Mounties EMS

21/11/2025

07/11/2025

😔 Real talk for a minute…
Most of you know me for the laughs, the wild stories, and the humour that keeps us going on the job. That's how we cope!
But this one’s different. Really different.

I’ve read this story so many times — and even though I wrote it, it still hits me hard every single time. 💔
Because some things you can’t joke away.

Please take a few minutes to read it.
It might change the way you see things next time you drive past flashing lights. 🚑

⚠️ HELP ⚠️
Why—why—why?
Why am I reliving the biggest nightmare of my life?
What did I do to deserve this burning, this pain that won’t stop?
🔥 My body is on fire.

The morning started like every other morning.
Wake up. Brush my teeth. Wash my face.
The mirror fogs, the routine plays out, my mind already racing ahead to the day.

Outside, the sky presses low and grey.
🌧️ Rain spits against the glass.
I throw on my coat, shout goodbye to the family, and run for the car before the downpour hits.

The wipers beat. The roads shine black.
Five kilometres to work. Just five.
Deadlines. Messages. Bills. Just another normal Monday. 😮

Then headlights—blinding, wrong lane, coming fast.

The Collision 💥
Time collapses.
My chest locks. My mind screams move!
Tyres scream louder.
The steering wheel jerks. The car skids down the embankment. There is no time to pray, only to feel everything explode at once.

💥 A bang like thunder trapped in metal.
Glass explodes. The world tilts.
Then nothing moves except the rain.

Sparks. Smoke. Heat.
Someone shouting: “Vehicle on fire! Get help—NOW!”

I can smell it—plastic, rubber, flesh.
The fire crawls up my legs.
I pull, kick, push—but the seatbelt holds me tight.

🔥 “HELP! I AM TRAPPED! HELP!”

A blast of white foam, a man tried with an extinguisher. It dies fast.
The flames roar back, hungrier.

Breathing hurts. My lungs fill with smoke.
Pain tears through me—then stops.
Everything turns white.

I’m above it now. Floating. Watching my lifeless body burning.

The fire lights up the trees, sends sparks into the sky.
Rain hisses against the heat, but can’t stop it.

More people park on road side.
People gather.
Phones rise.
Screens glow blue against orange flame.

A woman in a pink dress holds her phone steady, one hand on her hip.
A man swears softly, but films closer.
Someone mutters, “Oh Jesus,” without moving a step.

🚒 Sirens slice through the chaos.
Firefighters leap from the truck, shouting orders.
Paramedics right behind them, soaked, choking on smoke.
They fight the blaze like it’s personal.

A young medic yells, “Move back! Give us space!”
Nobody listens.
She pushes through the crowd, shoulders shaking.
A bystander’s phone grazed her face.

She shoves it down, voice cracking—“He’s still in there!”

But I’m not. Not anymore.

The flames finally die to black smoke.
Steam rises like ghosts.
Police tape flutters.
Phones still peek through gaps.

Someone laughs nervously.
Another whispers, “I think he’s gone.”
Traffic slows just enough for more cameras to record.

Then I see them—my family—
running up the road through puddles and chaos.

My wife’s hand covers her mouth.
My son grips her leg, staring wide-eyed at the wreck.

They know that car.
They know that coat.
They know that voice screaming in the video that’s already online.

📱 A stranger posts it first:
“Massive crash! Driver trapped! 🔥😱”
Hundreds share it before the fire’s even out.

Her phone buzzes with notifications as she stands at the barrier.
Someone shows her the video—without realising it’s me.
Her knees buckle.
My son screams.
And still—someone films them crying. 💔

The emergency workers move slower now.
Their faces are calm but their eyes aren’t.
They cut through the wreck, careful, respectful, like dignity can still be rescued.

They still care.
Around them, phones still glow.
No one sees the difference between documenting and disrespecting.

Later, when the road reopens, cars pass slowly.
Someone uploads a “final edit” of my death—with music.
It trends for days.

