A little down the road from the Mungo Mill and up a winding jeep track into the hills you find Petrichor, home to Ilan, Daphne and their family. Atop a hill overlooking the Tsitsikamma mountain range, it’s here, this late summer, that Mungo had our latest lifestyle shoot with Nicola Suttle, a day long shoot tracing the sun as it wove light through and around the house.

Wayfarer and Summer Towels

Wayfarer Summer Towels

Pablo on the natural pool deck with Ruti Kikois

A heavy mist lay thick that early morning when we arrived, cloaking the surrounding hills. Greeted by a wood fired sauna, its warm wood interior and our linen gowns gave us the start to our shoot.

With the mist burnt off by the strengthening sun, the valley and hills revealed themselves. We moved to the natural pool, the dogs, Pablo and Karuna, trailing us. Pablo decided our carefully styled Ruti kikoi, intentionally laid just so on the decking, would be a great place for a morning nap.

Clouds trailed up and sometimes we waited for them to pass, so as to catch the light we needed, bouncing it into the vast sun soaked lounge, plushed with our cushions and the new Duo Blanket. The double weave of the Duo looking at home in the setting and picking up on the olive greens and blush pinks of the ericas in the veld growing lush about the home.

Shoots are varied full days; we chase light and deadlines, trying to get as many considered shots into our allotted time as we can, but in the soft interiors and verdant garden of Petrichor, the demands of styling and shooting sat lightly – the calm of the space holding us.

The Duo Blanket in Mesa

Our 12 hours there made us curious; what is an average day in this beautiful home and setting – We asked our hosts, Ilan and Daphne, to share what a day in their family’s life at Petrichor looks and feels like. Read about it here:

Daphne, Ilan and Raphael, photos by Amy Keevy

Ilan

The frogs start first. Then the birds. Then the dogs hear something moving through the fynbos, and that’s the day begun.

I make coffee and take it to the verandah. The Keurbooms valley is still in shadow, and there’s a thin orange line rising across the Tsitsikamma mountains. It’s quiet in a way that city people don’t have a word for; not the absence of noise, but a fullness; loeries calling across the valley, wind through the fynbos and the occasional bark from our dog, Karuna, who has spotted a bokkie on the trail or a porcupine having breakfast on our bulbs.

Winter mornings are my favourite. The sun rises and hits the black terracotta tiles above the fireplace, and moves across them throughout the morning. It turns the room into something living. 

Mungo Table linen and Cushions

“We couldn’t design that, we chose the tiles and orientation, but the sun did the rest. By the end of the day, it has made its way all the way round to kiss the raw terracotta tiles in the kitchen for its last goodbye.”

– Ilan Green, Petrichor host and co-creator

Daphne

Our son, Raphael, comes straight to the kitchen. He’s two and every morning is an event. Breakfast happens while he tells us of something he’s seen; a bird flying by or a spider in a web, something only he has noticed. His presence and the joy that consistently follows him, reminds me to join him – these moments will be over quickly.

I grew up on a farm in the Free State. Dirt, animals, open sky. I didn’t know it was special until I left. Working in health, I’ve come to understand what a childhood like that does to a nervous system; it regulates you. The ground under your feet, the rhythm of seasons, the honesty of the natural materials around you. We’re wired for it.

“I arrived with a feeling, not a floor plan. I needed soft curves, natural materials, a vegetable garden and a natural pool. I had a strong intuition for what a nervous system needs from its environment. Ilan translated that into material choices; the limestone underfoot, the oak joinery, the handmade terracotta…”

– Daphne Green, Petrichor host and co-creator

Ilan

Evenings are when the house shifts. The terracotta lights start to glow as the daylight fades. The architecture dissolves, and the home appears.

The sauna has become a daily ritual. It’s wood-fired, which means your planning starts two hours before you want to sit in it. That slowness is part of it, by the time it’s ready you’ve shifted gear. Sitting in the heat, overlooking the Tsitsikamma range, everything drops away. It’s the smallest space on the property and it gives me the biggest peace and healing.

My relationship with weather and seasons has shifted since living here. Being off-grid has forced me to become intimate with the natural world. As a city boy, I was initially overwhelmed, but it’s become the biggest gift. Not only the technical learning, but the gratitude for clean water, for the power of the sun.

