31/08/2026
I am sitting right here at the Vanderbijlpark bus stop, just waiting to pick someone up. Life is moving normally, until a long-distance bus from the Eastern Cape pulls in.
An elderly gogo steps off, holding hands with her two daughters. They lovingly offload their heavy bags, setting them down on the pavement. The gogo sits quietly, exhausted from the long journey, waiting for her son to arrive and take them home.
Then, out of nowhere, she collapses.
Panic instantly shatters the air. Her daughters start screaming, dropping to their knees, crying out for help as a crowd frantically gathers around. My heart drops. I pull out my phone and dial 112.
After what feels like an eternity, I get transferred to the Vanderbijlpark emergency services. It takes them 10 agonizing minutes just to answer the phone. And what happens next still haunts me: the operator on the other end refuses to dispatch an ambulance simply because I cannot provide the elderly woman's exact age or diagnose what is making her sick. While I am trying to plead with them, they hang up on me.
Desperate and running out of time, I immediately call ER24. But it is too late. Before private help can even arrive, the gogo passes away right there on the pavement in her daughters' arms.
The government ambulances? They finally show up an hour later.
How many more lives have to be lost because of bureaucracy and cold, uncaring calls? This is the heartbreaking reality of our emergency system. Rest in peace, gogo. Your family deserved so much better.