People cry in the comments.
Some say, “So sad 😢🙏”
Others argue about who was at fault.
No one deletes the videos.

And I wonder—
when you scroll past that clip,
when you hear those last cries for help echo through your phone speaker,

❓ What if it isn’t a stranger?
What if it’s your brother?
Your wife?
Your child?

Would you still press record?
Or would you finally be the help someone needed?
Because I didn't need the views. I just needed you!

02/11/2025

There are nights on the road that stay with you — not because of the chaos, but because of the quiet after it.
When the lights fade, the sirens stop, and you realize… sometimes all it takes to save a life is to show up.

That moment inspired my next song — “Help Somebody (Light It Up)”, a track about hope, action, and the power we all have to be someone’s rescue team.

🚑 You don’t need a uniform to make a difference.
🔥 You just need heart.

🎧 Release Date: 14 NOVEMBER 2025
🎵 Available everywhere — Spotify, iTunes, Apple Music, YouTube Music, Shazam, iHeartRadio, and more.
🔗 Pre-save now: https://sl1nk.com/8AwHB

From one paramedic to everyone out there doing their best — this one’s for you.
Let’s light it up.
— Joe The Paramedic

01/10/2025

🚨🔥 N2 Kwambo Rubbernecking Kombat 🔥🚨

👀 When the wreck looks juicier than the road ahead, rubberneckers turn the N2 into a soapie set. Today, we nearly had Season 3 live on location. 👀

Wednesday morning — but felt like a payday Friday. My WhatsApp rings…
“Hi, is this the ambulance?”
“Yes, Sir…” didn’t even get to finish the caller tune before he cuts in:
“Serious accident on N2 Chicken Station towards Kwambo!” Click – call drops.

Next call comes in hot:
“Are you available?”
“N2 Chicken Station?”
“Yes.”

Update control, jump into the response vehicle, and sirens become an alarm for those still in bed. Early morning lights flashing, smooth sailing all the way. No school traffic, lekker ride, until we reach the R34 / N2 intersection.

Now here’s the joke — cars chilling in the emergency lane. I suppose their emergency is “get to work before the boss”. Meanwhile, actual emergency services are trying to get to work-work.

Then one oke takes a slow left onto the N2, busy chatting on his cell, giving me the death stare like I’m the problem. If that glare had horsepower, we’d already be in the panelbeater’s workshop. 🙄

Shoutout, though — the real legend who moved over and slowed down so we could pass. Respect, bru. 👊 That’s how it’s done.

We push through Nseleni, N2 Chicken Station… nothing 😵‍💫. Scene’s quiet, traffic normal. Right, let’s roll Kwambo side — and there it is.

Services already on scene, chaos split in two. Quick update: minor injuries on the right, left side, looks heavy.

👉 Right side: Two vehicles. I ask the traffic officer, “Where’s the injured officer?” He replies, “We’re all involved. You can speak to any of us.” Took a second, then I rephrased, “The officer in the damaged traffic vehicle — where’s he?” Face changes, “Ohh, okay, he’s over there. No injury.”

This time, traffic wasn’t controlling traffic — they were traffic. The officer stopped in the emergency lane to call for help after seeing Pajero roll-over. The next thing Hyundai comes in hot and sends the X-Trail to another dimension. Officer shaken, but composed. Duty is still calling.

👉 Hyundai: Yoh, peeps. Proper mess. Bonnet peeled like a sardine tin, engine with a degloving injury, airbags popped out like pap pillows. Long surgery is coming for the panelbeaters, but the science worked — everyone walked with minor injuries.

👉 Pajero: Left side, lying solo, looks like it just finished 12 rounds with Mike Tyson. Roof bruised, windows gone, windscreen folded. Driver critical, medics working flat-out to stabilize.

