The Struggle of Cape Town's Babboons

High on the slopes of Table Mountain or peering curiously into suburban gardens, the baboons of the Cape Peninsula have become both icons of wild nature and reluctant symbols of our uneasy relationship with it. For decades, these charismatic primates have roamed the crags, forests, and beaches of Cape Town’s urban edge. Today, they stand at a crossroads — squeezed between shrinking natural habitat and a sprawling city that struggles to live alongside them.

A unique population in a unique place

The Cape Peninsula’s Chacma baboons (Papio ursinus ursinus) are among the last of their kind to live so close to a major city. Once, they ranged freely across the mountains and valleys of the southwestern Cape. Today, about 630 baboons, divided into 16 troops, persist in a patchwork of protected fynbos, neighbourhoods, vineyards and busy roads.

In their natural role, baboons are ecosystem engineers: they disperse seeds, prune plants, and keep insect populations in check. But in the urban edge where the wild and the built world collide, they’ve become opportunists — and scapegoats for a problem much bigger than themselves.

Why baboons are drawn to our doorsteps

The story is as familiar as it is frustrating: as cities expand, natural spaces shrink. Food is scarcer in the mountains than in a suburb with unsecured bins and open fruit trees. A human garbage bag is a banquet compared to tough, dry fynbos shrubs.

For the baboons, raiding bins and kitchens is a rational choice for survival. For residents, it’s often frightening, inconvenient and, at times, dangerous. Over the years, paintball guns, electric fencing, and dedicated baboon monitors have tried to keep the peace — with mixed results.

The controversial plan to remove “problem” troops

Now, as highlighted in a recent Daily Maverick report, the debate has reached a boiling point. Authorities have proposed removing up to five so-called “splinter” troops — small groups that spend most of their time in urban areas, facing daily dangers like traffic collisions, poisoning, or violent retaliation.

Supporters of the plan argue that these baboons live marginal, unhealthy lives on the city’s fringes. They believe humane removal — whether through relocation to sanctuaries or, in extreme cases, euthanasia — is kinder than a lifetime of conflict.

But many conservationists, animal welfare groups and local residents see this as a betrayal of conservation itself. They ask: why kill the baboons for problems created by people? Why not fix unsecured waste, enforce baboon-proof bins, and protect remaining green corridors that allow wildlife to thrive?

A problem of people, not primates

At its heart, this is not a baboon problem — it’s a human one. Experts and community groups have been calling for years for practical solutions: secure bins, better fencing, wildlife corridors and robust education so residents understand how to share space with wildlife.

These solutions exist. Some neighbourhoods, like Kommetjie and Scarborough, have shown that it’s possible to live alongside baboons with minimal conflict. But without consistent funding, political will, or proper enforcement, these lessons rarely spread.

Meanwhile, the baboons pay the price: shot with paintballs, hit by cars, electrocuted on fences, or simply removed when they become too “urbanised” for our liking.

What future do we choose?

The fight over the Cape baboons is more than just a local wildlife management drama — it’s a mirror for how we treat the wild edges of our cities and the creatures who live there.

Will we choose coexistence, recognising that our urban sprawl must come with responsibility? Or will we continue to push wildlife out when it becomes inconvenient — forgetting that once it’s gone, it’s gone for good?

The baboons of the Cape Peninsula have survived centuries of change, adapting to a landscape transformed by farms, roads, and suburbs. Whether they survive the next chapter depends less on them, and more on us: our policies, our choices, and our willingness to share this remarkable corner of the world.

If we want baboons on the mountain tomorrow, we need to protect the wild they depend on today — and rethink how we live at its edge.