campus, number of bathrooms per room, whether meals are provided, gender separation, and fire safety compliance. No exceptions. One provider in Pretoria told reporters she spent R18,000 upgrading her bathroom and installing smoke detectors just to qualify.
Students Are Caught in the Middle
For students, the process is simpler but no less stressful. Those approved for NSFAS funding must log into their myNSFAS portal, browse only accredited listings, and book their room before the deadline. If they choose an unaccredited place—say, a cheap room near a TVET college that hasn’t applied—they won’t get paid. Period. And if they’re already living there? NSFAS says they must move, or forfeit their allowance. That’s a nightmare for students with part-time jobs, family responsibilities, or disabilities.“We’ve had students sleeping in lecture halls because they couldn’t find an accredited room,” said one university counselor in Bloemfontein. “This policy is good in theory, but it’s not ready for real life.”
Small Landlords vs. Municipal Bureaucracy
Here’s the twist: many small landlords aren’t refusing to comply—they’re blocked. Gift Moleko, spokesperson for the National Association of Student Accommodation Transformation (NASAT), confirmed in a March 24, 2025 interview with SABC News that local municipalities are refusing to issue rezoning certificates or occupancy permits for homes turned into student lodgings. In informal settlements near universities, homes were never zoned for commercial use. Now, they’re being told to get a certificate they can’t get.NASAT is pushing for a temporary exemption for homes with fewer than five beds, arguing that treating granny flats like hotels is absurd. “A widow who rents out her spare room to one student shouldn’t pay R1,000 to register,” Moleko said. “That’s not regulation—that’s exclusion.”
What Happens to Landlords Who Don’t Comply?
NSFAS is crystal clear: Unaccredited providers will not be paid. No exceptions. Even if a student is enrolled and approved, if their housing isn’t on the approved list, the money stops. That means landlords who’ve been renting to NSFAS students for years could lose their entire income stream overnight. Some have already shut down operations. Others are filing appeals.There’s a path out: providers can appeal their grading through the NSFAS Review Panel. They can request a re-inspection after upgrades—but they must pay for it. One landlord in East London spent R7,500 on new flooring and a water heater, reapplied, and was upgraded from a “Grade C” to “Grade A.” He’s now signed a three-year contract with guaranteed monthly payments.
Looking Ahead: A System Under Pressure
The timeline is tight. With the 2025 academic year starting in February, thousands of students still need housing. NSFAS claims over 12,000 properties have applied, but only 3,800 have been fully accredited as of April 2025. That’s a gap of nearly 70%. The agency says it’s hiring 50 more inspectors and extending deadlines for students who can’t find accredited rooms—but only if they apply for a formal exception.Meanwhile, universities are scrambling. The University of Pretoria has partnered with three private providers to create emergency housing blocks. Stellenbosch University is offering free shuttle services to approved off-campus sites. But for many students in rural areas or at TVET colleges, options are vanishing.
What’s Next?
NSFAS plans to launch a public dashboard in May 2025 showing real-time accreditation status by province. NASAT is lobbying Parliament for a municipal reform task force to fast-track permits. And students? They’re organizing WhatsApp groups to share accredited listings, warn about scams, and even pool money to upgrade properties together.It’s messy. It’s unfair in places. But it’s also the first time the government has dared to treat student housing as a right—not a privilege.
Frequently Asked Questions
How do I know if my accommodation is accredited?
Students must log into their myNSFAS portal and check the official list of accredited properties near their institution. Only properties displayed there are eligible for payment. If your landlord says they’re accredited but it’s not on the portal, they’re not. NSFAS does not recognize verbal assurances or screenshots.
What if I can’t find an accredited room near my campus?
You can apply for an exception through your institution’s financial aid office. You’ll need to submit proof that no accredited options exist within 10km. If approved, NSFAS may grant a temporary allowance—but only for one semester, and you must reapply. This is rare and not guaranteed.
Why is the fee based on the number of beds?
NSFAS says the fee covers inspection, verification, and administrative costs. Larger properties generate more revenue and require more oversight. A single-room rental costs R200 to register; a 50-bed hostel pays R7,500. Critics argue it penalizes small operators, but NSFAS insists it’s proportional to risk and scale.
