I must have been in a coma for a decade. Until a month ago I had never heard of the Ubuntu Run even though the first run was held in 2015. I’m a member of a WhatsApp group, Moz/Swazi Sun Riders and one of the members posted the Eswatini Ubuntu Run flyer on the group. I spoke to my friend Carlos Paiva, convenor of the Swazi Rally, and we agreed to ride together. Done deal!
The Ubuntu Run was the brainchild of Rod McBride. The intention was to connect diverse groups of bikers who might not usually ride together. Ubuntu means “I am because we are” and embodies virtues like compassion and humanity. The idea caught on and from small beginnings, the Ubuntu Run is celebrated in nineteen African countries, in Portugal and the USA.
On Saturday afternoon I rode from Nelspruit to Eswatini via Barberton, Badplaas, Lochiel and Oshoek Border Post. The border crossing was swift, painless and short before long I was flying down the magnificent sinuous two-lane blacktop that runs from the border to Mbabane. Near Manzini, I rode south and pulled into Riders’ Ranch for the weekend as the guest of Carlos and Sonia.
Sunday was a perfect day for riding. We rode to Matsapha Inn, the starting point for the run. The parking lot started to fill up as the Swazi clubs rode in: King’s Brigade, Hyena, Swazi Boyz, Harley Boyz, and Macs. Many of the Swazi guys were on litre-class superbikes, mainly BMW S1000RR, and all of them were without number plates. Seems the Swazi cops have a very relaxed attitude towards bikers. There was a big contingent of Mozambican bikers who rode in from Maputo. It was good to meet them face to face having only connected with them on WhatsApp before.
The ride began just before 10:00. 111 bikes left Matsapha Inn on a 200km lap. For the first 100km, we followed roads I had never ridden before. Eswatini has had excellent rains. The rivers were flowing strongly and the countryside was a patchwork of lush green meadows and eucalyptus plantations. We regrouped at the crossroads at Gege. Like an idiot, I hadn’t filled up that morning and I wasn’t sure I would make it to Nhlangano. There was a derelict fuel station at the crossroads. Half the roof had collapsed and the other half looked very dodgy. But the fuel pumps were still there. I’m an optimistic fellow so I rode in but it was obvious the pumps hadn’t worked in years. And then Sylvester appeared bearing a five-litre bottle of 95 octane. While he decanted the precious fuel into my bike he gave a well-rehearsed speech about how he was looking for a business partner to invest in re-opening the garage. I politely declined.
Carlos and I left Gege ahead of the pack and rode the brand-new road to Nhlangano. The road had been open for less than a year and was in immaculate condition. From Nhlangano I was back on familiar roads riding north in the valley of the Mkhondvo River. I always stop on a low-level bridge over the river and this ride was no exception. In previous years the river flowed gently through the pipes under the bridge but this time there was a deluge roaring through the pipes. We rode down the valley and ten kilometres from Riders’ Ranch the TFT screen on my GSA went blood red. I had ridden over a roofing screw which made such a big hole that the tyre deflated instantly. I always carry a tubeless tyre puncture repair kit but the tyre was so flat that it was impossible to insert a plug and the hole was so big that a CO2 bomb rushed straight in and straight out. I limped back to Riders’ Ranch. Carlos continued back to Matsapha for lunch at the end of the ride. I stayed behind with my wounded bike. Later that afternoon Carlos’s factotum Nene inflated the tyre with a compressor and plugged the hole but by now it was too late to ride back to Nelspruit which wasn’t a problem. I’m retired so one day is just like any other.
As things turned out it was a good thing I didn’t ride to Oshoek on Sunday afternoon. There was a monumental catastrophe up at the border post. A 26-wheel, 50-ton, coal carrier interlink lost its brakes on the steep downhill to the border post. The juggernaut demolished buildings destroyed sixteen cars and dumped its load of coal before grinding to a halt. Miraculously nobody was killed. On Monday morning the border post was back in action even though all the staff still had startled expressions and big eyes from the drama of the previous afternoon. I retraced my Saturday route and once I was through the border I was home in under two hours.
That was my first Ubuntu Run and it won’t be my last. I met many new friends and travelled new roads. And that’s what biking is all about, the road, the ride and the brothers. Roll on Ubuntu 2026.
