Don't waste your money.

Listen, bru, I’ve been faithfully chucking my hard-earned rands at Naked Insurance, underwritten by those sly okes at Hollard, for YEARS, month after month, like a good South African paying for the promise of a safety net. You’d think, after all that loyalty, when my 5-meter boundary wall takes a tumble in a proper Tshwane downpour, they’d have my back. Ha! Dream on, my china!

This wall, mind you, didn’t just fall over because it was feeling lekka and wanted a *****own. No, it was pelted by the kind of rain that makes Noah’s flood look like a light drizzle. But when I put in a claim something as simple as a wall, not a Ferrari or a Jozi penthouse, Naked and Hollard turned into the Houdinis of insurance, pulling every excuse out of their magic hat to avoid paying up.

“Deterioration,” they say. Deterioration?! My wall was standing tall like a Springbok prop before that storm hit! They’re out here citing “wear and tear” like my bricks were out partying at Sun City every weekend. Next, they’ll say the wall collapsed because I didn’t sing it Nkosi Sikelel’ iAfrika every morning to keep its spirits up!

What’s the point of insurance, bru? You pay and pay, dreaming of that day they’ll swoop in like a superhero to fix your troubles. Instead, you get a rejection letter faster than you can say “Eish!” It’s like handing over your braai meat to a mate, only for them to scoff it all and leave you with a burnt chop. Terrible. Horrible. Straight-up ******** vibes from this lot!

Naked Insurance? More like Naked *******! Hollard’s got their hands so deep in your pockets, they’re probably checking for lint. Save your rands, my friends, buy a bakkie load of cement and fix your own wall, because these okes will leave you high and dry, blaming everything from “deterioration” to the neighbour’s braai smoke. One star, these guys left me feeling naked!