Oil Leaks, Panic Mechanics & A BMW: Surviving WeBuyCars.

The Big Question: Scam or Saviour?

We Buy Cars is everywhere. Billboards. TV ads. Pods are popping up like mushrooms in parking lots. Their marketing stalks you harder than your ex on Instagram, and honestly, it works. The scale is insane — thousands of cars a day moving through like it’s a Pick n Pay for petrolheads.

And let’s be fair: the model is genius: convenience, speed, and no-nonsense service. Selling my Polo to them earlier this year was smoother than buying flowers at Dunkeld — and that’s saying something. But with the success comes chaos. Scroll TikTok and you’ll find horror stories: “Car blew up 5km later!” / “They scammed me!” / “Worst experience of my life!”

Is it true? Is We Buy Cars a giant scam or the best place in SA to buy or sell a car? I can’t speak for every sob story. What I can share is my experience.

Saying Goodbye to My Polo

Let’s start here, because it matters.

Earlier this year, I sold my Polo to We Buy Cars. On paper? Perfect process. Quick. Easy. Efficient. Real money in the bank. But there I was, standing in a We Buy Cars pod, crying like an idiot.

Why? Because that Polo wasn’t just a car — it was a chapter of my life. The laughs, the tears, the karaoke moments at robots. Handing it over felt like handing over a piece of me. If I ever win the lotto, the first thing I’ll do is track that car down, buy it back, and restore it to perfection, no matter the cost.

So yes, I walked away with money in my pocket. But I also left with a hole in my chest. That emotional baggage clearly lingered, because months later, on a random Thursday, I turned to Stephan and said:

“Let’s go buy a BMW at We Buy Cars.”

The Dome: Candy Shop for Petrolheads

We ended up at the Dome branch. Picture heaven for car lovers: cars everywhere, neatly lined up, key tags hanging, people wandering around like it’s the car version of Makro. I was a kid in a candy store. Stephan was trying to talk to me, but every three seconds I spotted another shiny toy.

Eventually, we got serious. Budget agreed. Two contenders.

• My pick: A white BMW 320i (F30). Ticked every box.

• His pick: A 2011 Mercedes-Benz E350 Coupe. Two doors. For my Labrador? Make it make sense.

We test-drove both. The Merc oozed luxury. That indicator noise? Childhood flashbacks to sitting in my parents’ Merc. The V6? A song. If cars had personalities, this one wore a Rolex and linen shirt.

Then came the BMW. Less fancy. Definitely more voetstoets. Stephan’s review? “It feels slow.” Okay, sugar daddy — calm down. Not every car is a Jaguar F-Type.

We got an offer for our trade-in (exactly what I predicted). Stephan went straight to finance. I shut it down. No finance. No banks. Just Polo money. If we can’t pay cash, we don’t buy it. We left. I bought him a pair of Stan Smiths to soften the mood.

Pretoria, Oil Leaks & Silent Car Rides

That night, my tabs looked like a car dealership exploded in Safari. BMWs. Jaguars. UberMercs. Range Rovers. Every BMW listing: “oil leak.” Is that just a personality trait for BMWs? I was fascinated, still am. No leaks, only from my Stanley when I decide to walk around with it upside down.. eye roll

By Friday, we were in Pretoria. My target: a silver 2012 BMW 320i Sport with every extra imaginable. The one. Stephan, naturally, was sitting in a Mercedes ML350 CDI. Honestly, this man changes his mind faster than a toddler at Toys R Us, and coming from me - that says a lot.

We test drove the ML first. No thanks. The staff member literally clipped a mirror driving it out, and Stephan wrinkled his nose: “It smells like the G-Class.” 

Then came my BMW. The Dekra report was brutally honest:

• Oil leak.

• Stabilizer dust covers torn.

• Tyres below roadworthy.

• Some scary-sounding electronic fault.

