Night Flames Over Langa: Two Fires, Twenty-Five Shacks, Four Coffins

Two terrible fires ripped through Langa, leaving a trail of ash and sorrow. The first blaze erupted in Siyahlala in the dead of night, swallowing fifteen homes and cruelly taking four lives, including a mother and her three young children. Just hours later, another fire struck Joe Slovo, destroying ten more shacks. Now, people are left heartbroken and homeless, wondering if these disasters were accidents or something worse, while they try to pick up the pieces, hoping for help and a safer tomorrow.

What caused the Night Flames over Langa, resulting in two fires, twenty-five shacks destroyed, and four deaths?

One fire started at 2:30 AM in the Siyahlala informal settlement due to unknown causes, engulfing fifteen dwellings and killing four people. A second fire occurred at 9:15 AM in Joe Slovo informal settlement, destroying ten shacks. Authorities are investigating arson, faulty wiring, or a toppled paraffin stove.

1. The First Spark: Siyahlala’s Darkest Hour

At 02:30 on Monday, 3 March, most of Cape Town was still asleep, but the air above Siyahlala informal settlement crackled with danger. A single tongue of flame leapt from the home of Asavela Seti, a 31-year-old mother who shared the narrow shack with her three children: twelve-year-old Aphelele, nine-year-old Inganathi, and five-year-old Aluncedo. Within minutes, gale-force winds swept the fire from one corrugated-iron wall to the next, turning the tightly packed lane into an inferno.

Neighbours bolted from their beds, blankets over shoulders, shouting for buckets, sand, anything. They found no communal taps; the closest water source lay half a kilometre away. Men and women formed a human chain anyway, passing along whatever containers they could grab, but the blaze sprinted faster than their outstretched arms. By the time the first fire engine nosed down the muddy track, fifteen dwellings had vanished and four lives had been silenced.

Siyabonga Ntshangase, a cousin who lived two doors away, remembers the moment Asavela’s frantic knocking jolted him awake. “She screamed that the roof was alight,” he says, eyes fixed on the blackened ground where the children once played. “We tried to push inside, but the heat slapped us back.” Mthuthuzeli Vika, another resident, still hears the children’s high-pitched cries cutting through the roar. “We stood helpless, watching their silhouettes behind the curtain of fire,” he whispers. Firefighters finally gained control around 06:30, after the winds tired themselves out. They located the four bodies huddled together near the entrance, as though Asavela had made one last attempt to shepherd her brood to safety.

2. The Second Blow: Joe Slovo’s Narrow Escape

While grief still hung in the smoke above Siyahlala, a second column of grey rose barely three kilometres away. At 09:15, embers – or perhaps an unrelated spark – landed on the parched timber of Joe Slovo informal settlement. Ten shacks collapsed into ash before firefighters could establish a water relay from a nearby hydrant. This time fortune intervened: no one died, though dozens lost radios, ID books, school uniforms, and the meagre cash they had saved for month-end groceries.

Authorities have not ruled out arson, faulty wiring, or a toppled paraffin stove. Shack fires rarely leave conclusive evidence; witnesses contradict one another, and memories char like the walls. Investigators sifted through sooty debris all morning, photographing twisted zinc sheets and melted plastic jugs, but the truth may remain as homeless as the families now camped on the verge. Residents insist they smelled petrol; others blame a forgotten candle. The air buzzes with suspicion, yet everyone agrees on one point: had water been closer, ten more homes might still stand.

3. After the Ashes: Counting Losses, Tallying Grief

Eight-months-pregnant Ntombi Mbuzeni buried her face in a donated towel when she saw the ruins of her nursery corner. She had crocheted tiny booties, folded pastel blankets, and stacked napkins so white they caught the morning sun. “Now I have only the clothes I wore to sleep,” she says, one hand on her belly, the other clutching a juice box donated by a passing motorist. She is one of 108 newly homeless people; city officials logged 64 adults and 44 minors, but the numbers shift as cousins arrive from Eastern Cape and babies born premature are added to the roll.

The City’s Disaster Risk Management Centre promises “intervention packages” within 72 hours – zinc sheets, nails, hygiene parcels, and meal vouchers – yet by Wednesday afternoon only a single truck of second-hand clothing had appeared. Volunteers from a nearby Anglican church turned their hall into a sorting depot, but piles of mismatched shoes and winter jackets offer little comfort beneath a midsummer sun. Pregnant women, the elderly, and toddlers sleep on pews; others stretch sacks outside, eyes scanning for the next flicker of flame.

Community leader Thando Mqedlana paces the edge of the devastation like a sentinel, ticking off demands on his fingers: communal taps every fifty metres, fire-retardant paint, wider paths for emergency vehicles, and a ban on indoor paraffin stoves. “We have presented memorandums, petitions, even WhatsApp voice notes,” he says. “Yet each budget cycle the chequebook snaps shut.” His voice cracks when he recalls Asavela’s eldest, Aphelele, who volunteered as a reading buddy at the container library. “That child could have become a teacher, a nurse, maybe a mayor. Now she is a statistic.”

