When the flames come home

Flames rushing down Devil’s Peak, photo credit Kai Leslie

When you live on the mountainside in Cape Town, every little puff of smoke draws stomach tightening attention. Things can escalate fast – especially during the summer months when vegetation is dry.  If the South-Easter starts blowing (as it so often does in summer), it becomes a race against time.

 I live on the second to last row of houses on the slopes of Devil’s Peak, abutting the nature reserve. On our street, those of us who have lived there since the mid-nineties are regarded as fire veterans, since most summers there are a couple of burns on the mountain, and about every five years we have a big one. For this reason, we have a very efficient WhatsApp street group where we monitor fires and make sure everyone is prepared when things start looking ominous.

I was away over the weekend to celebrate my birthday. At 9h49 on Sunday - as we sat down for a birthday breakfast - my phone pinged a message from the group. It was a photo of a relatively small fire on Hospital Bend. “Looks under control and no wind” one neighbour texted. Another confirmed: “Yup also saw it. Spreading fast but fire team seems to have it under control.”

About an hour later, some more photographs followed of a number of firefighters and fire engines on the scene. All looked under control. It looked like the usual type of summer fire and I sighed a sigh of relief.

 Midday there was another text – this time from SANParks. It was an urgent message asking all hikers to immediately evacuate the Newlands and Rhodes Memorial area and to move all their cars.

“The fire is out of control…” the message read. This was clearly not usual anymore.

My fears were confirmed seconds later when photographs of huge plumes of smoke and a burnt-out restaurant at Rhodes Memorial were posted on the group.

Ninety minutes later photos and videos started to show the extent of the drama playing out. Flames edging towards UCT, huge trees catching fire and large sections of the mountain covered in flames.

A student friend sent me the news that UCT buildings were on fire and that all the residences were being evacuated.

Neighbours reported that the wind was picking up. 

Even though it was still far away from my area, I knew it was time to head home. My heart missed a beat when I saw the fire in the distance as I headed out of Stellenbosch, more than 50 km away. I knew this was huge, but it was only as I got closer to the city that I realized just how bad it was.

It was hard to believe that almost the whole one side of the mountain – from top to bottom - was alight.

My neighbourhood WhatsApp group had by now clicked into full gear. The wind was not bad on our side of the mountain yet, but little plumes of smoke started to appear on the top of the mountain. Weather predictions warned of a strong South-Easter at 3 am, so we knew it was going to be a long night.

 Later that evening we got together in the street and watched the flames starting to appear on our side of the mountain. My neighbours sang a quick happy birthday to me before we headed indoors to get packed.

 It is always a sobering exercise to decide what to take. Since I have had to do this a couple of times, I was prepared: A filing box with all the important documents, my passport and handbag, laptop and chargers, and a box with CDs of photographs. Later I added a few bits of clothes.  Finally, the gas bottles went into the car. That’s it. Only space for my two retrievers left.

 Around midnight, I put out one set of clothes and left some fire extinguishers next to my bed – just in case. Then I went to bed. At 3 am I was awoken by the wind. I got up and looked through a roof window.  The fire was burning low down on Devil’s Peak but looked like it was moving more towards the right and might miss us.

 I waved at one of my neighbours who was also up and watching. I noticed that a few other lights were on in the street. I decided to go back to bed and watch Netflix. Thirty minutes later my doorbell rang. It was one of the fire veteran neighbours. “What do you think?” he shouted through the howling wind. I looked at the mountain.

The wind had suddenly turned and now the smoke and flames were rushing our way.

 The adrenaline started to pump.

 It was time to wake up the other neighbours. “Please can people check in on the group so we can see who is awake?”

 “We have coffee – pull in” said one neighbor. Coffee sounded good, but I didn’t want to leave my house – it might be the last few minutes I could spend in it.

 At 4 am the order to evacuate came for residents a few blocks away.

 Some of the newer neighbours started to move stuff out – the veterans sat tight as the smoke became thicker and our eyes started to burn.

 Just after 5 am the fire broke over the little hill behind us. Now it was close.

 We waited and watched while praying that the sun would rise and the wind would die down enough for the helicopters to water bomb the area. 

 I have learned that with every big fire things can change suddenly. There is a moment where it becomes clear that it is time to go. By 7h30 I texted the group: “It’s super close now. I’m not so brave anymore”. “I’m giving it 5 min…it’s close” someone responded.

 “Closer now” warned another.

 At 7h40 I decided to load up the dogs in the already packed car. As I went outside, I suddenly felt the heat of the flames on my face. I looked up and realized that the fire was almost right up to the houses behind me. Then an alarm started to sound in the area.

 “Get out now! It is right here” I texted as I jumped into the car.

 Neighbours started to drive out in convoy with lights on in the thick smoke. It felt truly apocalyptic. As agreed we texted to let each other know who was out.

 As I drove towards my sister’s house, I said goodbye to my house. I could see in the distance the smoke and flames and had little hope of a good outcome.

 Thankfully about an hour later, a report came through that the amazingly brave firefighters had been able to douse the fire a few meters from our houses. It was close – super close.

 With that, we had survived another fire. As I’m writing this, I am filled with tearful gratitude for the firefighters who- again- put their bodies between us and the raging fire. These brave women and men do not stop, no matter how tired they get.

 To you and the helicopter pilots: Words cannot express how thankful we are for what you do. You are heroes in every respect of the word.

 Thank you also for my lovely street of people – and everyone who checked that we were ok. You rock!

 As I fell into bed a few hours later - exhausted from the lack of sleep and stress - I kept thinking of the fires people in the townships frequently have to face. We could load our cars and leave. Most of us have insurance and would be able to replace possessions. We could move to family and friends and yet, it remained frightening and shocking.

 What utter devastation and anguish it must be if none of these safeguards are available.