Can I appeal if my property is graded poorly?
Yes. Providers can submit an online appeal to the NSFAS Review Panel with evidence of upgrades or misjudgment. If approved, a re-inspection is scheduled. But you must pay for the re-inspection if you requested upgrades. There’s no free redo—only one free initial inspection per application.
Are there any exemptions for low-income landlords?
Currently, no. NSFAS has no fee waiver program, despite NASAT’s requests. However, the Department of Higher Education is reviewing a proposal to exempt properties with fewer than five beds and owned by individuals earning under R15,000/month. A decision is expected by July 2025.
What happens if a student moves into an unaccredited room after being approved?
NSFAS will stop all accommodation payments immediately. Students may be required to repay any allowances already received for unaccredited housing. In extreme cases, this could affect future funding eligibility. Always confirm your accommodation is on the portal before signing any lease.
19 Responses
Okay, I get that safety standards matter, but this feels like a policy written by someone who’s never slept in a dorm or rented a room from a local family. I’ve seen student housing in Cape Town-some of those granny flats are cozy, clean, and way cheaper than the overpriced ‘accredited’ dorms. Now these widows and small-time landlords are being forced out because they can’t afford R10k in upgrades for one room? That’s not regulation. That’s displacement wrapped in bureaucracy.
And don’t even get me started on the ‘10km rule’ for exceptions. What if you’re at a TVET college in the Eastern Cape where the nearest accredited place is 50km away? You’re expected to commute two hours each way? That’s not a student housing policy-it’s a deportation order for low-income learners.
NSFAS says they’re hiring more inspectors. Cool. How many of them speak isiXhosa or Setswana? How many understand that ‘fire safety’ in a township home might mean a bucket of water and a clear path to the door-not a sprinkler system? This isn’t about safety. It’s about imposing urban middle-class norms on rural realities.
I’m not saying don’t regulate. I’m saying regulate with empathy. Let’s create a tiered system: basic safety checks for small homes, full inspections for commercial hostels. And for god’s sake, waive fees for households earning under R15k/month. This isn’t just about housing. It’s about dignity.
Also, why is there no public database of approved properties that’s actually updated in real time? I checked the portal last week. Half the listings were ghosted-rooms that were rented out months ago. How are students supposed to trust a system that doesn’t even know its own inventory?
Let me get this straight-South Africa’s government is now acting like a corporate landlord union, forcing poor people to pay for their own compliance while pretending it’s ‘protecting students.’ This isn’t reform. It’s colonialism with a spreadsheet.
They want landlords to pay R200 per bed? That’s a tax on poverty. Meanwhile, the same government gives multinationals tax breaks to build luxury apartments in Sandton but won’t let a single mom rent out her spare room without a permit that costs more than her monthly pension.
And the ‘fire safety’ nonsense? You know what causes most fires in student housing? Candles during power outages. Not faulty wiring. So instead of fixing load-shedding, they’re making people install smoke detectors that cost more than a week’s groceries. Brilliant.
This isn’t about safety. It’s about control. The state wants to monetize every inch of student life. Next thing you know, they’ll charge for breathalyzer tests before you enter your dorm. At this rate, the only people who can afford university are those who can afford to pay for their own housing, their own safety, and their own dignity.
And don’t tell me ‘it’s for the students.’ If it were, they’d have built public housing. Instead, they’re outsourcing responsibility to the very people they’re punishing. This policy doesn’t protect students. It criminalizes care.
There’s a pattern here. Every time a government tries to ‘fix’ student housing, it ends up creating a surveillance state disguised as a welfare program. Who exactly is monitoring these inspectors? Are they being paid under the table to approve certain properties? Have you seen the list of accredited providers? Nearly all of them are owned by the same three companies with ties to DHET officials.
And the ‘fee structure’? R100 per bed for over 100 beds? That’s a cartel incentive. Big players can absorb the cost. Small operators? Out. The system is rigged. This isn’t about safety-it’s about consolidation. The government is quietly privatizing student housing under the guise of regulation.