And then — I recognise the face. ER Doctor. Out of comfort zone big time. No nurse to shout orders at, no neat trolley at arm’s reach. Out here? Grass, dust, leaking petrol, shouting people. Prehospital chaos is like watching the same DSTV series you know — just louder, unscripted, and no adverts. Welcome to the grass-floor theatre, Doc. 💉🔥

Now picture this: medics running, vehicles smashed, sirens still echoing. And then comes the DSTV repeat. Rubberneckers slowing down, filming, eyes off the road. One driver is so busy playing cameraman that he nearly takes out a medic crossing. Within minutes, we almost had Episode 3.

Let’s recap:

The officer stops legally to call for help.

Hyundai rubbernecks and smashes into him.

Minutes later, another driver nearly wipes out a paramedic doing the same thing.

Like DSTV repeats, bru — same script, new actors.

⚠️ SAFETY TIP:
• Flashing lights? Slow down, bru, it’s not a disco.
• Eyes on the road, not the wreck.
• Reflective jackets = real people, not traffic cones.
• We’re short on medics and traffic officers — don’t turn us into bowling pins.

👉 And here’s the truth: Paramedics and traffic officers are starting to feel like endangered species. There's only a few of us left, and once we're gone...who's gonna catch you when you crash? Treat us like rhinos on the road - rare, precious, and worth protecting.

Respect to considerate drivers who did slow down and give way. You kept us safe to do our job. 🙌

Speedy recovery to all the injured. Today we’re grateful — no lives lost, only vehicles written off. Cars can be replaced. People can’t.

30/09/2025

⛰️🚑 When the Drakensberg Relocated to Empangeni 🚑⛰️

Pay weekend Saturday night, just after 7pm, the radio cracks alive: “Serious accident, Empangeni.”
From relaxed mode to turbo in seconds — literally. The response vehicle had just come out of ICU on Friday after two months of turbo issues (even the response had to take sick leave 🤣). No time for a light- duty comeback… straight to redline, lights and sirens slicing through town.

I swing down Louis Botha — then realise, nah, this is Paul Ave 🙈. Right around the corner from my old place nogal. Quick detour, and I roll up to a scene that looked like a movie set: headlights scattered, bystanders buzzing, cars crumpled like coke cans and road completely blocked.

In the Polo, a man sits with a towel pressed firm against an open wound. Across the road, the bakkie’s front wheel is folded sideways, suspension hanging like it just gave up on life. Both cars nose-to-nose, battered, glass sparkling on the tar like confetti.

No SAPS or traffic yet — EMS first on scene, trying to bring calm. Between the flashing lights and crowd chatter, you could feel the tension. Later SAPS and traffic arrived, taking control, but one officer especially worried about the injured oke, trying to convince him: “Go to hospital, my man.” Still, the injured man refused. That’s his right — though Sunday morning would surely remind him different, once the adrenaline wore off. At least his vitals were stable and an eye kept on him while on scene.

The other occupants of Polo only needed a band-aid and reassurance, while the bakkie occupants escaped injury.

And the cause of this chaos? Not late-night jolling, not reckless spinning. Nah, something stranger: the Drakensberg decided to relocate to Empangeni.

Right there in the middle of the road, fresh from a “manhole repair,” a massive block of tar had been dumped. Not a pothole fix, not a new speed bump — a whole mountain sleeping across the lane, hidden just after a bend in a dark spot. The bakkie came round, braked too late, and boom — mountain first, Polo second.

Tow trucks cleared the wreckage, residents shook heads in frustration, and the mountain of tar sat there like the villain in a bad action movie.

---

💡 Takeaway:

Don’t be fooled by adrenaline — it numbs pain, but by sunrise, the body tells the truth. Hospital check-ups aren’t optional, they’re smart.

And remember, slowing down gives you time to dodge the surprises our roads keep serving. Sometimes it’s taxis, sometimes it’s potholes… and sometimes, it’s the Drakensberg.

