Along the narrow corridor between Table Mountain and the Atlantic, Cape Town finds itself caught in a dilemma as old as human expansion itself: what becomes of the wild when the city has consumed the land the wild once called home? A baboon population that grew quietly for decades has now outpaced the city's patience, and the council's decision to relocate two troops to a sanctuary forces a reckoning not just with animal management, but with the costs of coexistence deferred too long. The debate unfolding in Cape Town is, at its heart, a question every expanding city must eventually answer — n
Cape Town's baboon crisis: relocation plan divides residents and activists
Baboons face poisoning, vehicle strikes, dog attacks, and shooting; residents experience property damage and lifestyle restrictions; potential psychological harm from relocation.
How many more millions will we throw at this only to end up here again?
Mark
So the city is just going to round up two entire troops and move them. That's the plan?
Mimi
That's what they've announced. Sterilize them, relocate them to a sanctuary. They're also building a fence to keep the remaining baboons contained.
Mark
And the activists say that won't work?
Mimi
They say it won't work and it's cruel. They want exclusion fencing instead—keep the baboons out of the city rather than removing them from their home.
Luke
But does the science support that? Can a fence actually contain them?
Mimi
O'Riain, the ecologist, says no. He thinks they'll just move to the next patch of low-lying land where the fence ends. There isn't enough food in the remaining space.
Mark
So either way, the baboons suffer?
Mimi
That's the bind. Leave them in the city and they're poisoned, hit by cars, shot. Move them and they lose everything they know.
Luke
How much is this costing the city?
Mimi
About 920,000 pounds for eighteen months. And O'Riain's point is: what happens in ten years? Do we spend another million and end up in the same place?
Mark
What do the residents actually want?
Mimi
That's the divide. Some are exhausted—property damage, can't have garden parties. Others think the animals deserve to stay.
Luke
Is there any data on whether relocation actually works for baboons?
Mimi
The source doesn't say. That's one of the gaps—we don't know if relocated baboons thrive or suffer long-term.
Mark
So the city is gambling?
Mimi
On something they haven't fully tested, yes.
El Pulso
- Cape Town's baboon population has grown by a third since 2000, and in just two years the situation tipped from manageable to a daily crisis of break-ins, property damage, and residents afraid to eat outdoors.
- The animals are already paying a brutal price for the conflict — poisoned, struck by cars, mauled by dogs, and shot — with one baboon found with a bullet through its chest just days before the city announced its plan.
- The city's proposed solution — capturing two troops, sterilizing them, and moving them permanently to a sanctuary — has fractured Cape Town, with animal rights activists staging months of protests and demanding exclusion fencing instead of removal.
- Scientists are divided: some warn that relocation will shatter baboon social structures and cause lasting psychological harm, while others argue a fence alone cannot contain animals driven by hunger toward the city's productive lowlands.
- The unresolved question hanging over the entire debate is whether the relocation will end the conflict or simply displace it — and whether tens of millions more rand will be spent a decade from now facing the same impossible choice.
Along the narrow corridor between Table Mountain and the Atlantic, Cape Town finds itself caught in a dilemma as old as human expansion itself: what becomes of the wild when the city has consumed the land the wild once called home? A baboon population that grew quietly for decades has now outpaced the city's patience, and the council's decision to relocate two troops to a sanctuary forces a reckoning not just with animal management, but with the costs of coexistence deferred too long. The debate unfolding in Cape Town is, at its heart, a question every expanding city must eventually answer — not whether humans and wildlife can share space, but who bears the burden when they cannot.
Cape Town's city council has announced plans to capture two baboon troops, sterilize them, and relocate them permanently to a newly built sanctuary — a decision that has divided the city between residents exhausted by years of damage and activists who believe the animals deserve to remain in their home territory.
The crisis built slowly. After public pressure ended culling in the late 1990s, the population held steady for a time. But a 2025 census revealed that baboon numbers had climbed from 360 to 493 since 2000, spread across 12 managed troops. The Cape Peninsula's geography makes the conflict almost inevitable: Table Mountain national park walls off one side, the city sprawls toward the Atlantic on the other, and the low-lying land between — where water runs and vegetation is thick — is now filled with homes and shops. The baboons raid pantries, tear roof sheeting, break into cars, and have learned to forage at night. Outdoor life has become fraught; property values have fallen.
Behavioral ecologist Justin O'Riain, who has studied these animals for years, describes the bind plainly: the baboons are trapped between a mountain they cannot leave and a city that will not yield. The city's plan — relocating the Waterfall and Seaforth troops while erecting a baboon-proof fence along the northern boundary — will cost roughly 20 million rand for eighteen months of management. Activists and some scientists argue that exclusion fencing alone would be less harmful, preserving the animals' social bonds and their ecological role as seed dispersers.
