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That’s what colonialism was all about — but in a slightly nastier way. I’m thinking specifically of Britain. They ‘acquired’ a lot of ‘undeveloped’ land, and then set about remodeling it for their purposes.
And the first thing they did was send the dregs of their society to populate places like Australia and America — pretty much as disposable human barriers against the indigenous populations but also as labour. It must have been an expensive endeavour. So, by the time they realised they’d need a whole lot more cannon fodder to create
a barrier between the Cape Colony and the somewhat disgruntled Xhosa in the Eastern Cape, they had come up with a better business model. Rather than send the dregs out at the crown’s expense, they figured out a way to make people pay their own way. It’s called marketing. And that’s how vast numbers of British artisans and tradespeople paid to come to ‘the Cape’ to be granted vast tracts of ‘uninhabited fertile land flowing with milk and honey’.
Hmm. Not quite. It was not uninhabited, and it wasn’t particularly fertile, and — yes, there was some honey, but the bees weren’t friendly, and there wasn’t much in the way of milk. In fact, after generations of farming this recalcitrant land, many of the descendants of those people we refer to as the 1820 settlers realised that it was not the best farming land. It was marginal, if anything, and not easily tamed. So, while these farms have been reasonably successful, they’ve never been particularly productive. And, towards the end of the 20th century, the perennial Bushmans River started drying up — an upshot of the climate change chickens coming home to roost — so things started looking a bit dodgy. It was also about then, in the late 1990s, that Rose Fowlds started a B&B on one of the farms and realised that it was a more reliable source of income than farming. Unlike agriculture, the tourism income stream is not dependent on rain.
So, she called in the cousins — yes, this whole area was still farmed by the descendants of the original owners, almost all of whom are related, and they take their custodianship of the land seriously. They consulted with conservationists, lawyers, and property professionals and eventually decided that, while success was not guaranteed, turning the farms into a reserve looked like a better option than continuing to try to wrest an agricultural living out of the tough Albany thicket that the migratory trekboers had disparagingly called ‘suurveld’ in contrast with the ‘soetveld’ on which cattle thrived. They were fortunate because, having inherited well-run (if not wildly profitable) farms, they had the luxury of developing slowly. And they took courage from the early success of Shamwari virtually on their doorstep. A good few years ahead of Amakhala, Shamwari had weathered immense criticism and skepticism about trying to keep the big game in the Eastern Cape. But they succeeded, and their success paved the way for others, including Amakhala.
The cousins came up with a system for consolidating the farms and setting a value for the land. Each landowner was allowed one bed for every 50 hectares and one game-viewing vehicle for every eight beds. It wasn’t that simple, of course. They all took collective responsibility for the perimeter fencing, game management, and overall marketing. But each landowner had freedom to decide where to position themselves in the market, so the reserve covers the range. At present, there are two five-star lodges, four four-star lodges, and three three- star lodges, with another four-star lodge and one five- star exclusive-use villa in the pipeline.
I stopped over there recently on a mini road trip, my first since Covid — so exciting! About half an hour into the first game drive, I realised how much I had missed being in the bush. It’s not just about seeing animals; there’s something intangible — a feeling, the smell, the sense that there could be anything just around the next corner. And the quiet. Amakhala is a Big Five reserve, and we did see elephants and buffalo, but I was equally excited to see zebras and hartebeest, and we spent ages checking out the birds. Even more exciting, though, was seeing how quickly the Albany thicket shrugged off the centuries of cattle farming and — with some human intervention — is successfully rewilding the land.
I stayed at one of the three-star offerings, Woodbury Tented Camp, and it felt as if I were being spoiled rotten. You know that classic game lodge routine — wake-up call with coffee and muffins, awesome game drive, huge leisurely brunch, and then time to chill until tea, another game drive, and a sociable supper around one big, long table. I could never get bored with it. But I think what makes Amakhala special is the opportunity to chat to the owners — granted, they aren’t always there but they do practise a hands-on management, so there is a good chance of meeting them. I really enjoyed talking to someone who could tell me stories about what their great-great-however-many-times- grandparents had got up to about 200 years ago, and how what they did shaped the land.
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Amakhala is in the Eastern Cape about halfway between Gqeberha and Makhanda, and it’s a great spot for a midweek break.
It is malaria-free. www.amakhala.co.za Images supplied, Veer Bills and Brad Louwrens.
Jen Stern was a guest of Woodbury Tented Camp.
