Soon after I received an invitation to attend the official launch of the new Mapungubwe National Park on Heritage Day, I scouted around via e-mail for accommodation nearby. One by one, the replies came back: sorry, fully booked – over 600 people attended the launch. Just as I was beginning to despair, Kristian Falls of ŽSêbê ŽSêbê Wilderness Trails wrote to say they could put me up. Relief! It was close enough to the new park.
Kris suggested that I take the more scenic route past the Waterberg rather than the N1 to Musina (see map at www.sebesebe.co.za/gt.html), and recommended making a pitstop at Melkrivier to visit the Waterberg Centre and Rhino Museum near Lapalala. Later, I would discover that Kris had worked at Lapalala for several years after completing his conservation studies.
I left Johannesburg in the early hours to avoid the morning rush past the twin cities, turning off the tollroad at the Kranskop Plaza. Near Melkrivier, a sign directs one to the Rhino Museum down a dirt road lined with blossoming wild pear and black monkey-thorn trees. I arrived just as they were opening at 09:00.
Although I didn’t sample their wares, the restaurant and tea garden area looked cool and attractive, and the museum itself is housed in a restored historic farm school. Displays include a section about Eugene Marais, who wrote his famous studies on ants and baboons while living in the area, and, naturally, one on black and white rhino. Well worth the visit.
It’s hard to believe that places like Marken, Baltimore and Tolwe still exist, just a few houses around a trading store at a T-junction. From Tolwe to Alldays, for about 100km, the road is gravel but mentally it prepares one for the bush experience ahead.
Another 45 clicks and I was at the gate of ŽSêbê ŽSêbê, where I soon learned that all those funny accents indicate the name is pronounced Shebe Shebe, ‘peace” in Sepedi.
Ronel, Kris’s partner, and their angelic seven-month son Daniel, were there to greet me. After parking my car under an nyala-berry tree, we transferred my baggage to an open-sided game-viewing Landcruiser for the journey to the camp.
After a slow and bumpy ride through low mopane-dominated bush, the approach through the taller treescape closer to the dry seasonal river where the camp is pitched seemed strangely autumnal for spring. Larger mopanes stood in a deep carpet of gold and russet leaves.
On first arrival, Kris & Co like to introduce visitors to the camp on foot (the minions schlepp all your baggage to your tent), because what lies at the heart and soul of this experience is getting to know the bush itself. Subtly, the bush slows you down, blots out the city’s rush.
On reaching the camp, I was met by smiling Grace Seitati Maiwasha, bearing a bowl of facecloths soaking in water laced with ice-cubes, with which to wipe away the sweat and grime — and this delightfully refreshing welcome was repeated every time we came back from an outing. This was followed by a glass of icecold juice to slake my thirst (it can get blêrry hot there!).
I was also greeted by David Sebe, Kris’s back-up guide, who conducted me to my modern-day version of a colonial-era tent, where he explained the ingenious facilities of my bush apartment to me — a flushing toilet in a small box, a hot-water shower, all designed to have a minimum impact on the environment. The man responsible for keeping these low-tech amenities in order is ever-cheerful Andries Mahangwahaya.
Staying at ŽSêbê ŽSêbê is not remotely like the charming but impersonal service one receives at a safe luxury lodge, with electricity and instant hot water, staffed by professionals who blot out your face and name in the space between your departure and the arrival of the next lot. Instead, it is an intimate introduction to the REAL BUSH. I have to stress that. There are no fences around the camp.
I heard a solitary lion roar close by in the early hours of my first night (which had left spoor through the camp just the night before), a hyena laughing the following morning, fish eagles while I was enjoying my very first cup of morning coffee next to the campfire…
Before I had even left Jo’burg, Kris enquired about my preferences and interests, so he could organise expeditions just for me. He tailors outings to include whatever one’s heart desires. And, at the end of each day, relaxing around the campfire under the starry sky, we discussed everything under the moon and sun, and righted all the world’s wrongs. The bush has a tendency to bring out the inner philosopher.
My special treats included a visit to a San rock art site on Little Muck, in the western section of Mapungubwe Park, a sunset walk in the bush (complete with G&T sundowners and biltong), and the crowning glory of my visit, a climb up Mapungubwe Hill. Also, for this tree-hugger, it was glorious to be introduced to so many new ones, from the mighty baobab to the fairytale rock-figs, among many botanical delights.
But, despite the presence of a TV crew on my first night, who had to be hustled out of bed in the wee hours so they could get to the launch site in time for their early broadcast, I had plenty of decadent Cecil John Rhodes moments. What fun it is to rough it in a bush camp, and at the same time, to be so pampered. Ronel — a trained reflexologist and make-up artist — is also an accomplished cook, producing culinary delights in her well-organised bush kitchen.
Kris, Ronel and David are passionate about providing their guests with a true wilderness experience, with an extra-special personal touch. ‘One of my aims is for people to enjoy the thrill of living in the bush with me and my family, for them to become our friends,” Kris remarked on my last day, the beaming Daniel in his arms.
ŽSêbê ŽSêbê Wilderness Trails is a young and privately funded enterprise located on an old farm recently purchased by De Beers, now incorporated into their much larger Venetia estate, which carries every animal but buffalo. Setting up their bush camp has been largely funded by Kris’s Johannesburg-based businessman father.
Although Kris, Ronel and David were each raised in urban areas, they have a deep affinity for the bush. And, although they are still young, I have rarely come across individuals so committed to conserving their bit of wild Africa. That is why their collective aim is to provide their guests with as genuine a bush experience as they possibly can, and to make you feel so at home that, by the time you leave, you feel you’re also a member of this small family.
I’m already planning my return trip, to see how the rainy season will transform the bush — and to chew the fat around the campfire once more, among my new-found friends.