The Serendipitous Beginning

As we gather to honour Londolozi’s approaching centenary in 2026, we find ourselves drawn back to the very first whispers of this remarkable journey. Like many of life’s most treasured stories, Londolozi’s genesis unfolds not from careful planning but from a moment of beautiful spontaneity.

On a sun-dappled afternoon in Johannesburg in 1926, two friends lingered after a spirited tennis match. With the warmth of exercise still in their blood and the gentle influence of gin and tonics lightening their spirits, Charles Boyd Varty and Frank Unger overheard talk of land being sold near the newly established Kruger National Park. Something about that golden moment kindled a spark of adventure in their hearts.

Dave Varty shares the family story with a smile that bridges generations:

“My grandfather often told the story of how he and his friend Frank Unger bought Sparta farm sight unseen after a tennis match and one too many gin and tonics. It was an impulsive decision that would shape not just our family’s destiny but contribute to a new vision of conservation in Africa.”

In this seemingly casual moment—a handshake, a decision made with hearts rather than ledgers—lay the seeds of what would eventually bloom into one of Africa’s most profound conservation legacies.

First Encounters with the Land 

When Charles and Frank finally arrived at their destination, reality greeted them with gentle humor. Rather than untouched Eden, they found Sparta—a struggling, bankrupt cattle farm bearing the scars of unsustainable practices. Yet even in this moment of potential disappointment, something deeper was at work. Historical records confirm that these two friends were the first pioneers to arrive in what would later become the renowned Sabi Sand Game Reserve.

Their timing proved serendipitous. Just a year later, in 1927, the neighboring Kruger Park opened its gates to tourists—with only three cars venturing in during that first year. As Charles and Frank were getting to know their piece of wilderness, a new chapter in South African conservation was beginning just beyond their boundary.

Those first days at Sparta must have been both challenging and enchanting. As they explored their new property, the land itself began to reveal its character—the majestic sweep of the Sand River, ancient trees standing sentinel along its banks, and the distinctive call of African birds filling the air.

While Sparta remained their private retreat, nearby Kruger Park was rapidly evolving. By 1935, a remarkable 26,000 people passed through Kruger’s gates—a number that would one day grow to over one million annually. Within that first decade, 3,600 kilometers of roads and several camps had been established. This blossoming of public interest in wildlife was quietly mirroring the personal connection forming at Sparta.

Though they had purchased the farm as a recreational retreat rather than with conservation in mind, the wilderness was already beginning its quiet work—speaking to their hearts in a language older than words, inviting them into a relationship that would deepen with each passing season.

The Decade Unfolds

During those initial ten years, Sparta remained primarily a place of occasional retreat. Charles and Frank would visit when they could escape their urban responsibilities, gradually introducing their families to the joys of bushveld life. One imagines these early gatherings—children encountering the wilderness for the first time, evenings spent around fires telling stories, days of exploration and discovery.

Slowly, the land began to recover from its agricultural wounds. Native grasses returned to areas once trampled by cattle. Wildlife, sensing the decrease in human activity, cautiously began to reappear. Each visit revealed subtle changes—nature’s remarkable ability to heal when given space and time.

What Charles and Frank could not have known, as they watched their children play along the banks of the Sand River, was that they were establishing a multi-generational relationship with the land that would eventually flower into one of Africa’s most inspiring conservation stories—a conversation begun with a tennis match and a gin-inspired decision that would help reshape our understanding of what it means to protect the wild places of our world.