The bushman’s canvas

“We believe that you are not truly at rest until you are buried at home,” our field guide Jack Botomani tells us as he picks up a twig from a buffalo thorn tree. The Ziziphus mucronata branch is covered in thorns; some hooked and some straight. Jack explains that when a Zulu dies, a family member goes to the place where the death occurred and leaves a buffalo thorn tree branch there overnight.

The hooked nature of the thorns means the spirit of the deceased can hold on to the branch. When the family member returns the next day, they take the branch home, carrying their relative’s spirit to their final resting place. For the Venda people, these branches are a metaphor for relationships.

“We believe marriage is two unions: one of the soul and one of the flesh,” Jack says. “When one person dies, the union of the flesh is disturbed – but the union of the soul is not. The thorns that hook behind show the life that has stopped; the thorns pointing forward represent the future for the other person.” After a year of mourning, the deceased’s family give the spouse a buffalo thorn tree branch to drag across the grave. That person is now free to find a new husband or wife. “This completes the demarcation of the bond between souls,” Jack adds. “That person can start to look forward to the life ahead of them.”

Jack Botomani; buffalo thorn tree

Jack, whose ancestors were from the Chewa tribe originating in central Africa, reads the Limpopo landscape like a book, recounting its ancient stories. He notices items that are inconspicuous to my untrained eye: droppings that mean a porcupine passed by a few days ago; gnaw marks on a tree made by kudu; even the unnoticeable-until-pointed-out leopard claw print overlaid on a giraffe hoof print – in itself a wonderful metaphor for the hunt.

The life-giving nature of the buffalo thorn tree is literal as well as spiritual. “If you see this tree growing you know there is water underground so you can dig a well,” Jack says with a smile. “And the Venda use the berries as a substitute for coffee.”

Liquid refreshment is all around you in the Soutpansberg Mountains, if you know where to look. Lippia javanica is used to make “fever tea”, a remedy for flu. “It’s an insect repellent and immunity booster,” Jack says. The leaves smell fresh and lemony – it’s bushman’s Lemsip. Similarly, we see a khat plant, used to make “bushman’s tea”. “One cup is equivalent to five cans of Red Bull!” he says.

The small knobwood tree

Jack points out a small knobwood tree. “The bushmen, or Khoisan, used the bark for toothache,” he tells us. It’s startling to learn how much they knew about the local Limpopo flora and fauna centuries before modern science. We now know that one of the biologically active ingredients in the tree is sanguinarine – used in commercial toothpastes to this day.

We hear a thumpy scuffle and look around. A confusion of wildebeest – that’s the collective noun, not their mental state – scampers off. One pauses to eye us up, its black tail swishing as it looks directly at us, the amber in its irises glinting against the hedgerow behind. Satisfied we are not a threat, the wildebeest trundles off to join the rest of the group as we begin to scramble up a forested outcrop, ducking under branches, our breath heavy from the ascent.

At the top, laid out before us on the rock wall, is the bushman’s canvas, depicting millennia of storytelling. “The Khoisan knew to paint on the south-facing wall so the sun wouldn’t fade it,” Jack says, waving his cane at an image of people in a healing trance. “It was thought that the blood from the nose of the shaman could heal the sick.” The shaman was believed to talk to the animals too – an olden-day Dr Doolittle.

Jack Botomani points out cave paintings and bushman tools

“If people couldn’t get a kill on the hunt, a shaman could connect to the natural community to work out how to be successful next time,” Jack explains. We notice the paintings are high up on the rockface and Jack acknowledges this. “The bushmen would seek refuge in higher areas,” he says. “They would push boulders down the hillside to scare away lions.” Right on cue, proving the point that wildlife is everywhere in Limpopo, the shouty bark of a chacma baboon echoes around us. “One will be on lookout,” Jack explains.

Jack, whose ancestors were from the Chewa tribe originating in central Africa, reads the landscape like a book

“If needed, he will warn more, to get to a vantage point to check we’re not too close.” I can’t help but think of a troop of monkeys in SWAT gear, giving hand signals to locate the intruders. Fortunately, the primate reconnaissance squad deem us unthreatening and we move back down to the forest floor.

