Happy, 29 - Motorbike Delivery Driver

I was born in Malawi. My father had seven wives and 29 children in total. He liked to kuchita za m’bedi. I didn’t have a relationship with him. He was not there, not loving us, not supporting us. I grew up with my mother and three siblings. She struggled to raise us. My mother made little money for us by selling chitenje in the market. She tried her very best, but it was not enough.

School was always a challenge. I had to leave because my family couldn’t afford the fees. Life was a big struggle, but at school, I would sneak out and buy cheap headsets from the market, then sell them again with a small profit. I do this to get pocket money. But my education ended there. At 22, I left Malawi to come here to South Africa

At first, I stayed in Mpumalanga with my brother. I found work mopping floors in a Spar. But when my brother moved to Johannesburg, I was left alone. I lost the job and things became desperate. For two months I ate only boiled eggs. Nothing else. You pay R1 for an egg. I ate 4 a day. It was in this time my nephew helped me. He knew a man with a small farm. So, I worked there. He didn’t pay me money, but I got some trays of eggs, some vegetables. That’s how I survived. Eventually, I found work as a mechanic for an Ethiopian man before moving to Johannesburg. There I was two years without a job. Church people helped me. I did small jobs; they gave me food and other small things.

One day, the man who’s playing the keyboard in church asked me if I can ride a motorbike. There was a job delivering pizzas. I said yes, but I didn’t know how to drive a motorbike. But us, we have no choice; I must take these risks. I remember my first delivery clearly: It was Friday. It was raining. I was very scared. But I managed.

I earned only R350 a week. I rely heavily on tips to survive. After a year, I joined an online retailer, delivering in dangerous areas like Rosettenville. My friend came back one day with only his underpants. They took everything: motorbike, phone, clothes, even shoes. They put rocks and spikes in the road, so you crash, then they rob you. But me, by the grace of God, I haven’t been robbed. The problem is Mozambicans. They steal the bikes. They take them over the border or rent them here with fake number plates. They know the police don’t stop the motorbikes here.

Since 2022, I’ve worked for a grocery store as a delivery driver. I had to leave the other job. It wasn’t safe. The pay here is also better—about R7,000 a month—but the job is still dangerous. The traffic, the rain, night-time deliveries. We risk our lives, but us foreigners are the ones who are ok to take these risks. Sometimes, my old company would deduct from your money when there are spilled drinks or damaged things. We try our best, but on motorbikes, things get bumpy. Sometimes you can’t stop it. Luckily, with my company now, there are no deductions.

I’ve seen colleagues badly injured, and some even killed, in accidents. My friend recently broke his leg. They want R25,000 in hospital. How can he pay this? He pays R63 per week in insurance for these things, but they are not helping him. He is stuck at home for two months. No salary. Still, he owes them this money.

I now own my own motorbike, which makes things easier. I share a small room with a friend. We are splitting the rent and buying groceries together. Tips are what helps us survive. In the month, people don’t tip much. End of the month, they tip better because they have money. My biggest tip I ever got is R192. That was a kind person. There are many kind people out there.

Every day, I lean on my faith. When I was staying in Mpumalanga, a friend once prayed with me and encouraged me when I was at my lowest. When I wanted to give up. He didn’t give me money, but he gave me hope. This man changed my life. I only know his name, but I lost his phone number. Maybe I will see him again one day. For me, this was my happiest day when I accepted Jesus Christ as my Lord and Saviour. His word is more than money. With him, I am free

I miss my wife and child, who are still in Malawi. I will bring them to come stay with me. As a man, there is temptation. We need certain things. It’s better if they live with me. I haven’t been back home since I arrived in South Africa 7 years ago. I miss simple life. One day I hope to return to Malawi to farm chickens. I just need one machine for hatching eggs. I already calculated everything. With this machine, I can live a very good life.

I have experienced Ubuntu here. But not many times. In Malawi, we call it Umunthu. It’s humanness. It’s being lovely. It’s helping each other. In Malawi, if you ask, you get. You don’t have to return it. Here in South Africa, they always want it back. This is not how these things work. I remember meeting a man at Park Station who had just arrived from Malawi. He had nowhere to go. He didn’t know anyone. I took him to stay with me. I fed him, helped him find work. At that time, I was also supporting my brother who wasn’t working because he had a motorbike accident. His wife was also pregnant. It was very difficult, but still, I must help. This is Umunthu—it is family, even if not blood.

I still struggle with visas and papers. I’ve applied many times but heard nothing. Still, I don’t worry much: They don’t bother us drivers. Ninety-eight percent of us are foreigners. South Africans don’t want this job. They say, ‘We don’t die like chickens on the road. You can have these jobs.’

When life gets too heavy, I get on my knees. I pray. My wife and my child, they also give me strength. If life had given me another path? I’d want to be a lawyer. I see many innocent people in prison. It’s not fair. I want to help them.”