Ilan and Daphne built their home around two core ideas; provenance – knowing where something comes from and finding integrity at every step, and that what you surround yourself with – from people to animals, to the materials you choose to live with, shape who you are. At Mungo, with our cloth rooted in process, and the people who make it connected to all steps in production, we resonate with this.

Petrichor and Mungo don’t ask you to admire them; they ask to live in them. Barefoot, with your family and friends, with seasonal joy in the everyday. And if you let it, that kind of living with and amongst, will change you.

As Ilan says “When you surround yourself with things that have a genuine story, your space becomes calmer. Even if your mind can’t name it, your body can tell the difference.”

We were honoured to have the pieces judged by Marianne Fassler, one of South Africa’s most celebrated fashion designers. Fassler has spent decades defining a uniquely South African voice in fashion, blending bold colour, texture and pattern through her iconic Leopard Frock label. Her work has been shown on runways around the world and is deeply rooted in colour and expressive design – a fitting perspective for this event. Also on the panel was Mungo Designer Lenore Schroeder, bringing her own eye for textile and detail to the judging.

It’s three o’clock on a warm afternoon. We’re seated in a coffee shop in central Paarl, moving from outside under the trees to a quiet corner. Light cracks through the window, illuminating the sage green wallpaper, patterned with storybook-style birds and creeping vines. There are hanging plants, an eclectic mix of artworks, and pastel-toned ceramics – very on-brand for the guest.

I’m sitting down with artist Lené Ehlers. Over the course of two hours, we’ll talk about art and process – and a creative approach to life. About trusting your intuition, and following the path that feels most aligned.

Although we’re tucked into this cosy nook, beside a doorway where visitors come and go (one of whom is Lené’s mom), I imagine her back in her studio: a familiar pair of overalls, flecked with paint.

“There’s a pair of pants I always wear, and a T-shirt with paint spots – I have to wear that uniform, because the paint gets everywhere.”

The image adds to the idyll: life and work flowing interchangeably. The artist part of the process; blending into her work. Leaving touches of herself – like a signature. The hopeless – or in this case, hopeful – romantic embedded into every stroke.

I wonder about the interplay of living and working – the degree of separation (if any) required for the creative. Particularly for someone who lives in a home-meets-studio.

“Aren’t you tempted to just roll out of bed, pick up a brush, and do another stroke?” I ask.

“I used to be like that. But the thing with painting is that you need the right light. I’ve tried candlelight, but natural light is best – so I don’t have that temptation to work through the night.”

Looking at Lené’s pieces, there is considerable romance. The palettes are soft and calming. The overall effect is dreamy and sensory.

We talk about her chosen subject matter, and the feeling it evokes. The drawing of inspiration from something visually pleasing – and how this itself is a kind of fresh, radical concept. How the pursuit of the pleasurable, of beauty, might stand against modern art as we know it: pieces viewed with a sense of detachment or disillusionment. Works in white-walled spaces that require a certain kind of cerebral engagement.

Emotive. Sensory. Pleasing in palette and subject. Lené’s floral-driven works create a sense of softness and comfort. These are pieces to be lived with and enjoyed – not just observed.

“In traditional gallery spaces, I often feel like it’s a cold atmosphere to interact with art. Some people feel like they need to engage with a piece in a particular way. But in a warm space, you’re more comfortable. You can experience it in your own way.”

In 2022, Lené found a fitting ‘cosy’ home for her work after meeting Michael Chandler of Chandler House.

“Chandler House has this homey feel. I could immediately see my paintings living in that kind of space. Michael collects antique interiors – couches, kilims, ceramics – so it creates a picture. It’s immersive, and that suits the work.”

That show marked a turning point – both aesthetically and emotionally. It affirmed the path she was on, and helped define the distinctive style of her current work: painterly florals, thick with texture, laced with textile influences.

“At that first exhibition, Michael introduced me to a woman who imports Suzanis – traditional textiles from Uzbekistan. These have become a major inspiration in my work. He could see I had a pattern-driven aesthetic, but needed a little something more. From that show, I actually bought my first Suzani – so it’s a sentimental piece too.”

