This Man’s Open Letter To Delivery Drivers is a Must-Read!

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All too often, people dehumanise delivery drivers. They’re wrongly reduced to nuisances and headaches on the road. But, after one man saw a delivery driver reach the end of life’s road, he felt compelled to pen the most compassionate open letter that all South Africans should read.

South Africa (17 January 2025)—They come into our lives at fleeting yet vital moments. They zip past us while we wait in traffic, cursing the robot that doesn’t work. If they’re late, we’re furious. When they’re on time, we barely pay attention. Yes, delivery drivers are vital service providers to South Africans everywhere. And yet, they’re hardly acknowledged, not least with compassion.

Speaking to the way in which many dehumanise delivery drivers, one man decided it was time to put pen to paper (or at least, fingers to keyboard). After seeing a delivery driver reach the end of life’s road, he couldn’t help but urge more South Africans to lead with more humanity, consider the plight of the drivers that are so often the butts of frustration, and ask us all to step outside of our comfortable worlds where everything is so easily accessible.

In Rob Kottler’s Words:

“Spare a thought for the delivery guys on their nasty little scooters and delivery bikes. They work for very little reward, and even that is dependent on reaching you in a time that is satisfactory to yourself and their employer. Yes, we know they drive a little recklessly and some are still yet to reach their peak driving skills. We are all learning, some of us never do!

We know they take a chance here and a chance there. The sheer volume of delivery bikes on the roads gives us the impression that they’re all driving badly all the time. But every red traffic light means an extra two minutes added to their trip time. Every queue of cars adds more minutes to their trip time. Every added minute makes their delivery later, until penalties are incurred to the point that they receive no reward for a delivery. That means the cost of fuel for that trip is on them but no pay, and very often no tip.

Even when they do make it in time there’s often no tip because the merchant said ‘free delivery’ so why should you pay. And this with ten riders competing for each delivery job.

Every new tyre for their awful, cheap-as-possibly manufactured machines is two days’ earnings or more. Every tank of fuel eats half of their day’s pay. So they have to free wheel down hills to save a buck. Safety gear like helmets, suitable jackets and gloves are a dream, very often hand-me-downs from more affluent bikers because we know the pain of falling off a bike without protection. Ask a cyclist, that tar is just as hard no matter what two-wheeler you ride.

They are treated with contempt on the road and cursed as a blight. Who doesn’t order online whenever we can. We don’t go to the crowded shopping centres when we can possible avoid it. Who has the time? When the weather is bad, we go to ground. We take out our smart phones and order our dinner to be delivered – in howling gales and torrential rain they are out there, unprotected – delivering to us in our warm homes and saving us from the elements.

Do we thank them? No, we curse their lateness, complain how stupid they are because they cannot find us in our complex because our address details are incomplete on the system, or we don’t answer their call when they’re lost, or simply just aren’t home when they arrive.

I personally live in a block of flats where I have helped these guys deduce who the delivery is for and sometimes take delivery to pass on to the orderer, who ordered to cleverly synchronize their arrival home with their sushi or milk, so they wouldn’t have to wait.

But hell, it’s ok they got caught in traffic and couldn’t be there in time and cost Joe Scooter his next delivery as he hung around waiting for his customer.

The huge number of delivery bikes on the road is testament to how much we utilize deliveries for our own convenience and then complain about the tool we ourselves created to fashion our lifestyle.

Yesterday, on a road I travel every single day, a rider died around the corner from my complex delivering someone their groceries. Probably one of more than a few who fell just yesterday alone, in just our city, while we avoided the rush of traffic. So ended his aspirations of a life of being a useful member of society, providing a service and earning a buck to support himself.

He may have been somebody’s father, brother, son and friend. A tear for him rolled down inside my helmet as I sat at the head of the stop-and-go traffic. I looked at his bleeding broken body still lying under a sheet nearly three hours later, with one thousand cars slowly edging by, cursing as they burnt out their clutches and brakes, complaining about ‘these bloody delivery bikes, just two wheeled taxis blocking our roads’.

Tens of other delivery riders parked on the side of the road, pausing their own quest to earn for their own survival, to honour their fallen colleague and friend, determined to wait with him until he was taken away with his dignity restored, and away from the gawkers.

So whatever the inconvenience of having them on the road, whatever their transgressions, spare a moment to reflect. This is a scene played over and over in our country daily. Sometimes, they make it out alive, and tragically, sometimes, they just don’t. Honour them for a moment, the thankless job they do because we don’t want to or cannot do it ourselves. Think of the conditions they drive under.

Think of the traffic congestion if every one of them was replaced by a car, if we go out in our car to our own shopping destinations, find a parking, queue in KFC or wherever, and drive home again. They aren’t suddenly just driving around our streets aimlessly for amusement. WE summoned them to do our service, let’s live graciously with their presence, because they are here now, and just appreciate the service they provide us.

We cannot tar every delivery rider with the same brush, purely because some are bad drivers. Using that measure, everybody on the road is guilty.