The best place to faint is in a fire station. Well, definitely Kempton Park Fire Station.
This I discovered on Tuesday afternoon when I had an interview with the chief of the station, Simphiwe Dube and spokesperson for Ekurhuleni Disaster and Emergency Management Services, William Ntladi.
I was very excited to be inside a fire station for the first time, especially when I was promised a ride in one of the big red fire trucks.
As my tour continued, the station suddenly became smaller and much warmer.
“This truck was designed especially for high-rise buildings,” Ntladi explained, but I could barely listen. I felt woozy and started seeing spots.
I don’t know if it was the heat or the excitement of being so close to a fire truck, but the room started spinning and so did I.
“I don’t feel well,” I told my two tour guides and sat on the side of the high rise fire truck.
One ran for water and the other assured me that everything was going to be OK.
I was so embarrassed.
Then, the red floor looked much more comfortable than my iron seat. I lay sprawled on the floor like a baby. If a firefighter was to peek under the truck from the other side, all they would see is bright yellow shoes and a very pale journalist.
“Hello darling, how are you feeling?” an angel called Thokozile Zulu asked. She is a paramedic.
With the help of her colleague David van Zyl, they gave me a drip, which they hung against the side of a fire truck.
I felt better within minutes. “We can continue the interview now, I have questions,” I said, pointing to my notebook.
“Your health is more important,” Ntladi and Dube said and promised we could reschedule.
I was so disappointed. This was not how I imagined the interview would go.
The next thing I knew an ambulance appeared. “No, no, that’s not necessary,” but the team insisted I was taken to the nearest hospital.
As we drove there, Ntladi and Dube followed in Luigi, my green car. How many people can say two well-respected men in the fire industry have driven their cars?
They followed me inside the hospital until they saw I was OK. “Don’t forget me,” I told them about rescheduling the interview. “We won’t be able to,” they laughed.
After multiple blood tests, a heart test and a second drip, I’m still not exactly sure what was wrong.
The doctor sent me home with antibiotics and an order to stay in bed for two days.
As I lie in bed typing this on my phone (because of load shedding) I know two things for certain: I will always be grateful for the kind-hearted members of the Kempton Park Fire Station, and if I was ever in serious danger, I would be happy to know they were on their way.