While Lené’s medium today is oil on canvas, her roots lie in floristry.

“While I was studying in Stellenbosch, I worked at a florist on weekends. When I graduated, I started doing flowers full time – working at different companies for around five years. Then I slowly began illustrating on the side, just for myself. That led to an exhibition in a gallery I’d admired. And it just built from there. Eventually, I started experimenting with paint, and now I’m doing full-on oils.”

Her earlier pieces, done in acrylic ink on paper, were more experimental – hints of florals embedded within patterns. Now, she’s arrived at something more grounded: flowers centre stage, with subtle echoes of pattern and textile below.

Lené’s current oil works are rich in texture – thick, expressive, and slow to dry. Sometimes a single piece can take up to three months to complete. And the process is tactile. Instinctual. Driven by feeling.

“I don’t overthink it. I start by going to the flower market and picking colours that speak to me. Then I arrange them in a vase, choose a cloth, and begin painting. I get a lot of joy from curating the still life before I even touch the brush.”

But how does it begin?

“I have synesthesia – when I feel something, I see a colour. So the palette very much comes from a certain state of mind.”

The work unfolds intuitively – following the flow of a line, or called to a colour, by instinct. It’s an approach to process, but also a kind of ordering principle to life. A way of being in flow. Living a life defined by your own terms. Engrossed by the work, and letting what feels right lead.

And for those wanting to be led by that freedom of feeling; by the freedom to lead a creative life – what is her advice?

“Start small. But take aligned steps. People ask me: should I get a gallery? Should I go it alone? I can’t answer that. That’s between you and your journey. You have to do what feels right for you. There are no right or wrongs.”

Before we part, I ask Lené about her dream exhibition space. I half expect her to say a sunlit gallery in Paris, or the splendour of the Tate or the Louvre. But her answer is simpler. More grounded. Entirely in keeping with everything she’s said.

“I see my artworks in cosy heritage homes. A warm place with wooden floors. Above a mantelpiece. That would make me very happy – to know that my paintings were in a happy home.”

Words by Georgina Selander

Photography by JD Allin

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Our copywriter reflects on six years at Mungo, as she heads to Ireland to pursue her Masters in Creative Writing.

Words by Georgina Selander

It’s easy to recall.

First, there was the shop: 78 Hout Street on a mid-morning in May. Walking up the steps of a high-ceilinged heritage building, to row upon row of beautiful cloth. Then, upstairs, for an interview. The faces, the nerves, the quiet greeting. A pregnant belly. And a big black dog.
“The dog is a good omen,” you thought.

Six months go by quickly – and then comes the first visit to the Mungo Mill. A beatific sight; a boat docked ashore. A slatted skein growing golden in the afternoon. Stepping inside to a feeling like no other – so vivid, so visceral, the memory of it still sits on the tip of your tongue, like a taste. You stand, looking back to the doorway of an old trading store, where the jasmine bursts forth into little white stars. And then, slowly, you cross the bridge over the mill pond. Through the open glass doors. Up the steps, to a view from on high. And the sound. The sound! So intense, it was like a seventh sense. That sound made the world come awake. It changed the quality of the air, and the texture of the light – yellowed and thick, like honey. And everything else fell away, to reveal something so sacred, so elemental. Of loam. Of loom. And your chest, like a drum, pounding.

These days, what’s real is rare. It feels harder and harder to carve out spaces that are hearty and unfeigned. For everything digital feels is diluted. Everything behind a screen, mistrustful. How can you tell who is talking – a human, or a robot?

You go back – to that place. To that sound. To the crashing of cymbals inside the mill. A sound that sings out to you – calling you to a place that only your heart knows. It’s the song of the wild. The rushing world that speeds past. And there you are, at its axis, standing still. With your ribs open, and your heart expanding. And everything that is real, and raw, and true becomes clear.

And you can’t help thinking, how romantic. How beautiful. That first crack of light that catches the fly. The timbre of the shimmery droppers. The shadow of the arching beams.

Romance may be for the dreamers and the idealists. For those who believe in the power of passion. But those who do, know that it is a quality – a way of being. A way of seeing. And so this is what you see:

In December 2024, we hosted our fourth annual Swim Club – a five-day challenge designed to gather together, feel refreshed, and raise funds for a worthy cause.

