The point is that I can go from one side of the city to another and what do I find? Little boxes. Less elaborate little boxes, but little boxes nonetheless. Whether like the one pigeon, I look to the mountain or, like the other, to the Cape Flats, all I see are millions of little boxes—staring back at me. In the end, that's what it's all about (the pun's intended).

Some Capetonians have better little boxes; most suffer worse.
...
The Cape Flats used to be covered by sea. The land will return to the sea. Before it does, though, I get quite a kick out of that which I call the Cape Flats's Revenge. A sea of people, it's filling fast and is starting to erode the green-leafed quietude of the suburbs hugging the mountain. It's about bloody time something or someone came back to haunt us.

Next week, we'll look at security fences.