O'Riain is skeptical. A fence, he argues, will only push the baboons toward the next unfenced stretch of lowland, where there is not enough food to sustain them. He points to a harder truth: the animals are already suffering — poisoned, hit by vehicles, shot. "No one should ever shoot a baboon," he said, "but if people feel the authorities are not doing anything, they will take action — and that action is never nice."
The relocation plan is ultimately a choice between two kinds of harm. Leaving the baboons in place means continued suffering on both sides; moving them means loss of territory, social disruption, and no guarantee the conflict won't resurface elsewhere. O'Riain's question lingers over the whole debate: how many more millions will be spent on these troops only to arrive, a decade from now, at exactly the same impasse?
Cape Town's city council has announced plans to capture two baboon troops, sterilize them, and move them permanently to a newly built sanctuary—a decision that has split the city between those exhausted by years of property damage and those convinced the animals deserve to stay in their home territory.
The crisis didn't arrive overnight. In the late 1990s, public pressure persuaded the city to stop culling baboons. For years, the population remained stable. But something shifted in the 2000s. A census conducted in 2025 revealed the scope of the change: the baboon population had grown by a third since 2000, climbing from 360 animals to 493, now distributed across 12 managed troops. In just two years, the situation escalated from manageable to urgent.
The Cape Peninsula's geography traps the animals in a narrowing space. Table Mountain national park rises steeply on one side, a protected area the baboons cannot easily leave. On the other side, the city sprawls toward the Atlantic. Between these boundaries, the baboons do what their species has always done: they seek low-lying land where water is accessible and vegetation grows thick. But those same low-lying areas are now filled with homes, shops, and gardens. The baboons tear roof sheeting from houses, slip into unlocked cars, raid pantries. Some have learned to forage at night, breaking into homes in Simon's Town and convenience stores when residents sleep. Outdoor entertaining has become risky. Property values have fallen—who wants to buy a house covered daily in baboon feces and paw prints?
Justin O'Riain, a behavioral ecologist at the University of Cape Town who has studied these animals for years, describes the bind plainly: the baboons are trapped between a mountain they cannot leave and a city that will not yield. Joselyn Mormile, who leads the Cape Baboon Partnership, a nonprofit managing the animals alongside city authorities, frames it as a constant battle. The baboons' natural drive pulls them toward the productive lowlands. The city's development has claimed those spaces. There is no easy answer.
The city's proposed solution is to relocate the Waterfall and Seaforth troops to a sanctuary while sterilizing them to prevent further population growth. A baboon-proof fence will be erected along the northern boundary to contain the remaining animals. The program costs roughly 20 million rand—about £920,000—for eighteen months, with full-time rangers deployed to manage most troops. Animal rights activists and some scientists have staged months of peaceful protests, arguing the city should build exclusion fences instead of removing the animals from their environment entirely. They contend that relocation will cause long-term psychological distress and social disruption, and that baboons play an ecological role by dispersing seeds.
O'Riain counters that a fence alone will not solve the problem. The baboons will simply move along to the next area of low-lying land where the fence ends. There is not enough food behind the proposed southern boundary to sustain them. He points to a harder reality: the animals are already suffering. Baboons are being poisoned, hit by cars, chased by dogs, and shot. Just days before his comments, one was shot straight through the chest. "No one should ever shoot a baboon," O'Riain said, "but if people feel the authorities are not doing anything, they will take action—and that action is never nice."
The relocation plan represents a choice between two kinds of harm. Leave the baboons in the city and they face poisoning, traffic, and vigilante violence while residents endure property damage and fear. Move them to a sanctuary and they lose their home, their social structures, their freedom to roam—with no guarantee the underlying conflict will not simply resurface elsewhere. O'Riain asks a question that haunts the entire debate: "How many more millions of rand are we going to throw into these troops only to end up in exactly the same place in another 10 years' time?" The city has chosen its path. Whether it leads anywhere is still unknown.
Citas Notables
It's depreciated property values because it's hard to sell a house when it's covered in baboon faeces and paw prints, and you know they're coming every day.— Justin O'Riain, behavioral ecologist at University of Cape Town
The underlying issue is that baboons will seek low-lying land. That is their natural drive—it's better access to water and more productive vegetation. But throughout the peninsula, we've developed most of those places. It's a constant battle between the two.— Joselyn Mormile, Cape Baboon Partnership
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