In December 2024, we hosted our fourth annual Swim Club – a five-day challenge designed to gather together, feel refreshed, and raise funds for a worthy cause.

Across Cape Town and the Garden Route, 631 swimmers braved the early morning chill to take part in eight Swim Clubs. Their collective commitment helped raise over R175,000, donated to three causes close to our heart: I AM WATER Foundation, Nature’s Valley Trust, and Cultural Connections.
This May, part of those funds materialised into action, as the I AM WATER team returned to Plettenberg Bay for a three-day programme designed to foster connection, confidence, and conservation among local youth.

A Shared Mission

I AM WATER’s work is rooted in a simple but powerful belief: those who feel connected to nature are more likely to protect it. Through transformative ocean experiences, they aim to bridge the gap between under-resourced communities and the marine environments that surround them – communities that may live minutes from the shoreline but have never seen beneath the waves.

The belief in the transformative power of connecting and educating is something that resonates deeply with us – finding that access and experience are strong catalysts of care. It’s why we keep our mill doors open to the public – inviting visitors to see how first threads become finished cloth. We’ve seen how transparency builds understanding and appreciation – of both the natural world, and of things we make and use (and the people who make them). And in the case of textiles, seeing behind the scenes gives visitors a renewed appreciation for the careful workmanship, and multi-step process, that wove their product into existence. An experience that both challenges the contemporary culture of fast, disposable consumerism, but also helps to forge lasting emotional value in the cloth our customers take home.

Much in the same way, donning a snorkel and entering the sea – feeling the cold bite of the water, glimpsing a hermit crab’s shell, or the bright prickly, purplish pop of an anemone – can ignite a lifelong sense of stewardship. And for the learners who joined this year’s Ocean Guardians Workshop, that’s exactly what we hoped to inspire.

Three Days of Discovery

Day one of the programme kicked off with school talks at Bahia Formosa and Phakamisani Primary, where the I AM WATER team spoke of the ocean’s role in our lives: as climate regulator, freshwater source, and oxygen provider (not to mention home to untold natural beauty).
Then came the core of the programme: the Ocean Guardians Workshop, held with 34 learners from Crags Primary. Over two days of experiential learning, the students engaged in mindfulness exercises, intertidal exploration, beach cleanups, and snorkelling – experiences designed to foster not just knowledge, but connection.

Day two unfolded at Poortjies Lagoon in Plettenberg Bay. The group began with yoga and breathwork, before taking part in an educational talk and a guided exploration of the beach. Wetsuits, masks, and snorkels were distributed, and one by one, the learners entered the water to discover marine life beneath the surface.

Day three took the group to Knysna Lagoon, where they built on their skills and confidence. Along the shoreline, they discovered sea hares, anemones, hermit crabs in spiralled shells, and more.

“Thanks to Mungo, we returned to Plettenberg Bay for a second Ocean Guardians Workshop with Crags Primary. This time, I explored new roles – leading intertidal zone exploration at Poortjies Lagoon and guiding a nature walk at Knysna Lagoon. It was a joy to dive deeper into these environments alongside the kids, especially learning and sharing stories about Knysna’s shipwrecks. Over the two days, we spotted an array of sea life – from hermit crabs and spiny sea stars to sea hares and anemones. Some of the children even claimed they saw an octopus! I loved channelling my inner tour guide and sharing my passion for the ocean beyond Cape Town.

I believe it’s important for youth to connect with the ocean so they can develop a passion for it early on and feel empowered to protect it. It’s especially important for young people from under-resourced communities, who often have limited access to the sea. There’s a sense of pride that emerges when they face fears they never thought they would — that’s a beautiful transformation to witness.” – Taahirah, IAW Coach

To mark the experience, each student was gifted a Mungo Scout Towel – a 100% organic cotton towel inspired by the sea. Woven at our mill in Plettenberg Bay, it was designed for young explorers, rockpool-finders, sandcastle-builders, and first-time snorkellers alike.