Jack points out a wild pear tree (although it has nothing to do with pears as we know them). The deciduous tree’s dark grey fissured bark has disappeared, revealing smooth innards – a disease perhaps? Or human damage? Not quite. Jack explains it’s from a leopard sharpening its claws, in preparation for the hunt. “It’s a jungle manicure!” he laughs. We walk onwards, spotting a herd of impala. One has its backside to us, revealing a big black M on a white background. “We call impala ‘McDonald’s’ – because they’re everywhere,” Jack says.

Impala and giraffe around Leshiba Wilderness

That afternoon, I sit on the balcony of Leshiba Wilderness resort with co-owner Peter Straughan. “We’ve documented 2,000 sites trying to decipher paintings – with millennia of art superimposed over art, only pieces of the puzzle are left and much information has been lost,” he tells me.

Fortunately, some of Leshiba’s history is perfectly preserved, thanks to the people who work there. Joyce Mulaudzi, joint lodge manager and chef with Lukas Makhado, was born here in 1973, the middle child of a family of nine. Her childhood tribal home here in Limpopo has been preserved and commemorated on the site of the resort as the ‘Venda Village’, a living exhibit featuring traditional wood carvings and clay sculptures dotted around the public spaces and accommodation.

Lukas Makhado; Joyce Mulaudzi; a century plant; Peter Straughan

Joyce leads us around the resort, recounting fascinating stories of her childhood. She shows us a century plant (Agave americana), with huge spiky blue-green leaves reminiscent of an aloe, and explains that it holds incredible value for the Venda people. “If something is not going well, we use the tree to speak to our ancestors. We might ask for rain; we never had drought back then.”

The Venda sprinkle snuff around the tree or bring bones to the isangoma (a healer or diviner) to ask for help. “Within days, change will come,” she says, smiling. “Some people think you have to visit a grave to speak to your ancestors; for us, it is the tree.”

The Leshiba Wilderness reception area with local artwork

The Leshiba team is striving to keep Venda culture alive, and Joyce is writing a book to document these efforts. She has been learning traditional Limpopo sewing and beading techniques and these are lovingly put to use here, as the doily for the milk jug or decorations on the salt and pepper shakers.

Preserving these ways of life is also the aim of the Ribola Art Route. The programme was set up by social movement Love Limpopo, which includes regular guests of Leshiba Wilderness, to celebrate the creative “art-beat” of Tsonga, Venda and Shangaan cultures.

Artwork around the Venda Village

“Ribola is the mountain that always stays green,” our guide Rhulani ‘Gift’ Mkhari tells us. “If you want to go there, you need a clean soul.” You are not allowed to take valuables on the pilgrimage, and you must not cut down any trees or plants to get to the summit. “You need to ask the chief for permission to climb the mountain, located somewhere between Bokisi and Mbhokota,” Gift explains, somewhat cryptically.

Our car rumbles past the town of Elim, then the smaller town of Makulani, then the even smaller town of Mukondeni. Love Limpopo weren’t kidding when they said they want to give a voice to artists “in rural spaces”. When we pull up at an inconspicuous whitewashed building, chickens clucking around us, we’re greeted by Florah Randel, one of the team at Mukondeni Pot Village.

We sit on the ground and her team gets to work, expertly crafting pots from nothing but natural clay. They make up to 50 a day using only their fingers and plastic tools cut from an old bucket.

Florah Randel from Mukondeni Pot Village in Limpopo

When it’s our turn, we are predictably rubbish – but Elisa helps us reshape our poorly formed pots into something prettier. Talking of transforming garbage into art, we next visit Pilato Bulala, who makes sculptures out of reclaimed metal at his workshop just down the road.

“To make a sculpture is like writing a book: it has to tell a story. I take inspiration from my country and my people,” he says. His artwork includes a 4ft-high metal Archbishop Desmond Tutu with covid mask, a family of spanners turned into giraffes, and Neil Armstrong landing on the moon, made from a gas compressor.