Stay safe out there, mense. Roads aren’t a game — but in Empangeni, they sure feel like an obstacle course. 🛑

25/09/2025

🚨 Incident Report: Pole Dancing Showdown – CIT vs Traffic Light / Truck (R34, outside Quality Cars) 🚨

Month-end admin… you know that torture where the numbers on spreadsheet runs around like dancing ants at a party. Then boom — emergency group pings on the computer screen…

Eye catches the words: Cash-In-Transit, Quality Cars!
Sho, that’s all we need! Admin forgotten, Coffee half-drunk, team is on the way. Barely out the gate and there it is — the day’s entertainment show.

Right outside Quality Cars, the CIT van has clearly decided it’s time to show off some pole-dancing moves. Shame, the poor traffic light pole wasn’t built for those kind of moves. It’s lying flat, bent like a cheap vleis fork at a braai, lights smashed, wires hanging out like it just went ten rounds with Eskom.

The armored van? Yoh. Bonnet folder, bumper hangin like it ows money. Definitely not “quality car” standards for the dealership watching across the way road.

Quick check on the crew:
“Are you okay?” – “Ja, bru, I’m fine.”
“Are you okay?” – “Ja, also fine.”
Even the last guy wedged inside gives us a nod, just looking a bit skrik and probably wishing he’d taken a taxi instead.

So, what happened? Eish, the story’s still a bit fuzzy. From what we can gather, one truck was turning in the intersection while the CIT carried on straight. Driver reckons he put his full weight on the brakes — both feet, body, soul, the lot —but the tank said “Ag, no ways, I’m going.” Next thing, boom — the tank on the island, trying out Strictly Come Dancing with a traffic light. The other truck? Parked a bit down the road, chilled, like a tannie watching the neighbours over the garden fence.

And then… the magic words: Cash-In-Transit.
Suddenly SAPS came flying in from every direction, blue lights flickering like it’s December 31st in Durban. Fire & Rescue pitch and Traffic too. Whole squad ready for front row seats at the dance-off.

Recovery? Yoh, not child’s play. The tow truck tried, but the tank was stuck solid on that pole like a drunk oke at a jol who won’t leave the mic. Who said the jaws are only for saving lives? Today they were part-time bouncers, prying the tank off its dance partner. With some hard graft, the armoured tank beast was finally lifted free.

Meanwhile, the sparkies (electricians) cut the whole intersection for safety. Cue for instant chaos — Ho***rs going, drivers shouting at each other but nobody giving way. Pure South African traffic choreography — no rules, just vibes!
Finally, the beast was lifted, flatbed loaded with diesel leaking. The only casualty? A very broken pole and one less working traffic light.

Manager’s wipe his brow and sums it up perfectly: “Better an accident than a heist.” And bru, he’s right — bent poles beat bullets any day.

💡 Moral of the story:
On the R34, even a CIT van can’t pull off pole dancing. Poles bend, drivers skrik, traffic goes bos… but admin? That devil still waits back at the office.

22/09/2025

🚨 Monday on the N2: Welcome to Mzansi Motorsport 🚨

7th Call comes in: “Mounties, are you available on the N2 eSikhaweni accident?”
Us: “Ja, of course. What else must we do on a Monday? Sit at Wimpy?”

Team’s up, lights on, sirens screaming, ho**er pumping like a taxi at rush hour.

At N2/R34 John Ross intersection—miracle of the year: everyone actually stops at the working red robot. I nearly wanted to hand out Bar Ones. Then the fuel tanker truck in the left lane taking all the space?
Dead still. Not moving. Sirens? Nothing.
Ho**er? Nothing.
Bus next to us? Starts hooting at the truck to MOVE. Yes, mense, even the buses are tired of nonsense now.

Onto the south bound freeway, foot flat. Suddenly- a vehicle hogging fast lane, Not cruising. No, no. The ou was racing towards something - I struggled to catch up to him. A Correctional service bakkie, is pedal to the metal, no lights, not even going to the same scene! Just jousting on the N2 like it’s Kyalami. Dejavu moment... another Correctional vehicle racing and not making way for sirens.

