Bulungula

When you're traveling for six months in Africa, and simply updating your blog sets you back about eight dollars, you're constantly on the look-out for ways to save a few bucks. So when we heard that Bulungula Lodge offers free first night accommodation to those arriving by public transport, we jumped at the opportunity. The hostel staff in Coffee Bay (our departure point) were skeptical that it could be done, but with a simple set of directions sent to us by the staff at Bulungula, we hailed our first ride with confidence.

I should probably clarify what I mean by 'public transport' for those of you who might, like I did, mistake it for an organized, safe and comfortable way of getting from point A to point B. When it comes to public transport in South Africa, organization, safety and comfort are all quite literally foreign concepts. There are no timetables, formal stops, regulations about baggage or alcohol consumption, and certainly no capacity limits. You will never see a 'Bus Full' sign here. What you will see are customized vehicles emblazoned with things like 'Thanks God!' and 'Shut Up!' careening around pot holes at break-neck speed blaring everything from gangster rap to gospel. And unless you're claustrophobic or you really have to pee, it's really not a half bad way of getting around.

The first two minibus trips were surprisingly quick and painless. Disembarking at the taxi rank in Elliotdale, we were greeted by two lively Xhosa men who were extremely eager to take us to Nkanya (the closest town to Bulungula) non-stop, straight away, for the low price of R400 (about $60). Unfortunately for them, we're not as gullible as the colour of our skin would have them believe, and after telling them that R400 was much too much several times, they released my bag and let us find our own way. In the end, the two-hour trip cost us R25.

Nearing the end of the terribly-maintained rural road to Nkanya, the driver asked us where exactly we were trying to get to. When we told him Bulungula, he informed us that we should have gotten off a long time ago, that it was too far to walk, and that there was no transport that could take us there. He knew nothing of the river we were supposed to cross, or the ferry that allegedly operated there. Not wanting to abandon two clueless tourists on the side of the road, he called his friend, who thankfully knew a bit more about the area, and assured him that we had not in fact gone too far, and that we were still very much on track. From the end of the road, we need only hike a kilometre down the hill to the river, where we would be met by the eskepeni (ferry) operator, who would point us in the direction of the lodge.

When we got to the river, there was no sign of any type of conventional ferry, and the only people around were two very energetic kids monkeying about in a nearby tree. When Scott asked them if this is where the ferry came, they said 'yes'. When Scott asked them if he should just shout for the ferry, they said 'yes'. It quickly became apparent that the answer to every question was going to be 'yes'. Thankfully, after less than five minutes of wondering what to do, a boy seemingly sprung from the reeds on the opposite riverbed, waved at us and pushed a rowboat into the water. When he first reached us, he seemed like a very serious, diligent little ten-year-old, but once he'd ensured that we were safely in the boat and that the mud had been cleaned off my sandals, he became very chatty, albeit mostly in a language we did not understand. By the time we left him, about all we had ascertained was that he had babies in his family, watched boxing on TV, and was good at fishing. Also, I am a girl and Scott is a boy. It was nothing short of a revelatory journey.

From the shore, it was about a forty-five minute walk through undulating green hills dotted with multicoloured rondavels, maize fields and roaming donkeys and cattle. Before we even reached the lodge, we could tell that we were going to regret our decision to stay only three nights.

We were greeted by a very bubbly and animated host, who excitedly showed us around the property, making stops at the paraffin-powered rocket showers, the composting toilets and the rain-water collection system. It seemed as though every form of natural energy was being harnessed, and that the environmental impact of the lodge was very consciously being kept to a minimum. In fact, from the very beginning, we could tell that Bulungula was hands down the least intrusive (socially, culturally, environmentally) place we had stayed and almost seamlessly integrated with the place and its people. Literally, figuratively, and in the best way possible, it was miles away from anything we had experienced.

Recognize this guy? All the photos in our header were taken at Bulungula, and this could very well be the same donkey that appears up there.

Our humble abode for three nights

Bulungula just seems to be doing everything right. While our hostel at Coffee Bay also claims Fair Trade accreditation and extensive community involvement, Bulungula did things a bit differently, and in our view, a bit better. While Coffee Bay created jobs for locals to clean, cook and run the hostel, Bulungula encouraged locals to create their own, by setting up their own separate businesses, running village tours, taking guests on fishing trips, or operating a restaurant. Since these are private businesses, guests of the lodge pay them directly, eliminating the middle man, and empowering them in a way that I don't think is fully achieved by employing them as housekeeping staff. The other obvious difference was that the lodge was physically within the village. There were no gates or barriers separating the tourists from the locals – village children and dogs ran freely through the lodge, and guests were encouraged to wander the hills and talk to the locals (who as a community own 40% of the lodge). Notably, this was the only place so far where we were encouraged to pick up any of the local language.

Miles and miles of sand, why not practice your hand stand?

A morning dip in the Indian Ocean

On our second day, we signed up for a guided village walk, where we met some locals and developed a deeper appreciation for their way of life – much of which seems virtually unchanged for centuries. We visited the home of the sangoma (traditional healer), the headman (second-in-command to the chief) and the shebeen (the village pub, where men and women congregate to talk and drink Xhosa beer out of a communal recycled paint can). We were warmly received wherever we went, and were made to promise that we'd come back, and next time, with friends.

We were also taken to various projects either initiated or funded by the lodge. There was a lemongrass farm used for producing rooibos tea, a restaurant serving tea and pancakes, an agricultural diversification project, and most recently, an impressively-equipped and well-run pre-school. The school fees are entirely covered by proceeds of the lodge and donations, and the only requirement of enrollment is that at least one parent makes him/herself available once a month to come to the pre-school to work in the kitchen or help out as needed. It was pretty cool to step into a classroom that looked identical to one you would find in Canada, save the fact that all the posters for fruits and seasons and animals were in Xhosa (plus, you know, it was housed in a thatched-roof rondavel). 47 children aged 3-6 attend the school daily, with additional after-school programs running a few days a week for older children.

While Bulungula is probably far from most people's ideas of a utopia (clothes must be washed by hand, electricity is scarce when it's cloudy, the toilets kind of smell), you can't help but feel a sense of peace here. In the modern world, we are supposed to be increasingly connected, but when you visit Bulungula, you realize that in fact, in many ways, we are moving in reverse. When you talk to the people and see the way they live – close to the earth and each other – you'll find yourself wondering how and why we have deviated so dramatically from such a harmonious existence. Although there are no doubt problems here, you feel assured that they will not be glazed over for the benefit of tourists, and that the solutions will be both democratic and sustainable. More than anything, you will leave Bulungula with the memory of an ineffably beautiful place, and the inspiration to lead a more grounded life.