In other words: a BMW (in my opinion at the time of this happening. How things have changed…)

Stephan and the WBC man both in agreement that this car was not the one while I pushed the START button to the actual car version of me in the morning, but the bond was formed and my mind was made up. From the key that hasn’t started peeling BMW badge to the leather that isn’t as wrinkled as our pug, the few niggles were a task not an avoidance.

Stephan wasn’t convinced. His soul was still in that E350 Coupe. Silence on the way home. Until: “Find another 320i in the same range and maybe we’ll talk.”

Spoiler: he went to bed, I signed the offer to purchase anyway.

Saturday: Fate Has a BMW Key

We went back. At first, the car wasn’t on the floor. Stephan smirked: “See? Not meant to be. You didn’t have a sign, and that car wasn’t the sign. ”

Cue dramatic twist: the salesman trotted over with the keys. He’d held it for me. Fate (aka Max scheming the good scheme).

Stephan: “We don’t even have the paperwork.”

Me: opens folder neatly labelled ‘Car Purchase’ — “Here.”

We sat down. Final inspection. The list of faults read like a death certificate. Stephan’s eyes screamed panic. Mine screamed mine, mine, mine.

We paid. He sulked. I skipped.

Living the BMW Life

Monday morning, I was out of bed faster than that new battery could crank. First stop: Fetch our BMW, I tried to check the oil with those ghetto pull out thingamabobs but was humbled with the way the BMW can test its level from the leather seats, followed by my visit BMW Bryanston because when I sent MB an email complaining about their service, lack there of, I CC’ed BMW Bryanston in the email being the sassquahsh I am. (Side note: BMW’s service is night and day compared to Mercedes. Across the road, they ignore you. At BMW? They Uber Black you home. They treat you like royalty for driving a 12-year-old 3 Series. Who knew?).

By lunchtime, I had quotes, service history, and a shiny new keyring. I was buzzing.

Stephan, meanwhile, casually dropped: “Oh, I took out a service plan and warranty with WBC.”

You did WHAT now? Humbled, months later, with a fully serviced BMW at BMW, new tyres (these were an ouch) and a reliable ‘old’ BMW that has me smitten over an F30 and BMW as a whole.

That BMW, ‘oil leak’ and all, is in the garage now. Next to its star-badged rival. And I’m obsessed. I swore I’d never love a BMW. But the way it drives? Addictive. The way it hugs corners, grips in the rain, the sport seats squeezing you tighter than is comfortable… it’s like the car has a personality. Quirky. Stubborn. But alive.

I was driving up Will…nnie Mandela Drive at a speed a bit faster than I could realise there was water gushing down to Bryanston and I held tight thinking that this is going to end bad and I went through this water, BMW in control but letting me think I am and the only problem is the fact that the auto wipers need you to push a button for them to be auto. The BMW just went gracefully through, no little spin or flashing orange Christmas light… just pure confidence. The way this car holds the road, makes you feel safe and lets you know that no matter what happens, it’s not going to let you down.

So… Scam or Best Place?

Here’s the truth: We Buy Cars is not a scam and BMW is a car I’ll love.

They’re blunt. They’re voetstoets. They don’t polish cars into showroom queens. They hand you the Dekra, point out the faults (sometimes four times), and say: “Your move.”

Some cars are disasters. Some are gems. But they don’t hide it. The issue is us. We walk in expecting Constantia Woolies service while shopping at Shoprite. Then when the car breaks, they’re the villains.

But if you do your homework, manage expectations, and don’t buy blind, WBC can actually be brilliant. They gave me heartbreak (goodbye Polo), chaos (hello panic mechanic husband), and, in the end, joy (a silver 320i that feels like it was meant for me).

So scam? No. Saviour? Not quite. But honest? Absolutely.

10/10 from me. The crazy boy with his Stanley — and his old Bimmer (apparently this is a word we use). Only one of them leaks…

Side note, I’ve been shopping for another F30 because one isn’t enough.