For an urban landscape, Cape Town plays host to a phenomenal abundance in both flora and fauna. Its diverse range of species predominantly populate the Cape Floristic Region: a biodiversity hotspot that includes the world renowned Table Mountain National Park. Robben Island and Kirstenbosch National Botanical Gardens also feature as UNESCO World Heritage Sites, rewarded for their ecological significance. Cape Town is thus considered the most biodiverse city in the world by Thomas Elqvist, Head of the ‘United Nation’s City and Biodiversity Outlook Project’.

However, this biodiversity is becoming increasingly endangered, with rapid urbanisation threatening the city’s basket of plenty. In fact, de Jong reports that “318 types of plants, 22 types of birds and 24 types of animals are in danger of extinction” (2017: n/a). So, how has Cape Town addressed biodiversity loss in a political climate conscious of an ecological crisis?

Well, in typical Western fashion, the city has responded through techno-managerialism. This top-down approach executes nature conservation through technological fixes and organisational interventions. Such policy measures impose a sense of control over the natural realm, reinforcing constructed binaries of a human/nature dichotomy. This manifests in the aforementioned green spaces, engendering hermetic partitions between humans and the rest of ecology. Notions of such segregation are problematic in the context of Cape Town, evoking a legacy of Apartheid and oppression. This blog will uncover this relationship between urban ecology and post-colonial geographies, calling upon the case of ‘Bottom Road Sanctuary’ to drive the future of a more accessible urban ecology (Ernston 2013). 

The story begins in 2005, when plots of barren land in the Northern shore of Zeekoevlei were auctioned off to residents of Grassy Park: a neighbourhood deemed ‘Coloured’ by the Group Areas Act of 1950 (Besteman 2008). What followed was a chance encounter between a local resident and nearby conservation manager, whose brief exchange inspired an ecological restoration project to transform what were effectively rubbish dumps, with overgrown, indigenous plants (Ersnton, 2013). They collectively envisioned a communal garden where fynbos would thrive: a native vegetation under threat from invasive species and urban sprawl. ‘Bottom Road Sanctuary’ quickly began to take shape, engaging locals in a scheme that revitalised a degraded ecological landscape. The social and environmental benefits were clear, but the grassroots initiative was also politically charged.

During the Apartheid, a white neighbourhood on the opposite side of Zeekoevlei had very different ideas of how to curate their ecological property. High security walls partitioned properties around the lake (Ernston 2013), creating a mosaic of privacy and seclusion. In stark contrast, Bottom Road Sanctuary connected plots of land to create a big open space inclusive to all (Ernston 2013). These contrasting ecological imaginaries are deeply rooted in race, entangled in a legacy of Apartheid. By avoiding the material divisions displayed by the White neighbourhood, Bottom Road Sanctuary can be seen as a political statement of intent, quashing years of racial segregation. Ultimately, the community opted to build bridges that brought people closer together, instead of walls that cement histories of subjugation.

Furthermore, ‘Bottom Road Sanctuary’ was able to transform access to nature for locals. During Apartheid, access to resources including nature had become inherently politicised, with nonwhites banished from large swathes of Cape Town’s ecological landscape. Although the abolishment dissolved much of this ecological exclusion, some communities such as Grassy Park are still unable to afford trips to experience the city’s nature arenas e.g. the Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens (Ernston 2013). This economic barrier highlights the vestiges of an exclusive urban ecology that must evolve in an era where humanity’s relationship with nature is increasingly fading. 

But as the case of ‘Bottom Road Sanctuary’ shows, it is not all doom and gloom. What was once a neglected set of unpromising terrain is now a vast scape of thriving fynbos that continues to expand (see figure 2). This challenges the preservationist ethic of Cape Town’s existing ecological governance, advocating a ‘hands on’, instead of ‘hands off’ approach to nature conservation. The opportunity to interact with the garden facilitates new ways of relating to, defining and being in nature, overcoming an antiquated nature/human dualism. Locals have also been able to overcome past political traumas through collective action, binding community ties through working with plants (Ernston 2013). Reclaiming and democratising urban ecologies has thus promoted a sense of empowerment that should inspire other communities to kickstart similar ecological initiatives.

List of References:

Besteman, C. (2008) Transforming Cape Town, Berkley: University of California Press.

De Jong, F. (2017) “Which is the world’s most biodiverse city?” (WWW) London: Guardian (https://www.theguardian.com/cities/2017/jul/03/which-worlds-most-biodiverse-city-extreme-cities; 2 February 2020).

Ernstson, H. (2013) “Re-translating nature in post-apartheid Cape Town: The material semiotics of people and plants at Bottom Road”, in Richard Heeks (Ed.), Actor-Network Theory for Development: Working Paper Series, Manchester: Institute for Development Policy and Management, SED, University of Manchester.

SawaSawa (2014) “Zeekoevlei #1: Cool Place!”, Seattle: Geocaching (https://www.geocaching.com/geocache/GC5EWW2_zeekoevlei-1-cool-place?guid=69ad286b-54c9-4363-b821-f64f705c819e; 2 February 2020).

Zandvlei Trust (2008) “Launch of the Bottom Road Sanctuary, Zeekoevlei” (WWW) Cape Town: Zandvlei Trust (https://zandvleitrust.org.za/archive/art-bottom%20road%20sanctuary%20zeekoevlei%20april%202008.html; 2 February 2020).