Thulamela Ruins: Walking the Stone Walls of a Lost Kingdom

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Rain beads on my skin as we huddle beneath an ancient baobab in the Thulamela ruins, a lost stone-walled kingdom in the far north of Kruger. The baobab’s thick bark is cool and furrowed under my fingertips. The trunk feels as if it holds the memory of a thousand storms. We stand in what was once an open-air public court in Thulamela. Today it is only us, the rain, and this quiet giant.

Our SANParks guide, Carel Nkuna, speaks above the soft hiss of the shower. He tells us this is where the men of Thulamela once gathered to argue politics and settle disputes.

Leaning against this silent sentinel of the African bush, I wonder what stories she would share if she could speak. Would she laugh at the follies of men, at their quarrels and fragile power? Could she illuminate this elusive place, about which so little is truly known?

What knowledge we have lives mainly in the voices of Venda elders and in the careful guesses of archaeologists, pieced together like shards of broken pottery.

But first,

Where are the Thulamela Ruins Hidden?

You’ll find the hidden archaeological site of Thulamela somewhere in the far north of Kruger National Park.

Ever since I first heard the name Thulamela in the mid-90s, it has lingered at the edge of my imagination like a place from a half-remembered dream. And now, at last, I stand here on the hilltop at Thulamela. The light breeze feels like the oldest storyteller on earth. It rises from the river valley in slow, cool breaths, carrying an earthy scent of wet leaves and red earth, a scent as old as Africa herself.

Below me, the Luvuvhu River curls through the landscape, the same river that once flooded these plains, leaving behind the rich, dark soil that fed an entire community.

Exploring the Stone Walls of the Thulamela Ruins

The rain eases off, and Carel takes us for a tour around the site. Under my boots, the stones crackle and shift, each rock placed by another pair of hands five centuries ago—and then, more recently, lifted, sorted, and rebuilt by local masons. The walls are completely dry-stone: no cement, just the friction of rock against rock.

If you look closely, you can see how the facing stones were carefully chosen and lined up, and how the smaller filling stones were tucked into gaps. It’s a texture you feel more than see: rough, usually sun-warmed, surprisingly solid beneath the fingers.

It’s hard not to imagine what this hilltop site might have looked like at its peak. Thulamela was part of a mighty network of stone-walled capitals that stretched from Mapungubwe to Great Zimbabwe and Khami. Up here on the hill, an elite class ruled from above, while the ordinary people lived and worked on the slopes and plains beneath.

Standing at the summit, you can see why a sacred leader would choose this spot—the view is impressive, and there’s a strange feeling of separation, as if the very air thickens between you and the world below.

The Crocodile of Thulamela

Somewhere near where I stood, the Khosi—the sacred leader—once lived in ritual seclusion, hidden behind higher walls, out of sight of ordinary people. I pictured the horns of sacred cattle and upright stone monoliths set into his surrounding walls, catching the first light of morning, casting long shadows by late afternoon. They weren’t just decorations; they were symbols of justice and protection. Even in ruins, you feel a kind of quiet authority in those stones.

The Khosi was called “the crocodile that does not leave its pool.” I’m sure no one dared to call him that to his face. This image stayed with me throughout my walk around the site. I kept thinking of a powerful animal, still and watchful, at the centre of its world.

People would have approached him cautiously, not directly entering his private yard, but through a special audience chamber with two separate entrances and a wall down the middle.

I imagined that space as it once was: filled with quiet voices, the gentle rustle of cloth, and the soft murmur of a messenger leaning in to share news about a dispute from the public court below. 

Somewhere close by, a diviner and herbalist would have been grinding roots, boiling leaves, brewing remedies whose sharp, earthy smell clung to the air.

Life Away from the Crocodile of Thulamela

Down the slope, the mood changes in my imagination. Instead of formal silence and ritual, there’s movement and noise. In the open area used as the public court, I imagine men gathering under the sun, voices rising and falling as they argued over land, cattle, and family disputes. The clack of staff on stone, the staccato rhythm of hand gestures, bursts of laughter or anger—all of it swirling upward toward the hilltop, where the “crocodile” listened to his messengers.

Beyond the court and the palace, the life of Thulamela’s people stretched out into the floodplains. When the rivers rose in summer, and the Luvuvhu River backed up, it must have been with an almighty roar—brown water spreading into pans and hollows, dropping a skin of fresh silt as it withdrew.

