We’re accustomed to potholes now, so accustomed that we’ve stopped being shocked, and even apps like Waze no longer bother reporting them. We budget for tyre damage and wheel alignment, share tips on which roads to avoid, and subconsciously brace for impact on the routes we drive every day.

And when we do hit a pothole, the cost ripples out.

• It’s not just the burst tyre or bent rim.
• It’s the insurance claim that pushes up your premium.
• It’s the excess you have to pay out of pocket.
• It’s the lost hour waiting for a tow truck.
• It’s the silent frustration of knowing that no one will be held accountable.
• And it’s the inconvenience of being without a car while it’s in for repairs, all for something that should have been fixed months ago.

At some point, many South Africans stopped waiting for service delivery to improve. We just started doing it ourselves.

• We secured our homes with private security companies, armed response services, and even tracking apps, because safety could no longer be left to a stretched and unreliable police capacity.
• We managed our waste through private refuse removal, while still paying for municipal services that often failed to arrive.
• We took electricity into our own hands, first with inverters and backup batteries, then with generators, and now increasingly with solar panels, as well as considering boreholes to address the endless water issues.
• We turned to medical aid when the public system couldn’t cope, and paid for private tutors and extra lessons to fill the widening gaps in public education.
• We even absorbed the burden of governance, funding pothole repairs through community WhatsApp groups and private pothole brigades, because municipalities stopped showing up.
• We’ve normalised a parallel system, one that exists not as a luxury, but increasingly as a necessity.

And we’re paying for it twice: once through taxes, and secondly through private workarounds. And strangely, we expect less.

It Didn’t Always Feel This Way

There was a time when streetlights worked, when refuse collection was reliable, when the local clinic or hospital was a first stop, not a last resort. Those weren’t the glory days; they were simply functional ones. Importantly, that functionality mattered.

What we’ve seen since then isn’t just budget cuts or inefficiency; it’s also a lack of accountability. It’s a slow erosion of public trust. With each service that fails or gets outsourced to households, the citizen-state relationship weakens. The government becomes less of a provider and more of a line item on a pay slip.

It’s a quiet shift, but it’s profound.

The Real Tax Rate: 50–60%

In practical terms, what does this parallel system cost us?

When you add it all up, income tax, VAT, municipal rates, private security, medical aid, tutoring, backup power, many middle-income South Africans are effectively parting with 50–60% of their income to secure a basic quality of life.

That’s not just a tax rate. It’s an indictment.

We’re funding the state and a second system, without the benefit of choice or competitive accountability that usually comes with private markets.

What’s even more concerning is that this model is neither scalable nor sustainable. We can’t build national resilience on the back of patchwork household solutions.

It’s Not Just About Potholes

This isn’t just about roads or water meters. It’s about trust and it’s about a social contract that feels one-sided, where citizens continue to pay, but the state keeps falling short.

Service delivery isn’t just a technical task or a line item in a municipal budget. It’s a signal, a sign of competence, and (perhaps most importantly) a sign of care.

When bins are collected, when streetlights are repaired, when clinics have medicine, it tells people: You matter. Someone is paying attention.

This Isn’t Just a Middle-Class Problem

Yes, many of these private solutions, like solar panels and medical aid, are concentrated in middle- and upper-income households. But the bigger issue isn’t just affordability. It’s systemic fragmentation.

The more each group opts out, whether it’s education, energy, or even policing, the more the public system weakens. Over time, this creates two South Africas: one that pays to bypass the system, and one that’s left behind in a failing one.

And here’s the twist: the wealthier group may insulate itself temporarily, but it cannot insulate itself indefinitely. No estate wall is high enough to ignore societal collapse.

We Don’t Need Miracles, Just the Basics

We don’t need miracles, just the basics, done well.

Fix the potholes, collect the bins, keep the water flowing, and the clinics stocked. Ensure budgets mean what they say, and that leaders show up, not only for ribbon-cuttings, but also when it matters.

Because credibility doesn’t come from big speeches, it comes from small actions, which are repeated consistently.

That’s how you rebuild belief, not with promises, but with performance.

What Comes Next?

So, where do we go from here?

We start by recognising that delivery is not just an administrative function, it’s a core pillar of trust in society. Then we prioritise competence over politics, maintenance over vanity projects, and service over slogans.

The citizen has already stepped up, fixing, funding, and filling the gaps. Now it’s time for the state to do the same.

Until then, the cost of “doing it yourself” will continue to rise.

Not just in rands, but in trust, in cohesion, and in hope.

We can’t keep building private solutions on top of public failures and expect a sustainable future.