Simphiwe Gobizembe: Part 4 (Final) - Curses and Cars

Surviving jealousy and building a fleet

Now we could see Jeffreys Bay in the distance – lights beginning to flicker on as the town shifted from day into evening. Simphiwe continued his story. Out of work and with few prospects in the semi-rural area they lived in, his uncle decided to go to Queenstown to build a house, and he asked Simphiwe to come with him.

‘It was a chance to start again,’ he said, meeting my eye in the rearview mirror.

Not long after arriving there, Simphiwe heard about a college offering short courses in ambulance work, and he was curious. This was something he could do, and he liked the sound of learning a practical skill - something that could lead to real employment. In June 2014, with nothing to lose, he went to the college to register.

‘They accepted me,’ he said, smiling slightly at the memory.

I smiled back. It sounded like the first door that had opened for him.

The training was for Basic Ambulance Assistance and lasted only a month, but cost R8500. This was a large sum of money for the family, but once again, his uncle stepped up and paid his fees for him, finding the money somehow.

Simphiwe threw himself into his studies, determined to make a success of it. Once he finished, he realised that ambulance skills alone were not enough - he needed to learn how to drive. So, once again, his uncle loaned him extra money, this time to pay for driving lessons.

‘I passed my driver’s licence on the 14th of November 2014,’ he said. ‘Around the same time, I was allocated an RDP house.’

‘The next month, I started working for a company called Dynamic Emergency Ambulance in Queenstown.’ He continued, ‘Things started really well, but then the company stopped paying its employees. We were working,’ he said, ‘but we were not getting paid.’

Week after week, he continued reporting for duty, hoping the situation would change. In the meantime, he used his savings to pay for transport to and from work. Eventually, the money ran out. After months without pay and his uncle being unemployed again, he left the job. The familiar feeling of desperation took hold. For a while, he worked for a friend’s mother, driving her into town every day. At the same time, he put all the knowledge he had learnt from his grandmother to good use and began planting vegetables - spinach, cabbage, beetroot and tomatoes.

‘My cousins and I pushed a wheelbarrow through the community selling them,’ he said, calling out to neighbours and carrying the vegetables from house to house. ‘If we didn’t sell the vegetables, we couldn’t buy food.’

Times were tough, and Simphiwe worked wherever he could: he built fences, tilled soil, and even did plumbing jobs with his friend Mandlenkosi. None of it paid much, but together it kept the household going.

I looked at him, watching for his reaction, but his expression didn’t change.

‘It was not so hard for me,’ he said. ‘I grew up doing these things.’

By then, we were passing the giant wind turbines that towered above the scrubby farmland, moving steadily with purpose.

Life continued as before until Simphiwe learned that he was going to become a father - his girlfriend was pregnant. As with many fathers-to-be, the news filled him with a mix of excitement and responsibility.

‘So now, I had to look for proper work - something with more of a future.’

Luckily, he had a cousin living in St Francis Bay who told him to come and help with driving work. He made the journey to the bay, began driving and yet again, he worked for three months without pay. This time, the stakes were higher; he had to make this work, so he started driving for other people, eventually finding work with S&G Cleaning Service as a driver.

‘I liked that job,’ he said, simply.

On the 15th of August 2018, his daughter was born. A smile spread slowly across his face as he said it. ‘That was the first time I felt what it meant to be a father.’ After everything he had lived through with his own parents, he knew exactly what kind of father he wanted to be. ’I promised myself I would do better.’

Although he was happy working at S&G Cleaning Service, he began thinking constantly about how he could improve his situation. One day, he went to the local security company called Calibre Security and asked the owner, Miss Lynn Edward, if she had work for him.

She told him he would need security qualifications first.

So he borrowed R2500 from a friend and completed the necessary training and PSIRA registration. Afterwards, he returned home and sold some of his goats to repay the loan.

With his certificate in hand, he returned to Calibre. ‘She told me to come back the next day,’ he said. ‘She kept her promise, and I started work straightaway.’

I smiled when he mentioned Calibre. I knew the company, and it didn’t surprise me that she had given him a chance.

By June 2019, Simphiwe had saved up enough to buy his first car. It was a second-hand vehicle from Nissan Algoa in Humansdorp, with sixty-one thousand kilometres on the clock.

‘I was very proud of myself that day,’ he said.

He turned around, half-smiling. ‘Everything was going so well for me. Life was good.’

He shook his head slowly.

‘But sometimes,’ he said quietly, ‘not everyone is happy when things go well for you.’

‘It happened that July,’ Simphiwe said, his voice steady but softer than before. ‘Something… not normal.’

‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

He glanced at me briefly, then back to the road. ‘I came to work one day and my car – it wasn’t where I left it. It was parked far off. Already, that felt wrong.’

‘Did anyone move it?’

He shook his head. ‘No one said anything. I just went to the bakkie. But the moment I got inside…’ He exhaled slowly. ‘Eish. I started feeling it.’

‘Feeling what?’

‘Sleep. Heavy sleep. And dizzy.’ He clicked his fingers softly. ‘Just like that. I’m sitting, and I’m going under.’

‘All day?’