Such a privilege to partner with this incredible organisation, and their driven team of facilitators. Reflecting on the three days, and the positive feedback from all who took part, drove it home – the power of immersive experience. And the ripple effect of inspired and intentional action.

Want to join us for Swim Club 2025? Sign up to our newsletter here.

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In December 2024, 665 participants took part in our annual Swim Club, collectively helping to raise over R170,000 in support of education and conservation. Part of the funds raised was donated to NPO Cultural Connections, helping to kickstart their newest programme in Kranshoek.

We recently spent an afternoon with their Rheenendal Eco Youth Circle, an after-school programme that brings young people together for immersive experiences in nature, within a supportive community of peers and passionate facilitators.

Four walls alone do not make a house. Or a school. Or a care centre. What’s required is love – and someone with an unfailing commitment to help, and to heal.

When it comes to Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, the basics – food, water, shelter – are quickly topped by other, more impactful ingredients. Ones that tell us that what humans need, almost just as much as warmth and a full plate, are the intangibles: family, belonging, safety. To feel connected. To find community. To develop confidence and self-acceptance. To exercise creativity.

Yet many of these concepts are elusive – in a world where connection is often a hard-to-come-by currency.

This month, it was a privilege to witness the work of Cultural Connections in action at one of their Rheenendal Eco Youth Circle workshops. We joined in with special guests from the Lunchbox Theatre, who use interactive theatrical experiences to raise awareness and spark dialogue around environmental and social issues.

Cultural Connections’ approach is asset-based and deeply intentional. They focus on responsive, long-term impact – refreshing in a space where initiatives can sometimes be short-lived or misaligned with real community needs.

“Although we started with nature-based education, as a team we responded to the youth and their needs, their experiences with us and stories of their lives and communities,” says facilitator Layla Staegemann.

“Through that response, we’ve built a programme that’s as much about inner restoration as it is about outer restoration. It centres on people as part of nature, especially within their local ecosystems. Through activities and safe dialogue, we encourage youth to find a sense of place – both in their environment and their social system – in a positive, contributing way.”

Layla’s journey with Cultural Connections began in 2018, when she joined their food security programme in the Eastern Cape. After five years working abroad in organic farming and permaculture, she returned home with a strong desire to serve and share her learning.

“I was involved in ecological restoration work in the Garden Route at the time, and the two paths merged in a school exchange called Planting Trees, Seeding Minds. I got involved in various initiatives, from conservation beekeeping to reforestation – always looking for ways to connect people to nature, believing deeply in its social and mental benefits. I’ve seen how having a sense of place and connection to local ecosystems can enhance wellbeing and unlock creativity.”

Many of the youth in their programmes live under persistent stress or trauma. In response, the team focuses on creating safe, stable environments grounded in care and belonging.

“A lot of our work is about helping young people feel part of something. To feel safe – physically and psychologically.”

Layla and her team clearly have deep roots in the communities they work with. Their presence is steady, thoughtful, and consistent. And it shows. There was laughter and lightness, genuine connection and care – perhaps most evident in the post-workshop sharing circle:

“This is my safe space,” said one of the youths.

“Working in Pearston, in the Eastern Cape, over the past six years has shaped the way I work in communities,” Layla shared. “As an outsider coming in – especially when you are coming and going – I’ve made the mistake (and seen others do the same) of not taking time to really get to know people.
I’ve learnt the value of generative conversations – just listening. Not harvesting stories for research. And adopting a trauma-informed approach has changed how I understand safety, bias, and what it means to treat people as they want to be treated – not as we want to treat them. And to recognise the deep injustices that affect the people of South Africa every day.”

Her reflections on trust-building are echoed in the deeply personal encounters she and her team have witnessed – moments that bring the programme’s impact into sharp emotional focus.

“Earlier this year at camp, Nikki and I saw a child in tears beneath a tree, sitting with a new friend from another circle. She said her family had always dreamed of visiting this place, and her mother had promised to bring them one day. When we entered the clearing with the Yellowwood tree, she was overcome – not just because she was finally there, but because she’d joined the Eco Youth Circle on her mother’s encouragement. She told us how good it felt to be celebrated here, unlike the bullying she faced at school. What struck us most was that she lived just ten minutes away – but had never been here before. It reminded us how many children grow up near places of natural wonder but never experience them, simply for lack of access or guidance.”

