SASSA MAKES YOU SUFFER - Government must fix their welfare system, rather than host G20 summits

IT WAS a Friday morning, half the world was still asleep, but I was armed with coffee in hand and on my way to pick up a relative for our South African Social Security Agency (Sassa) mission. 

We got there before sunrise -– about three hours before they opened and the queue was already beginning to worm.

We were met by a friendly figure who told everyone exactly where to line up – she didn’t wear official “Sassa” clothes, so I’m guessing she wasn’t really an employee. 

Nonetheless, the experience up to that point was fairly pleasant – I had prepared for utter chaos. 

Next up, we had a neatly-dressed foreigner with his impressively-pressed white denim shorts, clean-as-a-whistle white takkies, socks you could see just came out of the washing machine and neatly ironed t-shirt whipping out his Bible. 

I was impressed by the way this man dressed – he ironed die laaste ding and made me feel self conscious about having just taken out the first thing I could find in my closet. 

Anyway, he blessed us with The Word and then took out the NikNaks and sweets he sold to make ends meet. I reiterate, I was really impressed with this guy. Just watching him and the sunrise coming up at the same time made this visit worth it for me… at least up to that point. 

I had brought along a James Patterson thriller to keep me busy while we were going to wait in line. And finally after three hours, it was time for the offices to open. 

I expected us to be taken through the front door, but ha-ah, we were backdoor ouens and went through what looked like a smokkie gate, where the security guard instructed us to sit on plastic seats outside before we were allowed to enter. 

Nice touch, I thought. You are dealing with older citizens and at least there is some seating for the mense while they wait. 

I then expected to be handed a ticket number to avoid a gerollery. 

I’m sensitive to these things and could see it coming a mile away. There was this particular woman – you know the kind: rof, grof en onbeskof. 

At first, she jumped a few seats. Then she made her big move, thinking no-one noticed she “went to the loo” inside, only to return to a seat that was some 20 in front of where she was seated. She’d won. Or so she thought… 

I wondered why she was there, she was not of Sassa age and to jump the queue ahead of the oumense, I thought to myself, you had to be a special kind of person. 

Anyway, she had that wilde kyk about her – the one you often see when the mense are on tik. It said: “Try my!” 

Once inside, the sport really began. 

Up to this point, I had not seen a single Sassa official, only the woman who had helped us queue outside and the security guard who made us sit on the plastic chairs outside. 

With there being no order, a lady who suffered from “temporary blindness” was brought to the front of the line to be helped first. I witnessed a miracle as soon as she walked out the door.

Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating, but I am told it happens – these people get to the front of the queue with some sort of disability and once they are helped, the disability is genees. The miracle of Sassa, I guess. 

Binnekant, it started. I wasn’t the only one who noticed our friend creeping up in the line. 

Dit was nie lank nie en die yo’ mammas het gevloei. At one point my family member and I intervened also, trying to do our bit for justice. But in the world of Sassa, there is no righteousness it seems. 

Just ask the outjie in the wheelchair who was wheeled in alongside me. 

Hy was vol tjappies – ’n moeilike mannetjie, if you’re the kind that judges a book by its cover. But quietly I was rooting for him as he elbowed the security guard who pushed him in and told him he is last in line. He told the guard in no uncertain terms dat hy sal sien. 

I wondered about the “blind” person who was helped first and now the lame person, who I can see is frustrated with being confined to a wheelchair, not being helped. 

Why was it different strokes for different folks? 

There was no order. Mense had to organise themselves, so when another security guard came in from the left field with someone she then just randomly plonked into one of the seats that were about to get help, the mense had had enough. I took it upon myself to ask the security guard what kine here, and she wysed me that this lady was here yesterday and that I should “just leave it”. 

My relative was also there the day before – like so many others who “patiently” waited in line – and didn’t get this sort of preferential treatment. 

We were eventually helped, but it was clear to me that this office was unorganised and also had way too few staff members to serve the amount of people needing help. I’m not going to expose the branch we were at, simply because I believe this to be the norm for a visit to these offices in South Africa. And it’s a damn shame!

You have to remember that we are dealing with old people here and therefore, I’d expect there to be better processes in place. 

Surely some of the requests like a confirmation letter for example, can be digitised. 

We have to do better with these things, South Africa. 

Let’s spend the money where it can actually help our people and not close to R700-million on a G20 summit so that the elite can rub shoulders and talk about how the rich can get richer, and the poor can get poorer. At least that’s what the man on the street is thinking.

Please make better use of MY tax money. Anyway, if we keep quiet about these things it will never change. Unfortunately, Duds just the way it is…