IOL Five men were found hacked to death in Inanda, KZN.
Image: Supplied / RUSA
By Busani Ngcaweni
This week we woke up to yet another gruesome crime scene in Inanda—five people slaughtered in cold blood. The community is gripped by fear, and once again, the question echoes: What is happening in Inanda? Beneath the headlines and memes lies a tangled web of internal migration, drugs and alcohol, weapons, unemployment, and poor urban planning, all colliding in a space struggling to hold itself together. To understand the violence, we must unravel these forces shaping Inanda’s volatile reality.
Inanda draws internal migrants like a magnet, especially from within KwaZulu-Natal and the Eastern Cape. They come seeking proximity to Durban CBD, uMhlanga, Ballito, Pinetown, and the South Durban Industrial Basin—where jobs are rumoured to be lurking. The majority have no skill. Most of these young men and women lodge in shacks and backyard dwellings, making Inanda a bustling hive of overcrowding.
A curious observation? Many of the criminals who meet their end in clashes with the police don’t find their final resting place in Inanda. Instead, they’re repatriated to their rural homes, a strange homecoming for lives lived on Inanda’s margins. And yes, the grisly murders we see too often? They overwhelmingly occur in the dense informal settlement sections of the township—claustrophobic spaces brimming with tension.
There are undocumented migrants from Asia and East Africa. Some are merchants of illicit goods like cigarettes, medicine alcohol and drugs. Others are artisans and mechanics. Unlike in similar ghettos in Gauteng, it is not a dominant sentiment in Inanda that crime is driven by foreign nationals.
Ah, the holy trinity of chaos. Drugs, booze, and guns are practically the cornerstones of violent crime here. Shebeens dot the informal settlements like stars in the night sky, and for many youths, a cocktail of nyaope and other deadly concoctions is the daily bread. There is ncika, a cheap cocktail of prescription pills and fizzy drinks that gets you tired—all you want is to ncika, lean against something lest you collapse.
Dagga? A default. Bhambayi is historically a hub for upayi—low-grade dagga from Lusikisiki—and the premium stuff from Bergville. Fun fact: as a student at Ohlange High School, I recall suppliers from Bhambayi peddling dagga, while mandrax came courtesy of Phoenix drug lords. Side note: Phoenix and Inanda’s toxic relationship, vividly illustrated during the 2021 riots, deserves its own anthology. You’ve got that right! Drugs were peddled from Phoenix to schools in Inanda way before Nelson Mandela was handed the keys to the Union Buildings.
Remember the guns that flowed freely during the 80s and 90s political violence? That tradition lingers. Inanda remains a transit point for anyone seeking arms and drugs. Need a weapon or fake medicine? Inanda is the Makro of crime. And illicit goods? From poached crocodile steaks to contraband cigarettes, my hood has it all.
Partly owing to alcohol and drug abuse, every conflict here is resolved violently. Okapi is a weapon of mass destruction. For women, saying no is meaningless—you’ll be sexually assaulted anyway. Raising girls in Inanda is like partaking in extreme sport.
Inanda is the fastest-growing ghetto in the country, and urban planning here could generously be described as… missing in action. The shacks multiply like rabbits, landlords squeeze every square meter for rentals, and overcrowding reigns supreme. Market forces meet good old-fashioned greed, and the result is chaotic densification. Think Alex in Sandton or Clermont across the uMngeni River, but turbocharged.
The EThekwini Municipality’s main contribution? Speed bumps. So many speed bumps you’d think they’re running an obstacle course. Meanwhile, streetlights, functional roads, and access to dense shack areas? Nada. Half the dwellings lack street addresses, leaving police to play hide-and-seek with criminals. Water? Don’t get me started. No other megacity in the world runs a water system on tankers. Even in the occupied West Bank, there is running water, although frequently interrupted by the brutes from Tel Aviv.
Yes, I hear you: But Ngcaweni, Inanda is not unique! True, but every area has its quirks. Inanda’s social dynamics—including its split between freehold land (where you can sell on the spot) and traditional land (where izinduna hawk plots like popcorn)—shape its particular flavor of chaos. This duality creates a patchwork of formal urban dwellings, small holdings, and shacks, mingling public servants, blue-collar workers, entrepreneurs, and ruritarians seeking refuge from municipal rates and taxes (there are no municipal services in the other half of Inanda which is traditional land whose title is held by the Ingonyama Trust). Lawlessness is so rife that people build on floodlines and swamps; their houses are frequently swept away during heavy rainfall.
Add to this the hardened criminals from neighbouring Ntuzuma and KwaMashu, who find Inanda’s informal settlements ideal for their trade, and you have a melting pot of mayhem. Izinkabi (hit men) also hide here.
Unless we fully study and appreciate these intricate social dynamics, any intervention is doomed to be a Band-Aid on a bullet wound. Yes, this is not conclusive. Cross-cutting social determinants like unemployment are not mentioned because they are a constant. Same as lack of sporting facilities and training opportunities (there is a tiny campus of a TVET college that trains people to ring the till and file papers).
Among others.
* Busani Ngcaweni is the Head: National School of Government.
** The views expressed do not necessarily reflect the views of IOL or Independent Media.
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