Also, why is there no transparency around the grading criteria? I’ve seen reports where a property with no running water got a ‘Grade B’ because it had ‘aesthetic appeal.’ Meanwhile, a perfectly functional room with mismatched curtains got a ‘Grade C’ for ‘non-compliant interior design.’
This is a classic case of policy theater. They don’t care about students. They care about optics. And the real victims? The ones who can’t afford to play the game.
Wow. So the government finally did something that actually makes sense. You know what’s worse than a leaking roof? A leaking budget. And now, for the first time, someone’s holding landlords accountable. Shocking, I know.
Let me guess-next you’ll be crying about how ‘poor widows’ are being ‘crushed’ by the system. Newsflash: if your ‘granny flat’ has a toilet that floods every time someone flushes, you’re not a victim-you’re a liability. And NSFAS isn’t paying for that.
Students aren’t asking for luxury. They’re asking for not dying in their sleep because the wiring’s held together by duct tape. So maybe stop romanticizing slums and start supporting standards.
Also, ‘R18,000 to upgrade a bathroom’? That’s a problem? Then don’t rent to students. Simple. You don’t get to profit off desperation and then cry when the price of responsibility comes due.
TL;DR: Stop whining. Fix your property or get out of the business.
Okay, I’m gonna say this gently, but with heart: this policy? It’s messy. But it’s also the first time anyone’s said, ‘Hey, students deserve more than a rotting mattress and a bucket for a shower.’
I know it’s hard. I know landlords are scared. I know students are stressed. But change is never easy when it’s real. And this? This is real.
Let’s not forget: before this, students were sleeping in lecture halls because there was literally nowhere else to go. That’s not ‘real life’-that’s a crisis.
And yeah, the fees are high. And yeah, the bureaucracy is slow. But we’re not asking for perfection-we’re asking for progress. Can we fix the gaps? Absolutely. Can we create a hardship fund for small landlords? Yes. Can we train inspectors to understand township realities? Of course.
But let’s not throw the baby out with the bathwater because it’s inconvenient. This is about dignity. Not just safety. Dignity.
And if you’re a student reading this? You’re not alone. There are WhatsApp groups. There are student collectives. There are people who care. You’ve got this. And we’re all learning together. 💛
So now we’re supposed to believe that a widow who rents her spare room to one student is somehow ‘exploiting’ the system? LOL. What’s next? Taxing people for letting their cousin sleep on the couch?
And why is NSFAS suddenly so concerned about ‘fire safety’? Did a student die in a fire? Or is this just another excuse to push out low-income landlords and replace them with corporate dorm chains? I smell a corporate takeover.
Also, the portal is a joke. I tried to check my accommodation status last week. It crashed three times. The ‘accredited’ list had a property that was demolished in 2023. So now students are supposed to trust a broken website to decide if they get fed or not?
This isn’t reform. It’s a power grab disguised as compassion. And the real victims? The ones who can’t afford to fight the system. Which is everyone.
I’ve spent time in student hostels in Johannesburg and Durban. I’ve seen the conditions. I’ve talked to students who’ve been evicted because their landlord didn’t pay the water bill. I’ve sat with families who’ve sold their TV to pay for a room that didn’t have a lock.
This policy isn’t perfect. But it’s the first time anyone’s treated student housing as a human right, not a commodity. The fact that we’re even having this conversation is progress.
I get the frustration. The fees are steep. The process is slow. But the alternative is worse: students sleeping on floors, getting sick from mold, being charged extra for ‘electricity access’ because the landlord cuts power to force payment.
Maybe we need more funding for inspectors. Maybe we need exemptions for homes under five beds. Maybe we need mobile inspection units for rural areas. But we can’t go back to pretending this was okay.
Let’s fix the flaws. But let’s not pretend the status quo was noble.
Let me be clear: this policy is not only logical-it is the inevitable outcome of a postcolonial state finally asserting institutional competence. The prior regime of informal, unregulated, and often predatory housing arrangements was a direct consequence of institutional decay and moral laxity.
The accreditation framework, while administratively complex, is a necessary epistemic rupture from the anarchic informality that characterized African urban housing since the 1990s.
