HERITAGE & IDENTITY OP-ED: Voices of Knoflokskraal — belonging and everyday survival on contested land

In November 2020, about a dozen people moved onto a state-owned forestry area near Grabouw in the Western Cape, asserting that they were “reclaiming” the land of their dispossessed Khoi-San ancestors. Knoflokskraal has since mushroomed into a sprawling 1,800-hectare settlement with more than 15,000 inhabitants. 

Dean Macpherson, the minister of public works and infrastructure, recently came out forcefully against further occupation and construction on the site, alongside allegations of fraudulent land sales, the building of opportunistic “holiday homes”, environmental destruction, and illegal commercial activity. 

Eviction is ruled out, but Macpherson vows to restore “law and order” in what he regards as a runaway land invasion by thugs. He submitted a case to the Western Cape High Court, which has authorised a process to notify affected residents ahead of a substantive hearing expected in February 2027.

These concerns are serious. Allegations of crime require investigation, and questions of land ownership and the rule of law deserve careful attention. Yet the minister has also emphasised the need to establish who exactly the people are that live at Knoflokskraal, their socioeconomic circumstances, and any cultural or heritage claims they may advance.

We decided to take up the invitation and engage directly with the residents. We did not set out to produce a defence of the settlement, or to litigate the merits of the legal case. We wanted to understand what drew people here, how they built their lives after settling, and what this place truly means to them beyond abstract debates.

Her valley, her heritage

Paula’s favourite spot overlooks the Elgin Valley, where her family is from. Sometimes she goes there with a book, simply to read and be among the fynbos. The panorama does something to her that she finds difficult to express in words. Her komvandaan, she tells us, somehow loses its potency when translated to “ancestry” or “heritage”.

Her quiet moments on the koppie stand in contrast to the demands of community life. Among other responsibilities, Paula is involved in after-school programmes for children and providing a safe space for victims of sexual assault and domestic violence. Her experience of Knoflokskraal includes both the practical work of caring for others and a deeply personal attachment to the landscape.

A view over a valley does not answer a legal question. Nor does Paula’s account tell us what life is like for everyone else in the settlement. But it is part of the reality of Knoflokskraal: a woman making time to read, finding beauty and a sense of belonging in her surroundings, while trying to improve the lives of youths and protecting marginalised community members.

The wonder of buchu

Julius suffered a stroke a few years ago. Doctors told him that he would never walk again. He attributes his miraculous recovery to fynbos, and buchu in particular. Julius spoiled us with tasters as he showed us his garden. He exudes a contagious passion for Knoflokskraal’s plants and the possibilities they hold. He hopes that his interest and knowledge might one day become the basis of a small business. It is an aspiration, not an accomplished venture, and there are practical questions about what would be possible in this setting.

His story nonetheless points to something that gets lost when the natural environment and human settlement are viewed merely as competing legal concerns. For Julius, plants are a source of knowledge, identity, livelihood and his saving grace. Taking that aspiration seriously does not mean brushing aside ecological risks or assuming that every proposed activity would be appropriate. It means recognising that residents may have ideas about the landscape that are worth hearing and assessing. In fact, there is strong sentiment by some residents to conserve the environment and live sustainably. 

‘Something is finally happening for our people’

Malcolm came to Knoflokskraal at his mother’s insistence that “something was finally happening for our people”. He did not fully understand the significance of her words at the time. After her death, as he grieved and looked out over the valley, the meaning of these words began to take shape. This led him to make a home in Knoflokskraal in honour of his mother’s legacy. He started with a caravan, teaching himself how to build, and eventually constructed a home for his family overlooking the valley. His sense of heritage grew alongside the practical skills he acquired.

Malcolm is a community leader, helping neighbours to obtain running water, constructing access roads and maintaining a safe environment. Many people in Knoflokskraal escaped from violent living conditions, and Malcolm wants them to never “hear a shot again”. 

“Listen,” he says. “What do you hear? There is peace here.”

This account is not about the legality of occupying land, but about why Knoflokskraal matters to him: grief, family memory, a rediscovered heritage, work, responsibility, acting on a calling and a view that has become inseparable from his idea of home.

A trade post imagined anew

Elsewhere in Knoflokskraal, Fazlin and Muadh are busy setting up a place of exchange through a bartering station or trade post. Their plans reach beyond market stalls: they imagine an indigenous knowledge centre, Khoi (Khwe) and San (Xam) huts for overnight visitors, a fishing and braai area, a space for traditional riel dancing, and places to share indigenous goods, food, arts and crafts.

The idea draws on an account of Khoi-San groups bartering in the area before colonialism disrupted such practices. It is both an appeal to history and a proposal for the future: a place where cultural knowledge might be shared and livelihoods developed, visible to travellers passing along the N2.

These remain ambitions, not completed facilities or assured business prospects. Questions about permissions and land still need to be addressed. Yet the trade post is revealing precisely because it shows residents imagining what they could contribute, rather than only what they need. That possibility, too, belongs in any fuller account of Knoflokskraal.

What falls by the wayside

These are just four encounters. Other residents may have very different experiences, and serious allegations concerning Knoflokskraal should neither be dismissed nor attributed indiscriminately to everyone who lives there. The relevant authorities have their own responsibilities, which these stories cannot replace.

However, Knoflokskraal is evidently not your average land occupation. It is a place where memory, belonging and the wish to be seen and acknowledged are embodied in the landscape and social fabric of the people that constitute the community that has made its home there. 

Our point is indeed a matter of emphasis. A place can be the subject of a legal dispute and also be home to people whose everyday lives are textured by care, ambition, memory and attachment. Listening to those experiences is not the same as endorsing claims on the land. However, in discussions about Knoflokskraal, it is often these human dimensions that fall by the wayside. 

The residents, too, want to have their voices heard. The upcoming court case will hopefully provide them with an opportunity to do so. DM

Rafael Verbuyst is an anthropologist and historian based at KU Leuven, Belgium. William Ellis is a professor of anthropology at the Department of Sociology and Social Anthropology at the University of the Western Cape. Ilse Eigelaar-Meets is a lecturer in sociology at the Department of Sociology and Social Anthropology at Stellenbosch University. 

Articles on migration research in Grabouw can be found here and here.