‘Until midnight,’ he said. ‘The whole day I was fighting it. Then after midnight… it changed.’ He shifted slightly in his seat. ‘Sharp pains. Left side only. From my leg… all the way up to my hand.’

I felt myself straighten. ‘That sounds serious.’

‘It was.’ He nodded. ‘Around three in the morning, I couldn’t take it anymore. I just sat there, and I prayed.’

‘To God?’

He paused. ‘I called on my ancestors and I said, “Mama, protect me from whatever is here.”’

There was something in the way he said it that made me go quiet.

‘And then?’ I asked, desperate to hear what happened next.

‘It left.’ He tapped his chest lightly. ‘Just like that. I started feeling normal again. Clear.’

‘That quickly?’

‘Ja.’ He gave a small nod. ‘Then I knew – something was wrong in the car. I had to find it.’

He mimed lifting a seat with one hand. ‘I searched properly then. Under the seats, everywhere. Then I saw it.’

‘What was it?’

‘A small thing. Wrapped in black plastic.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘Hidden there.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I threw it away. Far.’ His mouth tightened slightly. ‘And I said, “You are not strong. You can’t beat me.”’

A silence settled between us, the tyres humming on the tar.

‘Were you scared?’ I asked.

‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘Because I understood already. Someone did this out of jealousy.’

‘Did you ever find out who?’

‘One of my colleagues. Not even from my crew.’ He clicked his tongue softly. ‘But I didn’t say anything. I just watched.’

He adjusted his grip on the steering wheel.

‘Another time, I nearly crashed at the Kromme River Bridge,’ he added. ‘Same thing – the sleep coming. But my ancestors… my mother… they protected me. I managed to control the car.’

I let out a slow breath. ‘That’s… extraordinary.’

‘Mm.’ He shrugged lightly, as if it were both ordinary and not. ‘Life teaches you.’

We drove in silence for a moment before he continued, his tone shifting – less shadow now, more forward motion.

‘While I was working security, I kept thinking – I must do something for myself. I can’t stay like this.’

‘You wanted your own business?’

‘Ja.’ He nodded. ‘One day, I was at a house in Lyme Road North. I saw this cab – JBay Cabs. It was the only one coming to St Francis all the time. I thought, no… there is space here.’

‘So you started your own?’

‘In December 2019, I started small,’ he said, a small note of pride entering his voice. ‘Taking people to restaurants. Airport transfers. I just posted on the community group on Facebook – St Francis group.’

‘Did it work?’

He smiled. ‘Slowly. By 2020, people started to know me. But I was doing two jobs – security and driving.’

‘That’s a lot.’

‘You must work,’ he said simply.

He continued, counting it out almost like milestones.

He told me that in June 2020, one of his clients noticed his integrity and offered him a Honda Odyssey for fifty thousand rand. So, he put in more hours and paid it off in seven months. With two cars, he could do more. So now, he taught his girlfriend to drive, she got her licence, and they started meeting people halfway on the N2. She would take clients to the airport, and he would take them back to St Francis.

I laughed softly. ‘That’s a system.’

‘We made a plan,’ he said, smiling. ‘By August 2021, I could buy a third car and even hire a driver for airport runs.’

He paused briefly, then added, ‘Later that year, a lady – Betty Anoster – gave me another opportunity. Even though my cars were small, she still entrusted me to transport staff from Cape St Francis Resort.’

As we drove through Humansdorp, dodging cows and goats in the road, I thought about Betty. I knew her from another story I had written, and was not surprised to hear she had helped someone else in her community. She is one of those people one never forgets.

‘In November, I bought the 15-seater,’ he said. ‘That’s when things changed.’

After that, the growth came quickly – another vehicle, then another.

As he told me, I shook my head, half in disbelief. ‘From one car…’

‘To five,’ he said quietly.

His voice softened again.

‘That same year… I took one of the cars home to show my grandmother. She was dancing when I arrived.’ He smiled faintly. ‘She was happy.’

The smile faded.

‘She fell. Broke her hip. The hospital said she was fine, but she wasn’t.’ Desperate to get better help for her, he took her to a private hospital, but they couldn’t do anything either. It wasn’t long before she passed away.

‘I’m so sorry.’

‘She raised me,’ he said simply. ‘I buried her in Lesotho, next to my grandfather. That is what she wanted.’

We drove for a while in silence. I watched his hands on the wheel, steady again.

Then, gently, he picked up the thread again.

‘Things went quickly after that, and by mid 2024, I had seven cars on the road and had started to get contracts for staff transport from restaurants and the local Spar.’ He glanced at me, a flicker of warmth returning.

As we drove across the Kromme River, taking in the reflection of the clouds on the water, I sensed a softening in his tone.

‘And I got married. My beautiful wife – Anoxolo, my girl from King William’s Town.’

‘That’s wonderful.’

‘We also started farming goats. Now we have twenty-eight.’ He smiled. ‘We want more.’

‘Of course you do. Amazing how things come full circle.’

He laughed softly.

‘In 2025, we expanded to doing weddings, school transport, and airport runs. Our business is growing.’ He says proudly, tapping the steering wheel lightly, almost the same gesture as before – but now it felt different.

Grounded. Claimed.

‘I just stay grateful,’ he said. ‘People support me. That’s everything.’