Furthermore, the tiered fee structure reflects a sophisticated understanding of economies of scale and risk mitigation. To equate a five-bed property with a commercial hostel is not merely inaccurate-it is epistemologically unsound.
One must also consider the opportunity cost of non-compliance: the state cannot subsidize negligence. The R200/bed fee is not a tax-it is a transactional cost for the privilege of state-backed financial inclusion.
Those who cannot comply are not victims-they are outliers in a system designed for scalability and sustainability. The solution is not to lower standards, but to elevate capacity. Perhaps a microloan program for small landlords? But never compromise on quality.
OMG. I just found out my cousin’s landlord got denied because the bathroom had a *pink towel* on the rack. That’s not a fire hazard-that’s a fashion crime. And now she’s being told to move? She’s got two kids and a part-time job at a spaza shop. This is insane.
And the portal? I tried to log in. It asked for my passport number, my mother’s maiden name, and a video of me holding a newspaper with today’s date. I swear to god, I think they’re building a dystopian AI that will judge your room based on how well you fold your socks.
Also, why is there a ‘gender separation’ rule? Are they worried students will… *gasp*… have a conversation? This is worse than apartheid.
I’m starting a GoFundMe to buy every landlord a smoke detector and a new toilet. We need a revolution. Or at least a really good TikTok trend.
Let’s cut through the noise: this isn’t about housing. It’s about accountability. For too long, student landlords operated like unlicensed contractors-no inspections, no standards, no consequences. Now, finally, there’s a system that says: if you’re going to profit off students, you’re going to meet baseline standards.
The R200/bed fee? That’s less than what a student pays for a single month of bad Wi-Fi. And if you can’t afford to upgrade your bathroom, maybe you shouldn’t be renting to students. Period.
And yes, the portal is glitchy. But that’s a tech problem, not a policy failure. Fix the website. Don’t dismantle the framework.
This is what happens when you stop treating student housing like a charity case and start treating it like a public service. It’s not perfect. But it’s the first step toward a system that doesn’t treat students like collateral damage.
So let me get this straight-NSFAS is now the landlord police? 🤡
They’re inspecting bedrooms? Like, checking if your sheets match? And if your toilet doesn’t have a ‘proper flush mechanism,’ you’re out? Bro. That’s not safety. That’s a cult.
Also, why is there no ‘emergency exemption’ for students with disabilities? Oh wait-because the system doesn’t care about real people. Only paperwork.
And the ‘Grade A’ landlord who spent R7,500? Congrats. Now he’s got a 3-year contract. Meanwhile, the widow who cleaned her room with bleach and a broom? She’s out. Classic.
Next up: NSFAS will require students to submit a 300-word essay on why they deserve a bed. And if you use ‘u’ instead of ‘you’ in your application? Denied.
Also, why is this not trending on Twitter? #NSFASIsTheNewGestapo
There’s a lot of noise here, but the core truth is simple: students deserve safe housing. Period. The fact that we’re even debating whether this policy is ‘too harsh’ means we’ve normalized neglect for too long.
Yes, the process is flawed. Yes, the fees hurt small operators. Yes, the portal is broken. But those are implementation issues-not reasons to scrap the whole thing.
What if we created a community fund? Local businesses could sponsor upgrades for small landlords. Universities could offer free plumbing or electrical workshops. Student groups could organize ‘renovation weekends’ to help granny flats meet standards.
This isn’t about punishment. It’s about partnership. We don’t need to tear it down. We need to build it better-with everyone at the table.
And to the landlords reading this: you’re not the enemy. You’re part of the solution. Let’s figure this out together.
One must question the epistemological foundations of this policy. The notion that accreditation can be achieved through bureaucratic compliance, rather than substantive structural reform, is a classic case of administrative fetishism.
By focusing on fire detectors and bathroom ratios, NSFAS has successfully diverted attention from the root cause: the complete absence of public investment in student housing infrastructure.
Instead of constructing state-owned dormitories, they’ve outsourced the burden to the private sector while extracting fees for the privilege of compliance. This is not policy-it is neoliberalism dressed in the language of social justice.
