Capital and Labour

My first salary felt amazing. After years of being a student, suddenly there was real money in my account. It was more than my mother earned as a teacher after decades of work. That was humbling. It made me realise how strange it is that we often define ourselves by our salaries, when in truth, a salary is just the price of labour.

And price is not the same as value.

Price is set by supply and demand. It does not reflect whether the work you do is good, meaningful, or changes the world. It is just a market signal.

I had studied actuarial science, a pragmatic choice. Early on, I went to see a financial planner. Partly I wanted to test the process, since I was working in risk product development and thought I could probably do it myself. But I also wanted to see how someone else would frame my situation.

The thing that hit me hardest was this: I was the asset.

My income depended entirely on my ability to keep working. If something happened to me, the income stopped. Even scarier than thinking about life cover was the thought of being alive but unable to earn, still here, still needing money, but with the engine broken. 

At that stage, I had no dependants. But the idea that other people could rely on my salary, when I had no buffer and no engine outside of myself, was unsettling. That was the moment I understood the difference between capital and labour. Labour ends when you stop working. Capital keeps going. Without capital, you are the engine, and that is a fragile place to be.

The Hard Scrums of Inequality

South Africa is rugby-mad, and I often think about wealth like a scrum. The forwards decide whether you win the match. The backline only determines by how much. In the same way, building wealth is not about flashy tries or quick wins. It is about grinding, unseen work that sets the platform.

First-generation wealth creation is brutally hard. Many South Africans live hand-to-mouth. For them, “delayed gratification” is not about giving up luxuries, it is about giving up survival comforts. In that context, talk of Buffers and Engines can sound tone-deaf.

But if we never acknowledge this and never try to break the cycle, we remain trapped. Poverty compounds just as surely as wealth does. That is why I think of wealth-building as the work of a half-hearted warrior. You do not need to storm every hill at once. You just need to create a little bit of space, enough to start building.

For me, the Buffer is that first space. It is the small emergency fund that shields you from life’s daily chaos. It does not make you rich, but it creates silence in the noise. The Engine is the goal. It is the asset that generates income separate from your own labour. Building an Engine from nothing is slow and often discouraging, but unless we aim for it, we will never get there.

Buffer vs Engine

A Buffer is your shock absorber.

Life does not move in a straight line. Some months you spend more than you earn, other months less. Without a Buffer, those bumps knock you off track. With one, you can keep rolling.

That is why people talk about an emergency fund of three to six months’ expenses. It is not glamorous money. It pays for replacing a tyre, fixing a broken window, covering a surprise tax bill, or helping a friend in need. A Buffer does not make you wealthy. It just means one bad month does not break you.

An Engine is different. Where a Buffer absorbs shocks, an Engine provides momentum.

Engines generate income separate from your labour. They are the assets that pay you while you sleep: a rental room, dividends from a fund, royalties from creative work. For many people, the “Bank of Mom and Dad” plays this role for a while, helping with fees, housing, or start-up costs. But a true Engine is independent. It keeps paying pocket money even after childhood is long past.

The ultimate Engine would be something systemic, like a Universal Basic Income or Community Wealth Fund that guarantees a baseline for everyone. That is when you know your basics are covered, no matter what goes wrong.

A Buffer gives you confidence that you can survive the bumps.

An Engine gives you confidence that you can build a future.

The Structural Fixes

Of course, the obvious counterargument is that not everyone can save.

And that is true. Especially in South Africa, where a small tax base carries enormous weight, and millions live hand-to-mouth. Talking about Buffers and Engines can feel tone-deaf against that backdrop.

That is why structural fixes matter.

We already have elements of support, like social grants. But grants are means-tested, which is expensive in itself. The irony is that deciding who qualifies costs money. That is the elegance of Universal Basic Income. It skips the gatekeeping. Everyone gets it. Those who do not need it simply pay it back through tax. It appeals to the left because it guarantees support, and it appeals to the right because it shrinks the state’s role in micromanaging people’s lives.

The real question is: can South Africa afford it? My answer is that we cannot afford not to think about it. Affording it means wasting less, fixing potholes, keeping the lights on, building competent administration. I like the way my friend Gareth Morgan puts it: good governance is about being good at crises. We need less politics as theatre, and more politics as administration.

South Africa already has a culture of “making a plan.” We improvise. We hustle. We survive. But we also need to create space for families to build steadily, and for communities to compound progress rather than constantly reset.

Yes, inequality here is in your face. Our Gini coefficient is the worst in the world, but it is also the same as the world’s overall Gini. The difference is that here you cannot pretend it away. It is on the streets, in your neighbourhoods, part of daily life. And maybe that is an advantage. It forces the conversation.

If we can combine the resilience of individuals with the competence of institutions, then Buffers and Engines do not just become a personal dream. They become the architecture for a society where wealth is not inherited by a lucky few, but built by many.

Call to Action: Get Your Money a Job

At the end of the day, the mantra is simple: get your money a job.

But before money can work for you, you often need to stop it working against you. That is why I think of First Aid as the starting point (First Aid). Get out of debt. Stop the bleeding. That may mean hard choices, painful trade-offs, and resetting priorities. It means writing down what matters most and breaking it into small, achievable steps.

From there, it is about micro ambition (Micro Ambition). Tiny goals that add up. It does not sound glamorous, but that is the magic of compounding: small efforts, repeated, snowball into something powerful. Money makes money. That is how the system works.

So the path looks something like this:

1. Stop the bleeding by dealing with debt.
2. Secure income, since your salary is the origin of wealth. Labour is the first Ox in the scrum. It takes sweat and red faces to push forward.
3. Build a Buffer as your shock absorber against life’s bumps.
4. Feed the Engine so assets can work even when you do not.
5. Compound micro ambitions into long-term freedom.

The hard truth is that first-generation wealth creation is invisible. Compounding works in three stages. First nothing seems to happen, then progress appears slowly, and finally it becomes undeniable. The heavy lifting is always at the start.

You can fight money, resent it, or ignore it. But that only leaves you at its mercy. The better option is to learn how it works and put it to work for you. Get your money a job

pic: SA Rugby Mag