Rich land, poor villagers
Coffee Bay’s pristine seaside land is home to some of South Africa’s most popular holiday resorts and remains in the hands of the Bomvana and Pondo tribes. But this has not translated into a better life, as the locals claim they’re being exploited by the
uplift the community.
“From all that money he [the chief] is getting, there is nothing that comes to us. Nothing,” Nonyawo says, before relaying a story about the chief asking each villager for R50 because he was tired of walking and needed a car.
“We said no. Then a while later, he is driving a double-cab bakkie. Those backpackers bought him that bakkie,” Mvimbo interrupts, repeating a popular rumour in the village.
Despite numerous attempts, chief Pali could not be reached, but the backpackers denied any knowledge of the chief receiving a bakkie from any of the resorts in the area.
“They use us, the whites, and they pay the chief to rent the land. But we need the tourism here, my brother, because in winter, you can’t live out of your garden. It’s too dry,” Mvimbo says.
Dawn Kanatu (46) is, however, proving Mvimbo wrong through the garden that she harvests all year round on land overlooking the ocean.
Six years ago, Kanatu married her Bomvana husband David and started her garden on his land, where she’s planted sweet potatoes, pumpkin, beans, spinach, cabbage, onions and carrots.
“And I can sell some of the extras down there [at the backpacker resorts],” Kanatu says.
“I am paying school fees with that money. I wanted to my children to go to school in Mthatha but they said no, they like it here.”
Kanatu’s land has also been speculated on by “outsiders” since her husband David built their three rondavels.
“There was a guy from Durban. He wanted to buy my garden for a lot of money, but I said no,” she explains, watering her spinach plants with a bucket filled from the river that runs through her land.
But Mvimbo believes the real jewel of the village-on-the-beach is its hidden dagga crops. The herb is cultivated by a collective of Rastafarians such as Judah High, who has blended into the community and built a greenhouse for his plants with recycled two-litre plastic bottles.
“I don’t even have to say much about legalising because it will happen on its own, and here the conditions are perfect for it. It grows wild along the river,” High explains.
Back at Coffee Shack, the managers are hesitant to discuss the land debate and how it may affect their businesses. “It’s a sensitive matter,” one of the men, who doesn’t want to be identified, says.
“Ja, because they know they are milking us and milking our land. Now they don’t want to talk,” Mvimbo whispers.