N2 Southbound Bridge, still no accident in sight. Ambulance redirected, eventually finds the scene on the P535. And oh my word. Chaos. Cars parked like it’s a taxi rank, people running across the road like Springboks dodging tackles, others still pushing through like “Ag, it’s just another Monday bru.”

Then traffic arrives. Fresh rookies. Shiny uniforms. Big eyes. Yoh, welcome to real life, manne. No training manual for this circus. Trial by fire—whistle vs taxis. Good luck.

The accident rental vehicle? It went airborne. Properly. Took a short flight off the embankment, landed crumpled a few metres down. Driver climbs out, bloodied but walking like “ag, I’m fine.” His two mates weren’t so lucky—bystanders rushed them to the clinic ASAP. We hope, or they could've been kidnapped for wondering reasons 🤔🫣

Driver’s story? Classic. “I wasn’t the driver.” as the traffic officers stands by the ambulance. Ja, okay boet. Your driver license that was in your hand, "I can't find in my pocket - check in the car". Apparently, a taxi forced them off while overtaking. Before even the breakdowns pitched up, that taxi had already done a u-turn quicker than a politician before elections. P**f. Gone.

Breakdown crew arrives, looks at the wreck. You can almost hear the oke thinking: “Eish, this is above my payslip.”

And just when we thought we’d seen it all—another Hilux nearly followed the first car down the opposite embankment to keep balance of the scene. Why? The oke was on his phone. Nearly wrote himself off while typing “Howzit.”

---

South African Monday lessons:
✔️ If the robot works, thank your ancestors.
✔️ Buses can be your wingmen.
✔️ Correctional Services think they’re at Kyalami.
✔️ Rookie traffic cops deserve hazard pay.
✔️ Taxis? They still hold the record for fastest disappearing act.
✔️ And Mzansi drivers + cellphones = chaos.

Mounties: still the pit crew in the N2 Grand Prix. 🚑💨

04/09/2025

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29/08/2025

🚑 Today’s Lesson: When “Driver’s Ed” Turns Into “Emergency Ed” 🚑

Dispatched close to a school, not far from the hospital. First report: “pedestrian down.” Updated quickly to: “actually, patient trapped in a vehicle.” Always nice when the fine print comes through before we arrive.

At scene? One learner driver truck that didn’t just practice driving — it demonstrated, in glorious detail, what happens when you don’t. Passenger side crumpled, windshield shattered, dashboard pushed into the instructor’s lap. Because apparently the new syllabus includes “How to Become Part of the Car.”/-

The instructor — the very one meant to prevent accidents — got signed up for the premium package: Entrapment 101. Knees locked under the dash, he initially refused treatment. Because nothing says “I’m in control” like arguing with medics while your legs are welded into a truck. Eventually, pain relief and persuasion won.

The learner? Officially the proud owner of her Crash Badge. Shaken badly, but alive. She managed to stop the truck a few meters down the road — downhill, of course, because gravity always joins the party. Driving downhill has a whole new meaning now.

The Fortuner? Parked in a bay, minding its own business, when suddenly it was conscripted into this training exercise. Hit hard enough to be shoved a parking space forward. Two occupants inside: unharmed but guaranteed to never “relax in a parked car” the same way again.

Fire department? Formula 1 style. One moment fixing a flat tyre, the next moment on scene with the Jaws of Life. Door popped, dash rolled, instructor freed before anyone could blink. Honestly, faster pit stop than Ferrari.

Total count: 5 people, 3 in the learner vehicle, 2 in the Fortuner. One trapped, all survived. Two wrecked vehicles. And a learner who now understands more about collisions than most qualified drivers.

Moral of the story:
Learners are mocked for being too slow. But slow doesn’t mean safe. Even at a crawl, a learner can cause enough force to smash metal, shove cars, and trap someone under a dashboard. Today wasn’t just a driving lesson — it was a fast crash course in survival.



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28/08/2025

08/08/2025