Couple Finds Home on Table Mountain After 11 Years

When traditional housing failed them, Anselm Sauls and Fozia Kammies found something unexpected on Table Mountain: a home that actually felt safe.

For 11 years, the couple has lived in a hollow beneath thick bushes near a small stream on the slopes above Cape Town. Their shelter sits tucked behind a fallen log, a spot Fozia says revealed itself to them almost by instinct.

"The mountain protects you," Anselm explains. "The city is dangerous. Here, if you come with an open heart, nature will teach you."

Both tried the traditional path first. Anselm bounced between shelters from 2010 onward, learning trades like plumbing and electrical work while searching for stability. He even spent three difficult months at the notorious Strandfontein homeless camp during Covid.

Fozia's journey began in District Six, born the very year apartheid demolished her neighborhood. She cycled through shelters from Kraaifontein to Ceres, learning the systems but never quite finding peace within the rules and politics.

When one shelter became too much, Fozia made a simple suggestion: "The mountain." Anselm calls it one of the best decisions she ever made.

Their daily rhythm follows nature's clock. They wake at four or five with the birds, check for snakes, then descend into the city by sunrise to "skarrel"—a bit of this and that, helping college students, carrying boxes, running errands for neighbors who've come to know and trust them.

People in the neighborhood greet them by name now. Some offer R20, others ask for help with small tasks. "People just start loving us," Fozia says with a smile. "They motivate us."

The mountain life isn't easy. Storms hit hard and winter nights bite cold. Once a tree fell directly over their heads while they slept. But they've learned to read every rustle and bird call, to stay aware without staying afraid.

Sunny's Take

What makes this story remarkable isn't just survival, but the deliberate choice behind it. Anselm and Fozia didn't end up on the mountain by accident or desperation alone. They chose connection to nature over the chaos of institutional living.

Their neighbors don't see them as invisible. They see Anselm and Fozia as helpers, familiar faces, people with names and stories. That recognition matters more than any roof.

The couple showers twice weekly at a Woodstock facility and shares what little they have with others on the streets. They've built routines, relationships, and a life governed not by shelter rules but by the rhythms of sunrise, stream water, and the warnings nature provides.

Sometimes Fozia hears singing from the old washerwomen, ghosts of enslaved people who once laundered clothes along the river. She tells the story without fear. "They look after us," she says simply.

After more than a decade, Anselm and Fozia have proven something powerful: home isn't always four walls, and safety doesn't always come from systems designed to provide it.