I pictured the ground afterwards: dark, moist, and cool under bare feet. This is where families planted sorghum and millets that could grow even when the rain stopped. The smells would have been layered: wet soil, trampled vegetation, the green sweetness of new shoots.

Daily work here would have been anything but quiet. The metallic ring of iron hoes biting into soil. Children shouting and clapping to scare birds off the ripening grain. The crash of branches as someone chased an elephant or smaller game away from the fields.

In the background, you can hear the gentle murmur of women spinning cotton into thread on clay spindle whorls, the rhythmic swoosh of looms weaving cloth, and the soft scrape of a potter’s fingers smoothing a new clay vessel. I could almost taste the warm, comforting sorghum porridge cooking in those pots and smell the sour, yeasty beer fermenting in the shade.

Trade Winds and Invisible Lines of Connection

Thulamela was never an isolated hilltop. As I walked along the walls, I kept thinking of the invisible lines stretching outward from this place toward the coast.

In the quiet pockets between the stones, archaeologists found glass beads, Chinese porcelain and seashells—small, glittering hints of journeys on the trade or monsoon winds that began far away in the Middle East, India, Southeast Asia and China.

I imagined the inland journeys those objects must have taken, changing hands in dusty markets and forests and grasslands, until a bead or a piece of Chinese porcelain finally arrived here, on this hill. Maybe it dangled from someone’s neck, clicked softly against other beads as they walked. Maybe a porcelain bowl once caught the light inside a wealthy household while ordinary clay pots smoked over the hearths below.

The strange thing about Thulamela is that you feel both the weight of time and the stubbornness of the present. The site was only recorded by modern rangers in the 1980s, despite having been inhabited centuries earlier and then buried under bush.

As I traced my hand along one of the reconstructed walls, I was aware of at least three histories layered in that single touch: the original builders stacking stone upon stone five hundred years ago; the centuries of silence and collapse; and the recent work of local masons who spent over a year clearing, sorting and rebuilding nearly 350 metres of wall using about 2,000 tons of rock.

A Lost Kingdom That Still Feels Alive

By the time I left, the sun peaked through the clouds, turning the rain-washed stones a rich orange and the valleys below a bright green. The air smelled of rich red earth, sun-warming rocks and distant water.

It was easy, for a moment, to imagine a messenger hurrying past me, feet sure on the uneven path, carrying news up to the crocodile who does not leave his pool—and to feel that, in the rustle of leaves and the heat on my skin, Thulamela was not simply a ruin, but a place still very much alive.

Thulamela Ruins: Good to Know

Guides and Safety

You cannot visit Thulamela without an official guide. The area is home to elephants, baboons, and leopards, so an armed guide is essential. With a friendly guide sharing fascinating insights, you’ll have a safe, relaxed experience and get much more out of your visit.

If you’re thinking of going, book your tour with SANParks guide Carel Nkuna at Punda Maria Rest Camp‘s reception. Do this at least 48 hours before you want to go.

Meeting Point and Hike

We met Carel at the Pafuri Picnic Spot at 7 am. It’s about an hour’s drive from Punda Maria, assuming you don’t run into any elephant roadblocks along the way. So, leave plenty of time.

Carel is assisted by a field ranger named Houston. (Please don’t make the ‘Houston, we have a problem joke.’ Poor Houston has heard it at least a thousand times.) Before you set off, Carel gives a safety briefing.

The hike to the summit of Thulamela Hill is short but uphill, about 900 metres. Don’t worry if you’re not super fit. Carel stops often to point out plants, birds and views, so you can catch your breath as you learn.

 Costs and Timing

The tour cost R297 per person in December 2025 and lasts around 3 hours. There is a minimum charge of four people, so check the latest prices and availability when you book.

Make a Day of It

Take along a picnic basket and have brunch on the banks of the Luvuvhu River at Pafuri Picnic Spot after you visit Thulamela. Then follow it up with a visit to Crooks Corner. Click the link to read my postcard from the road about this fascinating place.

If my postcard from the Thulamela’s ruin came to life on the page for you, I’d love to hear what stayed with you in the comments below.

Disclosure: I do not have any commercial relationship with SANParks or any of its affiliates. While I am a volunteer member of the SANParks Honorary Rangers, the views and opinions expressed in this blog post are entirely my own and do not reflect the organisation’s position. I have not received any financial compensation for this post. This blog aims to share my personal experiences and insights related to my time in nature. All photographs, experiences, and opinions are my own.