Interview with Lucy Macdonald
Article source: JOY! Magazine

He committed his first murder at the age of 14. By the time he was 18, he’d committed a second that led to a life sentence. Today, while full of remorse for his past, Thanda Krwece is a transformed man who has gained seniority at a Cape Town insurance company.

The breaking point was an incident with a girl. I went to see her after school because I liked her, but was humiliated by a gangster who treated me terribly in front of her and beat me up. Gangsters were the people my community valued. Growing up going from home to home, I’d always felt like a nobody. Now I was not only humiliated, but scared. I decided to join a gang in my area to have some protection, force people to look at me in a different way, and – along the line – hopefully get that guy back.

Facing humiliation and fear
So, at 14, I joined my first gang. And at 14, I committed my first murder. It wasn’t planned, it was an impulsive act fuelled by fear, and the pressure to prove myself because I’d joined the gang late. In a gang, the one who does the worst crimes is the most respected, so whether we were chasing a rival gang or doing something criminal, I felt I had to be the one up front.

An insult that turned deadly
It started when a member of our gang was insulted. Insults flew, and I ended up getting beaten up. The guy from my gang who’d been insulted gave me a knife. I knew what he expected, and wanted to prove I wasn’t a walkover. I was very scared, but stabbed one of the guys who had beaten me up. Unfortunately, I cut him in the wrong place, and he died.

Arrest and abandonment
I ran away, but this was in my own neighbourhood so it wasn’t hard for the police to find me. My family members were so shocked. They thought I must be covering for someone else. But I told them it really was me. I thought the gang would stand with me, and was devastated when everyone disappeared.

A suspended sentence, and deeper into crime
I got a five-year sentence, suspended because of my age, and was released to my family’s care as long as I moved away from the area. I think I was too young to engage with the situation, or feel much guilt, and, having escaped punishment, I sank deeper into crime. Moving to live with my grandmother’s brother, I made new gangster friends to prove myself, and we drank a bit, went out, kissed girls. At that point, Fridays and Saturdays were what life was about.

A second murder, and a life sentence
At 18, I committed a second murder. It feels terrible to think of this. This time three of us were hired by a lady to kill her husband. The trial was devastating, and in April 2012 I was given a life sentence. I remember my grandmother fainting in court.

Thanda’s grandmother Sylvia, who fainted in court when he was given a 25-year prison sentence.

Life behind bars
Prison life was brutal. The cells were overcrowded, sometimes 40 to a cell, and the violence, constant tension, and need to prove myself made it unbearable. It was survival of the fittest, and I lived in fear, knowing that at any moment I could be stabbed or hit with something. There were terrible fights from which you have nowhere to hide, and you can’t snitch. I was attacked twice during gang fights, and almost lost my hearing.

Trying to look rehabilitated
I joined another gang inside and fought to maintain a reputation of strength that would keep me safe, but inside I was exhausted and purposeless. To create a picture of myself as a rehabilitated person to parole officers, I started attending spiritual programmes, and later a programme called Restorative Justice.

Facing the harm I caused
Restorative Justice teaches inmates about the effects of their crimes. We learnt of the ripple effect of a crime – how it goes further than the victim to the people who care about them and attend to them. Then they showed us pictures of victims. Till then, the only thing I knew was the fame and power that come with doing things like that, and had no idea whatsoever about the pain I’d left behind. There’s something on the programme called victim–offender dialogue, where you can apply to apologise to your victims’ families, but the people close to my victims did not want to speak to me.

Remorse, and memories of Jenny
Though I had joined the programme for selfish reasons, forced to confront the reality of my crimes, I left it with an unbelievable level of remorse for the hurt I’d caused. Thinking of the choices I’d made, and those I’d rejected, I cried. My grandmother had worked as a domestic worker for a lady called Jenny Slack, and had begged me to stay with her there on some of the weekends she worked. But even though Jenny was always kind to me when we met, I’d always turned my grandma down because staying there seemed boring. Now, the reality of my bad choices hit me with full force, and I was full of guilt. Why hadn’t I just accepted being bullied, accepted being a nobody?

Encountering God
I had no idea how to change, and felt completely trapped, with no way to escape my past. I felt I had messed everything up, and there was no hope for me. But in the midst of this darkness, something unexpected happened. I encountered God.

Hearing the true Gospel
I’d grown up hearing about God, and went to church because my grandmother made me, but the services were really boring – five hours long without anything to eat! However, in prison I heard a pure form of the Gospel that I’d never heard before. I came to understand that while I’m nothing before God, He still shows me mercy.

Surrendering pride and control
I’d always thought it would be stupid to believe, but now the Bible became my source of strength, teaching me how to let go of pride, anger, and the need for control. I learnt that being a Christian wasn’t just about saying a prayer or dressing a certain way – it was about surrendering your life completely to Jesus, and letting Him shape who you become. This transformed everything.

