Heaven on the Wild Coast

Kombi, kombi, bakkie, eskepeni… then barefoot through the grass and cow dung across the hills. That’s how I made it to paradise on earth at Bulungula.

It was a long journey, sometimes daunting and often uncomfortable, but I finally felt like I touched the heart of South Africa. One of my favourite ways to travel in West Africa was public transport – bobbing to music, jolting down bad roads, chatting with strangers, crammed in like sweaty sardines – and it has been one of the things I've missed most in South Africa. I don’t need transport in Grahamstown, and my colleagues have discouraged me taking informal public transport. So when our workshop in Qunu ended early on Friday afternoon, I evaluated my options for getting to Bulungula Lodge. Either I could wait for 3 hours for the lodge’s shuttle at the petrol station in Mthatha, or I could start the journey on my own. I studied my printouts from the website. They provided detailed instructions for public transport, and also said: "Not only are minibuses and non-tourist buses much cheaper and quicker but they are also often the best way to meet interesting people and to learn about local culture. We recommend a crowded bakkie taxi filled with people, chickens, groceries and laughs over luxury transport any day. Coming by local transport is definitely the only way to appreciate the unique location of the lodge. In fact, anyone who arrives at the lodge by local transport from Mthatha gets the first night free." Surely they wouldn’t recommend it if it weren’t safe! I decided it was now or never for public transport.

A worried Rufus dropped me at the Coffee Bay turn off the N2 highway, where I caught a kombi taxi to Mqanduli, then changed cars for Elliotdale/Xhora. There I caught a bakkie taxi to Nkanya, making sure (in accordance with instructions) to ask the driver to drop me at the "eskepeni" (ferry). For my first time in South Africa, nobody spoke English and there were no white or coloured people in sight. People stared. I quickly latched onto anyone that I discovered spoke any English, hoping they would help me on my way.

It was crowded in the back of the bakkie jammed in with 9 Xhosa women and a whole lotta cargo. The canopy made awful ripping sounds and I could swear that it (and the cargo on top) was going to crash down on our heads at any moment. The women chatted loudly and drank sugary drinks and threw the packets out the window. Everyone stared but nobody spoke to me. I kind of wondered how the hell I would get there. After a while, I took out my map to try to decipher where we were. One of the girls said: "Where are you going? I don't know you speak English; I think you only speak Chi-na." I told her I needed to take the eskepeni to Bulungula, and she told me another women would also take the ferry.

After 2 hours, the bakkie started emptying and the driver offered me the front seat. I could see we were nearing the Xhora river. Suddenly, I saw a sign that said "Nkanya" and I noticed everyone disembarking; I was the only one left. I panicked and quickly got out of the car. The other woman taking the ferry was standing by the roadside. A crowd of local men and boys had gathered and were staring at me. I asked the driver, "Where are you taking me?!" He said "They get off here, I take you to the other side." I didn't believe him (how could I be the ONLY passenger left?!) and decided to follow this woman. I kept repeating to her "eskepeni, eskepeni."

Two Rasta men grabbed her packages and started walking. One of them spoke a little English and I tried to establish that we were headed for the eskepeni to Bulungula, but I still wasn’t sure. My biggest consolation was that we were headed downwards in the general direction I had seen the river. We walked for about 30 minutes through the mud and grass, then to my relief we reached the riverbank. A few women and children were there and I sat down to wait. A small canoe arrived, rowed by a young boy. The women motioned to me to take off my shoes and roll up my pants, and we waded out and boarded the ferry. I obsessively repeated to them "Bulungula, Bulungula." On the other side, I understood through various motions that I was to follow a certain small boy. Still barefoot, we walked through the rolling hills for about 30 minutes, then he pointed to a group of rondavels that looked like the picture on the Bulungula website. I gave him 15 rand and a juice box. I could see white people! I felt safe.

The irony is that I was safe all along. Arriving at the lodge, I met the owner Dave Martin and told him about my journey. He told me that the bakkie drivers take guests a little bit further as a favour to the lodge – that’s why I had to walk so long to the ferry. How sorry I felt that I had insulted that driver, but without knowing, there was nothing else I could have done in those circumstances.

I spent a heavenly weekend at Bulungula. Bulungula is an ethical backpackers lodge and community development organization in Nqileni village on the Wild Coast. It is 40% community owned, eco-friendly (with solar energy, compost toilets, and paraffin-powered "rocket" showers), and set in what may be the most beautiful place in South Africa. There are no fences and I slept in a rondavel with no lock on the door. The people from the village run tours and services for which they keep 100% of profits.


I spent the morning with a village woman (she painted my face, we made a mud and dung brick, collected water and firewood, picked greens and ground maize then used them to make lunch), had a nap on the beach (where I was completely alone), went horseriding with a young boy along the coast and through the village, then finished the day with a private massage in my rondavel. True to their word, Bulungula gave me my first night free for making it on public transport.

However, Nqileni is also one of the poorest, most remote villages in South Africa. There are no roads, running water, clinic, schools or electricity. This was really brought home on Sunday morning when I spoke with Dave and learned that he had driven two people to the hospital during the night. Bulungula has the only vehicle (a 4x4) in the area. A third woman, in labour, had come at dawn, but he was too exhausted and asked her to wait until 8am. She hadn’t waited – and had set off on the long journey that I had come on. Water, education, and health care are enshrined rights under South Africa's Bill of Rights. Maybe there's a legal case (and another trip here) to be made…