20 Kilometres of Love: The Sandton ICU Chronicles

So, you see, back in 2018, life turned into one of those epic road trip movies—except it was only 20 kilometres long, and the destination wasn’t a scenic getaway. No, it was Sandton Mediclinic, where our little VIP (Very Important Patient) was staying in the ICU. For five months, 2 months and half a month or something like that, this was our reality: commuting to and from the hospital every day, fueled by sheer determination and the unshakable love of two exhausted parents.

Sometimes, we’d hop into the borrowed trusty Chev Spark, our silence filled with whispered prayers for good news. Other days, it was a mad dash to catch a public taxi, ekaMageza, squeezing in among strangers who had no idea the weight we carried in our hearts. And on those extra challenging days? Uber rides became our chariot, the driver politely chatting while we feigned a smile, nodded, and tried not to show our annoyance.

Midnight drives from the hospital were the most exciting, when the foot got heavier on the pedal and eyes were half open. Perhaps it’s true that 4 halves make 2 eyes. We’d often stumble through the front door just as the sun hinted at the arrival of morning responsibilities.

But if you know anything about Johannesburg’s public taxis, you’ll know that it’s not just a mode of transport—it’s an experience. One particular ride stands out. It was a typical morning, the kind where exhaustion weighed heavy. I had travelled alone on that day. Passengers were packed into the taxi, shoulder to shoulder, when the driver suddenly decided to make an impromptu speech. “Badala (customers), you see this car? This car is not just a taxi—it’s a miracle machine!”

He paused dramatically, one hand on the wheel and the other gesturing wildly. “Yes, my friends, this taxi does not need fuel. It runs on faith and your fares. And today, the faith is strong, but the fares…” He trailed off and shot a pointed look at the backseat. My seat. “One of you is owing me!”

The passengers erupted into laughter, except for one poor guy in the back who sheepishly handed over a crumpled R20 note. Of course, I had forgotten that I wasn’t driving on that day. You should have seen those judgemental eyes.
As we rattled along, dodging potholes and robots (traffic lights for the non-South Africa-aware), the driver launched into a long-winded story about how he once out-raced a Gautrain bus, complete with sound effects.

At one point, he mimicked the bus with a deep “vrrrrrrr,” followed by a triumphant, “I could have won, just that some people must be begged to pay their fare!” Of course he scored some more laughter and invited even more piercing jeers at my sweaty embarrassed face. I had become everybody’s source of comedy. And the driver probably had just discovered a hidden Trevor Noah bone under his nose and he was eager to keep the talent rolling, lest it fade like his receding hairline.

By the time we reached my stop, everyone was laughing so hard they probably had all forgotten the weight of their day ahead, where I wouldn’t be there to be laughed at. I hated them one by one, and made sure it was showing in my swelling eyes. They didn’t seem bothered by that. They might have instead seen eyes welling up with tears of shame like any crook they meet on Jozi streets.
It was a bizarre, silly moment, but in its own way, it was exactly what I needed – a reminder that life, even in its hardest times, still finds ways to surprise us with coarse salt rubbed generously in the wound.

Anyway, back to the travels. Now, you might think, “Wow, what loving parents!” And you’d be absolutely correct. Because when your baby is in the ICU, you’ll do anything to be there. Every kilometre travelled, every late-night journey, every ridiculous encounter in a Johannesburg taxi was a testament to the kind of love that doesn’t know the word “quit.”

Would we do it all again? Of course not, you think having a sick child is taxi fun? Still, no distance is too far when love is behind the wheel. Though next time, we might just pay the driver as we enter… you know, just in case.