Jenny Slack visits Thanda in prison

A heart transformed
As I surrendered to Christ, my heart began to change, and with it my direction, my thinking patterns, my whole life. Discovering that despite my past I wasn’t beyond redemption, I felt hope for the first time that there was more to life than the type of life I was living. I started attending Bible studies and engaging with Christian prison visitors, who encouraged me. The community I’d once sought in gangs I now found with these people, and it was true love based not on fear or power, but on grace. Men and women came there and treated me like their son. That meant so much. My life growing up had been cold, now I felt acceptance and belonging.

Following Jesus in prison
Following Christ in prison wasn’t easy. It meant facing ridicule, losing my status, and becoming vulnerable. Some inmates saw my transformation as weakness, but I knew it was the strongest decision I’d ever made. I attended a 12-week Alpha course, which covers the basics of Christianity, and it was so exciting. We’d have two hours of a great time, learning, having fun, then speaking about serious matters. When it finished I trained as a facilitator and helped on every Alpha for three years.

Pursuing education against the odds
Education then became part of my transformation. I pursued my studies, passed matric, and eventually earned a BCom degree. When I got this, it really was a moment. The journey was difficult – it was hard to study in prison even though the law allows it. Nothing was accepted just like that. For example, when I asked in December if I could get the next year’s books to prepare, they would say no. I couldn’t study without a laptop, and they would be like, “How dare you ask for a laptop in prison?” So, I had to push, to fight, to ask people from outside to call the area commissioner.

Persevering, with help from Jenny
These were moments of deep frustration, when I felt like giving up, but God continued to strengthen me. It hurts me to think that many people did give up, and very few were actually able to secure their qualifications. I still have to work on forgiving the people who made it so hard for offenders to study. I was encouraged by that same lady, Jenny, from the time I attended court for my second trial. She had sometimes spent a full day in court, which made me feel special. When I was in prison she started writing to me and calling me. She helped fund my degree, and got me thinking about life after prison. “Stay away from the gangs, you’re better than that,” she said to me. She looked at me so differently from how I looked at myself, and this too gave me hope.

Release after 13 years
After 13 years, I was released from prison. Walking out was overwhelming. I’d spent years imagining this moment, but stepping into the world again brought new challenges, such as providing for myself – food, clothes, a roof over my head.

A fresh start, and honest work
However, I knew I wasn’t alone. God had brought me this far, and He’d continue to guide me. I planned to start a shoe-cleaning business, but a friend of mine from prison put me in contact with a man called Paul who’s a supporter of The Message Trust, an organisation that reintegrates ex-offenders. Paul and his colleague interviewed me for a junior position at the insurance company that he runs, and I have been there for almost two years now, and have been invited to study for exams that will qualify me as a “key individual” in the business. Being interviewed, and trusted despite my past, has revived my confidence so much. I’d never have dreamt this role would be possible. I’ve been able to buy my own car, and an apartment. The security of knowing that I can sleep there, that no-one can chase me out, is amazing.

Living with a new identity
My job is a sign to me of how my life has changed – how I have a new identity in Christ. Every day I’m reminded of God’s grace and the second chance He’s given me. I don’t want to waste this, so one of the things I try to do is to mix with people who hold me accountable – associating myself with the right people and the right activities. I dream of having a family and becoming financially secure.

Serving others and making amends
I feel terrible remorse and am extremely sorry to have caused so much pain. I know I can never reverse what I have done, and I don’t quite know how to deal with this. But I try to walk in the purpose God has set before me. Every Saturday I serve in Drakenstein prison to give my hand, and an ear, to offenders who are in the situation that I was in – to show them kindness. I think that we’re all here to allow God to use us.

Hope for anyone, anywhere
I feel immense gratitude for the transformation God has worked in my life. No matter how broken we are, no matter how lost, whatever dark pit we’re in, God’s love can reach us and change everything. I’m living proof of the fact that He followed me, even into prison.

Thanda on a recent visit to Jenny’s home. “Jenny looked at me so differently from how I looked at myself. She got me thinking about life after prison and this gave me hope,” says Thanda, who earned both a matric and a BCom degree in prison.

A WORD FROM JENNY
Thanda’s grandmother, Sylvia, would be so proud of her grandson. She loved Thanda and was so distressed when he was arrested. When she died, I knew she’d want me to mentor him and that’s how our relationship grew. I believe God works through ordinary people such as me, the people who mentored Thanda in prison, a kind lady prison officer who helped us liaise about his study needs, and Paul, who employed Thanda knowing of his crimes. Thanda has excelled at his studies and in the workplace, yet remains humble. It’s an expression of trust that his company has asked him to study in order to qualify as the “key individual” who will oversee its ethics. I’ll never forget what Thanda told me on the phone from prison after finding God: “I’ve been put in prison for 25 years, yet I’ve never felt so free!”

This article is featured in the December issue of JOY! Magazine. Read a digital version of this magazine here: joygifts.co.za

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Date published: 31/12/2025
Feature image: Thanda says he joined a Restorative Justice programme in prison to look good for the parole board. | Photo: Nicky Elliott

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