4. Rebuilding on Shaky Ground: Aid, Anger, and a Glimmer of Hope

By Thursday, trauma counsellors in navy bibs weave between the skeletal frames of new shacks, crouching to eye level with children who stare at scorched dolls. Esther Lewis, spokesperson for the Western Cape Department of Social Development, says specialised teams will stay “as long as it takes,” but admits their roster covers only one social worker per forty households. Kids scrawl flames and stick figures on donated paper; one drawing shows a tiny girl holding a bucket the size of her torso, water droplets coloured bright blue.

Carl Pophaim, the city’s Mayco member for Human Settlements, insists assessment forms have been scanned, uploaded, and forwarded to the national department for disaster relief. Still, Treasury’s purse strings tighten each fiscal year, and informal settlements fall outside the formal disaster classification that triggers automatic funding. Interim plans include erecting 50 “starter units” – wood-and-zinc boxes on stilts – but delivery timelines drift toward winter, when Cape storms pelt the peninsula.

Meanwhile, ubuntu flexes its muscle. A barbecue fork becomes a shared cooking tool; a single cooler box passes from shack to shack, keeping insulin chilled. University students launch an online crowdfunding page that tops R120,000 within 48 hours, enough to buy 500 fire extinguishers and 1,200 metres of hosepipe. Local artisans teach residents to weave sandbags that double as seating, creating primitive but effective firebreaks. “We cannot wait for policy papers,” Mqedlana declares, hammering a pole into the ground where the Seti home once stood. “Our survival is our referendum.”

The Seti funeral will unite four coffins under one white tent on Saturday. Clergymen, politicians, and journalists will promise “never again,” while neighbours lay flowers fashioned from Coke cans, a recycled wreath that glints like hope against the rust. When the speeches end and the cameras leave, mothers will still warm bath water on open flames, children will still do homework by candlelight, and the wind will still race unbridled across the flats. Yet every bucket now filled, every tap finally installed, every zinc panel painted with fire-retardant goo becomes a small rebellion against the next night of sparks.

[{“question”: “What caused the Night Flames over Langa, resulting in two fires, twenty-five shacks destroyed, and four deaths?”, “answer”: “One fire started at 2:30 AM in the Siyahlala informal settlement due to unknown causes, engulfing fifteen dwellings and killing four people. A second fire occurred at 9:15 AM in Joe Slovo informal settlement, destroying ten shacks. Authorities are investigating arson, faulty wiring, or a toppled paraffin stove.”}, {“question”: “When and where did the first fire occur, and who were its victims?”, “answer”: “The first fire erupted at 02:30 AM on Monday, March 3rd, in the Siyahlala informal settlement. It tragically claimed the lives of 31-year-old Asavela Seti and her three young children: Aphelele (12), Inganathi (9), and Aluncedo (5). Fifteen homes were destroyed in this blaze.”}, {“question”: “How did the community respond to the Siyahlala fire, and what challenges did they face?”, “answer”: “Neighbours immediately tried to fight the fire, forming human chains to pass water. However, they faced significant challenges due to the absence of communal taps, with the closest water source being half a kilometer away, and strong gale-force winds that rapidly spread the flames. Firefighters eventually gained control around 06:30 AM.”}, {“question”: “When and where did the second fire occur, and what was its impact?”, “answer”: “The second fire occurred at 09:15 AM in the Joe Slovo informal settlement, barely three kilometers from Siyahlala. Ten shacks were destroyed, though fortunately, no lives were lost. Residents lost personal belongings such as radios, ID books, school uniforms, and savings.”}, {“question”: “What are the authorities investigating as potential causes for these fires, and why is it difficult to determine?”, “answer”: “Authorities have not ruled out arson, faulty wiring, or a toppled paraffin stove as potential causes. Determining the exact cause is difficult because shack fires rarely leave conclusive evidence, and witness accounts often contradict each other. Some residents suspected petrol, while others blamed a forgotten candle.”}, {“question”: “What aid and support have been provided, and what long-term solutions are residents and community leaders advocating for?”, “answer”: “The City’s Disaster Risk Management Centre promised ‘intervention packages’ including zinc sheets, nails, hygiene parcels, and meal vouchers, though initial delivery was slow. Volunteers from an Anglican church provided clothing and shelter. Trauma counsellors are on site. Community leader Thando Mqedlana is advocating for communal taps every fifty meters, fire-retardant paint, wider paths for emergency vehicles, and a ban on indoor paraffin stoves to prevent future tragedies. The community has also initiated crowdfunding and self-help efforts like creating firebreaks.”}]