The 4m-high (13ft) electric steel gates, capped with spikes, creak open as Marthinus, a farmer, drives through in his pick-up truck. Cameras positioned at the entrance track his every move, while reams of barbed wire surround the farm in the rural Free State province in the heart of South Africa.
It feels like a prison, he says as the gates clank shut behind him. If they want to come and kill us they can. At least it will take them time to get to me.
The fear of being attacked is very real for the white Afrikaner, who manages a farm with his wife and two young daughters. He did not want us to use his full name.
His grandfather and his wife's grandfather were both murdered in farm attacks, and he lives a two-hour drive from where the body of 21-year-old farm manager Brendan Horner was discovered five years ago, tied to a pole, with a rope around his neck.
Marthinus says he can't take a chance with his own family and, in February, they applied for refugee status in the US.
Not all white South Africans agree that they're being targeted and black farmers are also victims of the country's high crime rate.
It's estimated that thousands of Afrikaners - who are mostly white descendants of early European settlers - have begun the lengthy process of applying for refugee status in the US since President Donald Trump signed an executive order earlier this year.
Trump has made the resettlement of Afrikaners a priority, even as the US reduces its overall intake of refugees. For Marthinus it's a way out.
Violent crime in South Africa is endemic, with 63 murders occurring daily. Yet, perspectives on farm attacks vary, with some white farmers stating they believe the narrative of targeted violence against whites is exaggerated.
This divide among white farmers reflects broader themes of race and safety in contemporary South Africa, where historical injustices still shape perceptions and realities.
