Happiness is driving off in a car you bought for cash

It takes time, it takes patience, it takes discipline, and it takes a whole lot of change. But when the big day arrives, there’s no feeling like succeeding in your driving ambition to buy the car of your dreams, and to pay it off in one swift go

I used to think I had no money to save. We’re a single-income household, and, counting myself, I use it to support six people. While we’re in the past, here’s a fun fact: It used to rain inside my car. There were a few occasions, on those rare winter mornings in Cape Town when the temperature drops to zero, that I’d have to scrape ice off the inside of the windscreen.

There was also the moment I got a flat in rush hour traffic, and when I took it to a garage to get a new one, discovered all four tyres were worn beyond use. Not my finest driving moments.

I bought the car soon after Kid 3 was born. Realising we needed more space, we sprang for a second-hand station wagon with space enough for a pram, school bags, and three kids. I say “sprang”; what we actually did was add the cost of the car to our bond. Financially, a profoundly silly way of going about it, but we had zero savings at the time and the bond seemed like the only way.

Bought in 2006, it was a 1996 model. Over 11 years of driving it, it transformed into a vintage. Sadly, not one of those shiny, retro vintages admired by strangers as you zoom past, sunglasses and neck scarf just so.

A vintage with corrosion that meant it rained inside the car, a vintage on which the head gasket blew three times, and about which my longsuffering mechanic told us the third time was the charm. The next time, our vintage would have to be put out to pasture.

It was about three years ago that I realised it had to go, and the saving began. Determined not to incur more debt, it started with putting a little away each month. Which sounds simple, but in reality, it often meant doubting we’d get to the end of the month on the little that remained of my salary.

It continued with squirreling away every penny I earned through writing. No rewarding myself that I’d earned a little extra. The money went straight to the savings, no passing Go, no collecting 200.

I get a 13^th cheque every November. Usually a fun time, during which I’d recklessly spend, for those three years, my 13^th cheques went directly into the savings. A little bonus earned at work last year suffered the same fate.

Slowly, often excruciatingly, the savings grew. I developed a loathing of budget reports, when economists would warn consumers to “tighten their belts”. “I’M ALREADY WEARING A CORSET THREE SIZES TOO SMALL,” I’d yell at the radio.

There were things in the house that needed fixing, school shoes that broke in the middle of the month, and stupid SARS who wanted yet more of my money because I’d miscalculated the tax on my extra earnings. One step forward, nine steps backwards.

And then, all of a sudden, but not really, I realised I had enough to purchase a whole car. I became a Gumtree and OLX frequenter. I chatted to colleagues who knew about cars. What model was the cheapest to maintain? How to ensure I wasn’t taken to the cleaners by a dishonest seller?

Searching for a car over a period of a few months, I learned a whole new language: “as is” means “doors about to fall off, but I’m willing to take your money”, and “dropped suspension with entirely new sound system” means modified to within an inch of its life.

I test-drove a few. Not that one. That one’s too small. That one was definitely false advertising. I began to wonder whether it would ever happen.

And then one day, there it was, at a car dealership. It wasn’t the right colour – everyone knows red cars are faster, right? – but it was the right price, and it went like a bomb. First the deposit, and then three days later, I transferred the entire amount into the dealership’s bank account.

The most satisfying thing about this car? Not the working windows and the total absence of rust. No, the most rewarding thing about my new car was the ability to drive away in that thing, knowing I’d made the change. I used to think I had no money to save. Yet I’d made this happen. Slowly, tediously at times, but I’d done it. All by myself.