by Ian Vorster (words and unless otherwise credited, photography)
The San artist crouched in a shallow cave deep in the Bankberg mountains. He mixed his paints in an unhurried fashion — eland fat blended with crushed sandstone. His manner conveyed a sense of contentment. Looking up briefly to savor the setting sun, he began to hum.
Joined by others, together they set up the makings of a stick-drill — a ball of dry grass, rawhide, a supple bow and a hard base — to ignite an ember that would start a fire. His voice broke into a quiet chant of clicking sounds as he completed his paint mixture. All the while he had formed in his mind the shape of the eland — his first kill. Teasing the form from memory, he committed it to the rock then for his clan, and for the centuries to come.
As he worked, he relived the thrill of his first kill and of the manhood it bestowed upon him, of the fat of the prey that had brought his family joy.When he had completed the eland, he was not yet done with painting. He added a few plants around the antelope — all of them Aloe ferox.
The only known San painting of an aloe is presumed to show Aloe ferox. Courtesy SA National Museum.
San religion describes a creator god, Tsui-Goab, who gave life and taught them which foods to eat, which were poisonous, which could be used for medicine, and which were of use.
The wood of Aloe dichotoma or the quiver tree for example, was used to craft quivers for their arrows. It was also used to keep food cool. Its porous bark allowed it to be hollowed out to store water, meat and vegetables inside, as a cool draught could pass through.
As the Bantu migrated southward, new relationships with the aloe were introduced. Aloe arborescens was and still is, planted by the Zulu around their cattle enclosures or kraals to form a live fence, one that never dies and requires minimal upkeep. The remains of many of these old domestic animal pens can be seen years after they have been deserted because the aloes mark the sites. The Zulu also dry the leaves and pound them into medicine or muti to protect them from storms, and a boiled concentrate is taken before childbirth.
The Xhosa people use similar decoctions of Aloe arborescens for stomach aches and add them to their livestock’s drinking water for good health. And they use the sap of Aloe ferox, called iKhala, to wean their babies — mothers rub the bitter gel on their nipples.
Dutch sailors had periodically taken aloes from South Africa to Amsterdam in the 17th century. One such species, Aloe succotrina, provided a source of mystery for more than 200 years. Botanists formed the theory that it came from Socotra Island off the Somaliland coast. And then, one day in 1905, botanist Rudolf Marloth solved the mystery. As he climbed Table Mountain he stumbled upon a cluster of the species. The magnificent Aloe marlothii or mountain aloe is named after him.
A great mountain aloe (Aloe marlothi) growing on the banks of the Buffalo River in Kwa-Zulu Natal, Province, South Africa.
Courtesy Sumarie Slabber, Creative Commons
From the Dutch to Today
The Dutch accumulated pre-existing knowledge of aloe use in the 17th and 18th centuries, through contact with the indigenous inhabitants. Aloe ferox for example, was cultivated by many farmers in the Riversdale district in the 1940s, but its use as a purgative goes back 150 years before that.
While the Dutch passed down its use, the arrival of the 19th-century naturalists from Europe meant that species were named according to the scientific binomial method. John Baldwin Smithson Greathead, the South African surgeon, hunter, naturalist and photographer, collected the first specimen of Aloe greatheadii with Selmar Schönland during a hunting expedition to Botswana. Schönland was, in turn, the founder of Rhodes University’s Botany Department, and the Aloe schonlandii carries his name. He collected and described many of the plant groups in the Eastern Cape region, including sedges, woody trees and shrubs.
An early account recorded by explorer, naturalist, traveler and artist William Burchell describes the use of Friar’s Balsam. Woken early in the morning by the sound of gunfire and cries of, “Help, help,” Burchell relates how a man called Gert yelled, “The gun is burst and my hand’s in pieces.” Only his forefinger and thumb remained. Burchell bandaged it with Friar’s Balsam, an ointment that contained a significant mixture of aloe gel. He hoped it would form an artificial skin.
Today Aloe dichotoma serves as a red flag for an environmental threat: Wendy Foden, a researcher at the South African National Biodiversity Institute, reported that quiver trees are in the early stage of a poleward range shift. The trees are dying more at lower elevations, and they are dying far more in the northern parts of their range. The trend has been connected to rising global temperatures.
I enjoy the ethnobotany of aloes but, to be honest, it’s why and how they creep into African hearts that really piques my interest. I think it relates to the fact that as we pursue an ever-increasing number of outdoor getaways to soul places, a shift occurs. In part it has to do with what the geographer Yi-Fu Tuan described, “We turn space into place through personal experience… Place is imbued with meaning by virtue of experiences we have had there.”
For many, “place” in South Africa is invariably framed by aloes. I know that many Americans are not as enthralled by a lodgepole pine, or a Brit by a rose, but you might consider how much both of those plants feature in family and state heraldry, or in business logos. The aloe is used in the same way. And, if you think of a favorite place in southern Africa, you may also remember an aloe standing close by.
Left to right: Aloe pluridens silhouette with Aloe striata in the foreground in Blaaubosch Private Reserve in the Little Karoo. Malachite sunbird on Aloe ferox in the Addo Elephant National Park. Aloe africana growing as it typically does in dense bush in the foothills of the Zuurberg Mountains.
Home Again
In my former home province of the Eastern Cape, the legendary surf spot, Supertubes at Jeffreys Bay, is framed by a mix of aloes with Aloe africana dominating. The entrance to the Addo Elephant National Park is bordered with Aloe ferox, the Sundays River is lined with a veritable forest of Aloe africana, and if you approach the much-loved author, Percy Fitzpatrick’s grave, you must navigate through a stately grove of Aloe pluridens. If approached in the winter months, each of these and a myriad of farms, safari lodges and country retreats across the nation boast a glorious display of red, yellow and orange inflorescence.
I know of a trail in the Zuurberg Mountains that is lined with them. There is little to distinguish it from any other trail in the range. It’s uphill. It’s steep. And it winds its way through a forested kloof before reaching the summit. As I hitched a thumb through the right strap of my daypack, I leaned into the gradient one evening. It took about 90 minutes to reach the top. There I rested for a while against a rock with the steep, narrow valleys stretching eastward into the gloom before me. After a short while and a drink, I started for the bottom.
On my way down, in the early evening, I reached the kloof once again. Only then did I notice a giant aloe. Crooked and ancient, its silhouette reached across the entire double track. Hauntingly beautiful in a Tolkien-like manner, it was an Aloe striata. An evocative emblem, the plant stood sentry over thousands of trails and a score of memories.
Aloe striata, an evocative emblem stands sentry over thousands of trails and a score of memories.
A stand of Aloe ferox alongside a track above the Bushman’s River, in Amakhala (many aloes in the Xhosa language) Private Reserve.
Lessons learned: While hiking in the Zuurberg foothills, I came across a wire snare set at the entrance to a small ravine. It was wrapped around the cervical vertebrae or a small bushbuck, or which only the skeleton remained. If I was a poacher, I would say, “Always check your snares,” but since I am a conservationist, “Keep your eyes open for anything unusual.”
A worthy cause: The Wildlife and Environmental Society of South Africa is proactively engaged with the challenges and opportunities presented by South Africa’s unique natural heritage and the social and economic systems that depend on it. Most valuable items: A 30-year old day pack and fleece purchased at Cape Union Mart. Most useless item: I pitched a 20-year old backpacking tent one evening, only to wake up at midnight with horrendous hay fever. I threw it away the next day. It took me two weeks of antihistamine dosing to recover.
