13/10/2026
THE WEALTH WE DON’T KNOW WE HAVE
Today I had a conversation with a woman who told me something that has stayed with me.
Her daughter grew up in Simon’s Town, swimming at Water’s Edge, walking through Admiral’s Kloof and exploring these mountains long before many of the houses we see today were built. She now lives on Gozo, a beautiful Mediterranean island off Malta, rich in history, architecture and culture. By most measures, somewhere quite idyllic to live.
But she misses home, and particularly the wildlife. She describes Gozo as a place with very little visible terrestrial wildlife beyond rodents and a few lizards. Even the birds, she says, are subjected to shooting, something she finds deeply upsetting. She misses the crashing waves too, the wildness of our coastline compared with the gentle waters of the Mediterranean.
When she visited her mother last year, she was delighted simply to sit at a window overlooking an overgrown green slope, watching the life unfolding outside. Just watching things. I found that extraordinarily poignant, because what she misses is something many of us barely notice anymore.
We live in one of the most remarkable natural landscapes in the world. Within minutes of our front doors, we can encounter baboons, porcupines, mongooses, genets, tortoises, snakes and an extraordinary variety of birds. Beyond our shores, whales, dolphins, seals and penguins are part of the living richness of this Peninsula.
Yet somehow, the very wildlife that makes this place so extraordinary has increasingly become something we want to remove.
The woman I spoke to worries that our Peninsula is becoming increasingly fragile, that the balance is shifting faster than we realise, and that we may only recognise what we are losing when it is already too late. I think there is something deeply unsettling in that observation.
The photograph of the ranger standing at the end of the road in Admiral’s Kloof, holding an invisible line against the magnificent geological backdrop of these ancient mountains, captures something important. A boundary between an increasingly populated urban landscape and the wild landscape beyond, helping to keep baboons safe while reducing the encounters that so often lead to them being labelled problem or nuisance animals.
There is a kind of wealth that has nothing to do with property values, development or beautiful buildings. It is the privilege of looking out of a window and seeing something wild, of hearing birdsong, a baboon bark, of knowing that beyond the last house the mountain is still alive with animals going about their lives.
This woman’s daughter had to leave the Peninsula to understand just how precious that was.
Perhaps the real question is not how much wildlife we are prepared to tolerate, but how much of the living world we are prepared to lose before we finally understand its value.