Moreover, the requirement for municipal rezoning certificates is a deliberate mechanism of exclusion. Informal settlements, by definition, cannot be rezoned. Therefore, the policy is structurally designed to exclude the most vulnerable.
One must conclude: this is not reform. It is the institutionalization of inequality under the guise of regulation.
Let’s be honest-this policy is a disaster wrapped in a PowerPoint presentation. You don’t solve a housing crisis by making landlords jump through hoops they can’t even see.
And the ‘10km rule’? That’s not a policy-it’s a joke. Most TVET colleges are in towns with zero housing options. So now students are supposed to choose between homelessness and losing their funding?
Also, the ‘Grade A’ landlord who spent R7,500? That’s a drop in the bucket compared to what a proper dorm would cost. But no one’s talking about building public housing. Why? Because it’s cheaper to make poor people fix their own problems.
And the real kicker? The government is spending millions on this portal, but won’t spend a dime on actual housing. Classic. They’d rather audit a bathroom than build one.
This isn’t about safety. It’s about optics. And students are the price.
The accreditation framework is a textbook example of institutional rationalization. By introducing measurable, verifiable standards, NSFAS has created a transparent, scalable system for ensuring minimum habitability thresholds. The tiered fee structure is economically sound: marginal cost increases proportionally with scale, and risk exposure correlates directly with occupancy density.
Moreover, the requirement for municipal permits aligns with urban planning best practices globally. Informal housing, while culturally embedded, is not a legal right-it is a tolerated anomaly.
The criticism of small landlords is emotionally compelling but statistically insignificant. The vast majority of student accommodation is provided by commercial operators; the ‘granny flat’ narrative is a rhetorical device used to obfuscate systemic failure.
What’s needed is not exemption, but support: technical assistance, low-interest loans, and mobile inspection units. But to dismantle the framework because it’s inconvenient is to abandon the principle of accountability entirely.
While I appreciate the intent behind this policy, it is fundamentally flawed in its execution. The imposition of rigid, standardized criteria upon heterogeneous, context-specific housing environments constitutes a form of epistemic violence.
Furthermore, the absence of a centralized, publicly accessible appeals mechanism undermines procedural justice. The fact that re-inspections require payment-while the initial inspection is free-creates a regressive barrier to compliance.
It is also noteworthy that the policy fails to address the structural underinvestment in public housing, thereby shifting the burden of systemic failure onto individual actors.
In short: the diagnosis is correct, but the treatment is cruel, incomplete, and ultimately counterproductive.
Let’s not pretend this is about students. It’s about control. Every time the state steps in to ‘protect’ people, it ends up controlling them.
Who decides what ‘safe’ means? A government inspector who’s never lived in a township? A spreadsheet? A checklist that ignores power outages, water shortages, and cultural norms?
And the ‘accredited’ list? It’s probably full of properties owned by people who know the right people. Meanwhile, the real community landlords-people who’ve been renting to students for 20 years-are being pushed out.
This isn’t reform. It’s a power play. And the students? They’re just pawns in a game they didn’t even know they were playing.
As someone who’s lived in South Africa for over a decade, I’ve seen the best and worst of student housing. I’ve shared a room with six people and I’ve seen a landlord charge R2,000 for a room with no windows.
This policy? It’s not perfect. But it’s the first time the system has said: ‘We see you. We hear you. And we’re not ignoring you anymore.’
Yes, the fees are high. Yes, the portal is glitchy. But the alternative? Students sleeping in lecture halls. That’s not acceptable.
Let’s not tear this down. Let’s fix it-with input from students, landlords, and communities. Let’s build a system that works for everyone-not just the loud ones.
And to the landlords: you’re not the enemy. You’re the backbone. Let’s work together.
And yet, here we are. Still talking. Still arguing. Still pretending this is about ‘fairness’ instead of ‘convenience.’
Someone just needs to say it: if you can’t afford to upgrade your property, you shouldn’t be renting to students. Simple. No drama. No tears. Just facts.
Stop romanticizing slums. Start fixing them. Or get out.