Despite the wide availability of financial products in South Africa, the author argues that easy access does not guarantee financial well-being. The author recently saw a TikTok video where an elderly woman from Mdantsane in the Eastern Cape appeared to be taking food from a store without paying.
The author's initial reaction was laughter, perhaps due to the presentation of the incident or because social media has accustomed us to consuming even the most unpleasant moments of human experience as entertainment. However, after reflecting on the video, the laughter disappeared, replaced by a question that continues to bother him: what happens to a society when the sight of an elderly woman allegedly taking food becomes a reason for laughter before becoming a subject of concern?
The author does not know the circumstances of this woman, whether the accusations are true, or what prompted her actions, and considers it irresponsible to invent explanations. Nevertheless, the incident made him think about the financial difficulties faced by ordinary South Africans, especially the elderly, whose limited income must cover many competing needs.
There was also a thought about funeral insurance. In South Africa, preparing for death goes beyond a purely financial decision; it is closely linked to culture, family responsibility, and the dignity with which one wishes to bury loved ones. Therefore, insurance coverage has become an important product sold through insurers, banks, retailers, funeral homes, and other distribution channels, each promising some degree of financial protection at the moment of the family's greatest vulnerability.
There is nothing inherently wrong with the approach: funeral insurance provides a necessary service, especially when the cost of burial could burden the entire family. But between the legitimate need for protection and the commercial drive to sell policies arises an uncomfortable question: have we become so effective in helping people prepare for death that we forgot to ask if they can afford to live?
Consider the example of a pensioner receiving a modest monthly income who has accumulated several funeral policies over the years—perhaps buying one through a retailer, another through a funeral home, a third through an insurer, and another after being convinced that the existing coverage might be insufficient. Each policy might have seemed affordable at the time of purchase, and each provider could have fulfilled its disclosure obligations. However, no one may have helped this pensioner understand the cumulative financial implications of these individual decisions.
One policy costs 120 rand per month, another 180, a third 150, and the fourth 200. Individually, these amounts seem manageable, but together they consume 650 rand monthly, or 7800 rand annually, even before the household buys bread, pays for electricity, medicine, or transport. These figures are illustrative, but the question they raise is fundamental: who considers the consumer's overall financial exposure when each provider only sees the product they sold?
The insurer knows its policy, the retailer knows the product distributed through its channel, the funeral home knows its agreements, and the bank processes debit orders. Meanwhile, the consumer, whose money supports the entire system, may be the only participant who lacks a complete picture of what they have purchased. This is a structural weakness that requires much more attention.
South Africa has made financial products increasingly accessible, but accessibility does not mean automatic financial well-being. A consumer may own multiple policies without knowing if benefits overlap, if the same family members are covered twice, what waiting periods apply, or if the cumulative premiums remain affordable.
More importantly, the consequences of these decisions can remain invisible because each debit order seems relatively small, each policy carries reassuring language of protection, and each monthly payment reinforces the belief that the family is becoming more secure. As long as the money lasts, the consequences of these decisions can remain hidden. Until retirement comes and debit orders begin, the person remains financially vulnerable. Until the person who has been financially preparing for death for years discovers that there is barely enough money left for necessities, they remain financially vulnerable. What financial protection leaves a person financially vulnerable while they are alive?
This is not an argument that funeral insurance causes poverty, nor do I suggest that the elderly woman in Mdantsane had funeral policies or that insurance contributions contributed to her circumstances. Her experience simply served as a prompt for broader reflection on financial vulnerability and the complex choices faced by low-resource households.
The concern is that our understanding of financial inclusion is too heavily focused on product ownership rather than on consumer outcomes. We rejoice when more people buy insurance, open bank accounts, and enter the formal financial system, but we rarely ask if these financial commitments improve their lives.
A person can be financially included and simultaneously experience financial stress. This paradox should worry regulators, insurers, retailers, and everyone involved in consumer protection, because the financial system cannot claim significant success merely because it expanded access while leaving some consumers unable to grasp the cumulative consequences of their financial commitments.
There is a way to change this situation. Imagine a South Africa where consumers could access a secure digital platform that, with their informed consent and proper guarantees, aggregates information on funeral policies from participating providers, showing premiums, covered family members, waiting periods, and potential areas of coverage duplication.
Imagine an elderly pensioner who can understand, perhaps for the first time, exactly how much of his monthly income is allocated to funeral insurance, which policies provide specific benefits, and which arrangements require further review. Imagine financial advisors assessing existing coverage before recommending additional products, insurers receiving fewer preventable complaints due to misunderstanding, and regulators gaining access to anonymized data to identify patterns of consumer vulnerability.
Such a platform would not automatically determine that several policies are unnecessary, as different policies may serve legitimate purposes, and canceling coverage without understanding the consequences could leave families unprotected. Instead, it would provide consumers with the information needed to make the best decisions. The author is currently developing a digital platform around this issue, convinced that the next frontier of financial inclusion is not just providing people with access to more products, but ensuring their understanding and control over what they already own.
Achieving this goal will require collaboration between insurers, regulators, retailers, and technology providers, supported by lawful data exchange, independent oversight, and robust consumer privacy protection. It will also require a shift in how success is measured. Instead of only asking about the number of policies sold, we should ask how many consumers understand their coverage, how many avoid unnecessary financial commitments, and how many families can attend a funeral without discovering that the protection they thought they had differs from what their policies actually provide.
There is a deeper lesson in governance here. Institutions can fulfill their individual obligations, while the collective consumer experience remains deeply problematic. A policy may be sold correctly, a debit order legally processed, and a disclosure document properly issued, yet the household may still bear financial burdens it does not fully comprehend.
Compliance of individual institutions does not necessarily ensure protection for the consumer navigating the system. Perhaps this is where our understanding of responsible financial services must evolve: from merely ensuring the legal sale of products to ensuring that consumers can understand their cumulative financial obligations and make informed decisions.
The author constantly returns to that elderly woman in Mdantsane. He does not know her story and refuses to use her circumstances to support an unsubstantiated argument. But he knows that his initial laughter now bothers him because it reminds him how easily we become spectators to someone else's possible humiliation, ignoring the broader vulnerabilities present in our communities.
Perhaps the real question is not why the elderly woman could take food from the store, but whether we have become attentive enough to the financial pressure that can undermine dignity long before a person reaches such a moment. We must never accept a society where financial protection becomes another source of financial anxiety. The country should not become so efficient at collecting premiums for tomorrow's funeral that it forgets the importance of today's bread. Because dignity should not begin at the moment of death. It should begin while the person is alive.