In a world faced with increasingly complex socio-economic challenges, the question remains: how do we build healthy humans that feel nurtured and loved? How do we foster real impact in vulnerable communities – in a way that ripples from an individual to a community. And to the wider world.

These are the questions Cultural Connections is seeking to answer.

What a privilege to witness the work of this small but dedicated team. And what a privilege to use our shared platform for good. A reminder that intentional action, no matter how small, can create change. And that deeply caring individuals really can make a world of difference.

Through our CSR initiative, MOVE, Mungo is committed to donating 1% of our profits to causes that advocates for environmental conservation, education, and community upliftment.

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“Come at 4am. There’ll be loud music playing and the coffee machine will be on.”

Say no more.

There’s a sweet serendipity to be invited in behind the scenes – when someone opens the private doors to their passion. And more so when those doors open with the scent of butter and bread.

It’s the early hours in Yzerfontein – it’s the West Coast, and the sun won’t rise until close to 8am. The streets are quiet, the air smells salty, blowing off the cold Atlantic. There’s a soft drizzle of rain.

You park in the parking lot. Close to the midnight hours, the streets are blue-black. But there’s a light shining through the glass doors at Rosemead Artisan Bakery. Inside, a man is moving back and forth between the floured countertops. Behind him are big – very big – ovens. You watch a while before you go inside. The scene is romantic. Idyllic. Like the opening credits to a movie. Anything seems possible.

It’s quiet now. But in a few hours there will be people quickly setting foot inside – the barefoot surfer and his dog, the genteel older couple with their newspaper, the young bohemians who are glad to be out of Cape Town. Some will even arrive before opening time, hoping for an early coffee. If it were December, then the line would be long – an unending stream for three to four hours. So you’re lucky you’ve paid a visit on a Thursday in March. Over the course of the morning (four hours pass by in an instant) you’ll watch these comers-and-goers. All of them Brett will greet. He seems to be on a first-name basis with most. You’ll also meet his brother, his mother-in-law (who makes the rusks), and even his wife and children – who live five minutes up the road.

When you go inside, the musical score is fitting: Don Henley’s Boys of Summer. An exceptionally apt theme tune for a bakery with a distinctly laid-back feel. But don’t let the vibe deceive you – there is a serious approach to quality here. This may, or may not (you’ll have to find out for yourself), be the best bread you ever try. And you won’t be the first to think so – in fact, 893 people have vouched for it on Google reviews. The most recent of which proclaims:

“This is the best bakery in [the] Cape Province. If you walk in you are part of an experience. The smell, the look and the people… If I [were to] live in Yzterfontein, this bakery will lead to my end, they will have to put their bread in my coffin one day. I challenge you to prove me wrong.”

I ask Brett about this. His response is humble. It’s clear that whatever is happening here – the subtle magic – has happened organically. They don’t have a website. Their Instagram page is refreshingly uncurated. Their Facebook page was hacked a few years ago and never revived (much to Brett’s satisfaction). And if you look around the bakery, you’ll find no sign at the till begging you to leave a review. You aren’t being coaxed into a positive feeling. That becomes all the more part of the growing excitement. Social media might have made things so agonisingly accessible that barely anything seems like a hidden gem. The untapped, untouched spaces of the planet have been overrun by the uninfluential influencer. But here you are, feeling like you’re privy to something sacred.

So what is it? Why do people keep coming back? Why can’t you get your hands on a baguette in December? Well, it’s that ‘thing’ of course – the timeless basics: good. Simple. Delicious. No frills, no fuss – no lipstick on a pig. It’s an ‘if you know, you know’ type of situation.

The idea is to stick to the classics and do them incredibly well, with the best quality ingredients. “We have three kids, and we want everyone to be nourished – not just fed,” says Brett.

The atmosphere at Rosemead Artisan Bakery encapsulates a sense of the unhurried, unpretentious surfer town – the Muizenberg, perhaps, of 10 years ago, before gentrification became an actualised buzzword. It’s honest and easy-going and not dolled up for show. And it makes sense – in a way, owner and Head Baker Brett Nortier has recreated a sense of his upbringing in the ‘Deep South’, where he cut his culinary teeth by learning the basics at his aunt’s bakery in Kalk Bay.

