Day Zero is the first day of a national disaster
It is a refrain that runs through South African history. This is the jewel in the crown: Cape Town, the Mother City, the Gateway to Africa.
A diamond, set between embracing oceans and protective mountains, its beauty and its bounty have for centuries lured visitor, settler and investor. And, if its often smug inhabitants are to be believed, the city is also the natural repository of most of the nation’s culture, charm, wit and intelligence.
You might earn your fortune sweating in Gauteng’s money mills, but it is in refined Cape Town is where you spend it, runs their thinking. Well, maybe also elsewhere in the Cape, but certainly not in infra dig KwaZulu-Natal — Ugh! The biannual invasion of the hinterland’s déclassé whities and, all year round, so many darkies and charros about — nor in the economically flatlining Eastern Cape.
Sure, many of us yokels who subsist elsewhere might claim to be content where we are. We might say that we live by choice in KZN’s verdant valleys; or the leafy suburbs of the Highveld, lashed by daily summer thunderstorms; or on the eastern coastline, with its rugged beauty and warm ocean.
But, Capetonians know that in our hearts we’d all really much rather be living there. Much like Premier Helen Zille’s “educational refugees” swamping Western Cape schools, we're all secretly looking for asylum in the well-run, corruption-free Cape of Good Hope.