Yesterday was a public holiday, and a friend called to say there was an art exhibition in Simonstown. It sounded like a great way to spend the morning, so I went, arriving around eleven. I parked my car opposite Jubilee Square and walked up to the café hosting the exhibit.
Inside, I was surrounded by creativity—collages, etchings, oil paintings, and even an oversized acrylic painting of a tiger, playful and perfect for a child’s bedroom. The café itself had an inviting atmosphere, and their apple crumble with cream was simply delicious. My friend and I sat for ages, discussing art, artists—local, international, past and present—until time got away from us.
When I finally said goodbye and headed to my car, I noticed the hazard lights flicking. I didn’t think much of it—never had battery issues before—but when I tried to start the car, nothing. Three attempts. No luck.
Panic set in. It was a public holiday. I didn’t know the area. I had no idea where to find help. I was about to call a friend when a young woman approached me.
“We all go through things like this,” she said. “It’s happened to me a few times. Let me check if I have jumper cables in my car. Just wait here and don’t worry.”
I wasn’t convinced, but I had no choice but to trust her. As I waited, I popped the bonnet and wiped the battery contacts with a serviette—something to do while the tension simmered.
Minutes later, the young woman returned, this time with an older gentleman—probably in his early 70s, but full of energy. In his hand, two short cables. No battery in sight. I wondered how he planned to jump-start my car with such tiny wires.
Then, with a big grin, he pulled a compact lithium battery charger from his pocket. “Let’s see if this does the trick,” he said, clearly enjoying the moment.
He clipped the small jump starter onto my battery, I got into the car, turned the key—and on the first try, the engine roared to life.
Relief flooded through me. I thanked them both, probably four times over. Before leaving, I asked the man how long it would take to recharge the battery fully. He answered confidently:
“Your car takes about 3.3 watts. Drive exactly eight kilometers, and you’ll be good.”
I wasn’t sure whether to believe him, but I took the long way home just in case. Back in my garage, I parked facing forward—just in case. But later that evening, when I went out, the car started perfectly.
I’m still amazed at how two complete strangers—and a car guard who first pointed the young woman in my direction—appeared out of nowhere to help me in a moment of distress. It turns out this gentleman has helped 30 or 40 people with his little device.
People like this remind me that kindness isn’t rare—it’s just quiet, waiting for the right moment to shine. I’m truly grateful.