Sculptor Pilato Bulala and some of his creations

The next stop on the trail is at the home of sculptor Thomas Kubayi, who takes similar inspiration from stories of South Africa, such as the Durban riots in 2021, caused by the failure to keep former president Jacob Zuma in jail. “Everything is made from one piece of salvaged wood. It’s usually leadwood – so named because it is so heavy,” Thomas says.

“I take inspiration from my country and my people”

Musician and sculptor Thomas Kubayi and his work

We sit down to a private gig by the Vhutsila Indigenous Music band, featuring a marimba handmade by Thomas himself. As if this experience isn’t full enough, an open-top bus full of singing schoolchildren drives past.

Vhutsila Indigenous Music band and tour guide Rhulani “Gift” Mkhari

Back at Leshiba, I light a fire on the terrace. Paprika-coloured sparks kick up into the air and mix with the chirping of cicadas and the warbling of birds; there are 542 recorded species of the latter here i Limpopo, including the rare narina trogon. “We want you to be surrounded by wildlife but we encourage people to come here for cultural experiences, not a typical safari,” says co-owner Kathryn Straughan.

The view from the deck at Leshiba Wilderness in Limpopo

Without missing a beat, an impala bounds past. Its legs fly so high up into the air that the creature becomes an orange-brown horizontal line, 3ft off the ground. Its gurgling, growling bark follows a wannabe alpha across the plateau. Later that evening, we too are traversing the Limpopo plain; within minutes of starting our game drive we see four giraffes.

Earlier in the week, our driver Mike van der Schyff had explained that the word “giraffe” comes from the Arabic zarāfah, “the elegant one”. Even when they stoop down to drink from the watering hole, their head having to lower 16ft to the ground like a huge golden tripod, they have a grace befitting their name.

Giraffe and zebra around the Soutpansberg Mountains

“They don’t have any urgency up here,” Mike had said. “There are few predators – the zebra, giraffe and wildebeest move together.” Breaking the tranquillity, ranger Peter Malkwibila shouts “Pumba!” as a mother and baby warthog run past. “They’re looking for a place to stay,” he explains. “They use each other’s burrows, so it’s first come first served.”

We inch forward in the twilight, the jeep creaking, rattling, squeaking and bouncing across the plain. The “road” is more pothole than road but Jack’s knowledge of this park and his dexterity with a steering wheel is unfaltering. Most of the time he’s only using one hand to drive as the other waves a torch into the scrubland. Every so often, we glimpse a giraffe in the gloom: they’re so still they look wooden, their dandelion-coloured eyes twinkling like stars.

Warthogs and the safari jeep at Leshiba Wilderness

Our jeep creeps up to the top of a cliff, with a spectacular view north towards Nzhelele Nature Reserve. Jack pulls out a cool box with beers and biltong, and persuades the sunshine to peek out from the cloud layer that’s been languidly draped across a nearby mountain. I scan from the horizon to the ground at my feet: bluey-grey cliffs in the background, green treetops, yellow shrub in the foreground and dusty red clay underfoot. It seems that even the scenery of the Rainbow Nation got the memo.

“These mountains are the Three Sisters,” Jack tells us. “We’re looking towards Joyce’s hometown of Ha-Manavhela.” I recall what she had said that afternoon: “At first, I found it difficult when I came back to Leshiba in 2001. When I cleaned my father’s room I could hear his voice. I sprinkled snuff and said, ‘Please help me’ – I was scared.” Fortunately, with the efforts of the Leshiba team, Joyce has been able to feel a sense of belonging in Limpopo once more. “Nowadays I feel proud and honoured to work here,” she said. “I get to celebrate my family and heritage in my home.”

Breathtaking scenery around the Soutpansberg Mountains in Limpopo

I, too, feel honoured to be here. I take a sip of a Windhoek lager and a sense of peace washes over me. I certainly hope my family will have no need for a buffalo thorn tree any time soon, but I could happily rest here for eternity.