The Evolution of Melville's 27 Boxes

But the story of this quirky jumble of shops and restaurants – how it came to be, what the centre means to the community around it, and what was here before – is more notable still. In many ways, 27 Boxes’ story mirrors the story of Melville itself.

Faan Smit Park

27 Boxes stands on a square-block-sized piece of land just off Melville’s busy 7th Street, bordered by 4th Avenue, 3rd Avenue, and 6th Street.

This block was once home to Faan Smit Park – a Joburg City park which, as I understand it, was once very nice. The park had tennis courts and a playground.

I moved to Melville in 2010 and by then, Faan Smit Park was a barren wasteland. I’m not sure how long it had been that way. For many months I hardly noticed it, fenced off and locked up tight to keep out the vagrants.

While writing this story I dug up a photo of Faan Smit Park from October 2012 – the only time I ever went inside. There was a Melville poetry festival on, and a local poet had created an art installation on the Faan Smit tennis courts.

In the photo, my friend Ruth stands alone in the middle of court, scrutinizing the Afrikaans poem written in larger-than-life lettering made of birdseed. The tennis court is cracked and potholed, the fences and light poles around it listing dangerously.

Faan Smit had long ceased to be an actual park by then. In the late 1990s the park was rezoned and transferred from Joburg City Parks to the Johannesburg Property Company, only to sit rotting for over a decade. I heard some people wanted to establish a community garden there, but that never happened.

Melville is notorious for its neighbourhood politics, and Faan Smit Park was often at the centre of the political storm. I was always vaguely aware of the plight of Faan Smit – leased from the city by a property developer, Citiq Property Services, but languishing amidst constant disagreement about the former park’s future.

In 2014, there was some solid news: Plans for the old Faan Smit had finally been approved. There would be a retail centre made of recycled shipping containers and it would be called 27 Boxes.

The Old 27 Boxes

I visited 27 Boxes for the first time in June 2015, when it had just opened and construction was still underway.

I loved the innovative feel of the centre, with its sharp right angles and corrugated iron walls. The top half of the property had been maintained as a mini-park, with a small playground, and there was an indigenous nursery beside it. (I later learned that the lease between the city and Citiq explicitly states a third of the property must remain a public park.)

I met a few enthusiastic shop owners. But most of the retail spaces – designed to accommodate small businesses that can’t afford high overhead – were still empty, and would remain so. My footsteps echoed inside the cavernous metal structure. The huge ampitheatre outside – with a strange bridge across the middle that led to nothing – felt barren and lonely.

Things will get better, I thought. But for two years they didn’t. Tiny businesses moved in, then out again a month or two later. The 27 Boxes underground parking area, which had promised to alleviate the glut of cars parked along 4th Avenue, was nearly always empty. The indigenous nursery closed.

27 Boxes became the subject of angry, woeful threads in the I Love Melville Facebook group. The project was an eyesore and a failure, residents insisted – what was the developer going to do about it? Rumours swirled of plans to turn 27 Boxes into low-cost student housing, which Melville homeowners universally despise.

Last July I received an email from the Melville Residents’ Association. “27 Boxes Reinvents as a Family Destination”, the message read. Citiq had a new CEO who was committed to overhauling the “former retail white elephant”. Leon Pretorius – owner of the Countess, 27 Boxes’ flagship restaurant – would be involved in the overhaul. Brian Green and Mark Batchelor, who developed the successful 44 Stanley retail centre in Milpark, came on board as well to help with the transformation.

Plans were afoot for a complete revamp of the upper park section, a new nursery, new and better-organized shop tenants, and a number of kid-friendly businesses and play areas.

I didn’t get my hopes up. For months I continued to visit 27 Boxes only sporadically – running in for a loaf of bread from the Baker Brothers – the tiny bakery that I always worried would close, as so many other small 27 Boxes businesses had – or souvenirs for my American relatives from Krag Drag, my favorite Jozi gift shop.

The changes weren’t noticeable right away, at least not to me. But suddenly, last month, I realized 27 Boxes had become a different place.

The New 27 Boxes

The changes to 27 Boxes are most noticeable on the outside. The formerly barren ampitheatre has transformed into a children’s wonderland, with wide tunnels to crawl through, flowers, and a water feature that carries colorful plastic balls from the top of a tall staircase to the bottom. Toddlers wander about, so excited they can’t stop yelling with joy.

The top of the ampitheatre melds seamlessly into the new and creatively named the No Name Nursery, bursting with colorful plants.

At the far end of the park is Kidchen Concepts, a children’s cooking school with an adjoining tearoom. Kidchen Concepts never seems to be open when I walk past but I have high hopes for it anyway.

The front side of 27 Boxes, which faces 4th Avenue, has been injected with new culinary life. Reserved Café, a small Portuguese restaurant that opened in late 2016 and spills out onto the sidewalk overlooking 4th Avenue, is already expanding to incorporate a bar and a dinner menu. The chicken wing shop next door is also expanding into the empty space beside it.

The Baker Brothers continue to make the best ciabatta in town and have recently expanded the entrance to their shop. “I am so happy to see you today,” says Baker Brother Sam, as he tosses my freshly baked loaf into a brown paper bag. The owners of the Countess just opened a second restaurant, called the Table, catering to vegetarians.

Many of the “boxes” inside 27 Boxes are still empty. But the shops that are occupied appear to have more staying power. Book Circle Capital, the bookshop downstairs, recently relocated from Maboneng and has a well-curated selection of African literature. Micogram Music Traders, with its overwhelming selection of second-hand vinyl and CDs, has moved into a stunning two-story space upstairs with a great view over Melville.

There are a couple of innovative art galleries, including Studio Facture, where I fall into conversation with my artist friend Fleur de Bondt. Fleur has all kinds of interesting ideas, including a therapeutic art program for kids and coaching for artists with creative blocks.

Mwanawasa Mawelela, who I met a few months ago selling five-minute sketches on 7th Street, has also opened a gallery in a prominent spot on 27 Boxes’ ground floor. The gallery is fast filling up with Mwanawasa’s colorful cityscapes and signature metal sculptures.

It’s Friday afternoon and the light is perfect. My friend Fiver and I climb to the top of the amphitheatre and wander through the garden to a swing set, which stands right in the middle of the No Name Nursery’s sprawl of indigenous plants.

These aren’t the cheap plastic kiddy swings you’d find at an average 21st-century playground, which no full-sized adult could ever sit on. These are proper, wide rubber swings hanging from thick metal chains.

I don’t know if these are the same swings that stood here a few decades ago, when 27 Boxes was still Faan Smit Park. But they could have been.

Fiver plops down and promptly begins to swing. I’m wary, thinking back to the last time I rode a swing…20 years ago? 25? Eventually I plop down too.

This place is still coming along. But I think the new 27 Boxes is going to be fine.