“In my mid-teens, my aunt returned from a small French village where she’d been learning to bake. She opened a bakery in a double garage on Rosmead Road, an old cobbled street in Kalk Bay. For pocket money, my brother and I helped out – making cheese sticks, coffee, whatever was needed. The bakery was just across from a great wave, so we’d come in early, bake, go for a surf, and help out again after. It was a cool way to grow up – walking down in the mornings, watching the sunrise over the sea. My aunt would be on the wall, waving her arms to call us in: ‘We’re busy! Come and help.’ Back then we didn’t have phones. From Grade 6, we’d be surfing in Kommetjie or Kalk Bay, just leaving notes on the fridge with a whiteboard marker: ‘In Noordhoek. See you at 8.’”

After school, Brett went to culinary school, where he met his wife, Anli. “We were both doing fine-dining internships – I was at the Greenhouse, then rated the top restaurant in the country, and she was at Terroir. After that, we helped out at my aunt’s bakery again before moving to Stellenbosch, where we spent five years at a great bakery – I probably learned the most there. But we wanted to be near the sea and always dreamed of starting something of our own. Ten years ago, we visited for a weekend, and someone mentioned a spot we could rent – a padstal on the R27. We checked it out and said, ‘Let’s do it.’ We took out a loan and launched with just the two of us – she did pastry, I did bread. I handled deliveries, she did the invoicing. We were washing dishes, doing everything ourselves. Some nights we only slept two or three hours, then started again the next day. Slowly we added help, and eventually moved here – we’ve been in this building for seven years now. This was the original Yzerfontein shop – it had the old-school Coca-Cola sign and everything.”

The approach at Rosemead runs through every aspect – local, artisanal, well-crafted. From the traceable supply chain (all the suppliers are written on a blackboard), who form a network of mindful, quality-focused makers that supply their flour, their coffee, their eggs, and their meat, through to the wares.

“What I started realising is the more these kinds of like-minded businesses can support each other, the better – consciously buying something from the smaller guy. We’ve got a lady up the road who supplies us with eggs – gosh, those chickens have a good life! And our coffee cup sets – they’re handmade by a friend of ours who’s a potter. Each one is a little different and yes, they cost a bit more, but they’re super special.”

What’s to be loved is also the process in action. You can see it all happening – the loaves go in, they come out. The timers tick and the mixers churn in plain sight. And periodically, the smells keep changing: first, the nutty scent of the first loaves. A wash of butter as the croissants come out. A wave of sweetness, like a cloud, when the pasteis de nata emerge. No wonder you don’t want to leave.

And the man behind it all is baking. Baking, sharing a joke with the staff, and enjoying a toasted sandwich by the window – where he waves off a mom and her son, who each carry off a loaf of sourdough, carefully wrapped in tissue paper like the beautiful bounty that they are. “People are surprised to see the owner working behind the scenes,” says Brett.

The quality is consistent – that’s a non-negotiable. But, like all things artisanal, you’ll find subtle variations. And perhaps this in itself is reason enough to keep coming back – to see how the flavour of their sought-after sourdough subtly shifts with the seasons.

“People ask, ‘Is your bread as good as this person’s bread?’ I’d say you’d have to eat our bread 10 days in a row – winter, spring, summer, autumn – and then do that at every other bakery. Because every loaf is not going to be perfect every day. The temperature is different every day, the flour is different every day. Also, we all have different opinions – I like it to be really dark, and the crust to be a bit too thick. My wife prefers it a bit lighter and crispy. So what’s perfect for me and perfect for you is completely different. And I think that’s what makes it so unique – that we have customers coming in and saying they want the slightly darker one.”

As the world becomes increasingly overrun by AI – spreading its bland canvas in the pursuit of singularity, perfection, uniformity – these qualities are surely going to become increasingly desirable: the hand of the maker, the imperfectly perfect. And so too will the spaces like Rosemead Artisan Bakery, where you’ll find community. Connection. And good conversation.

“We’re here to make people happy. People must feel relieved when they come here.”

It’s easy to believe.

“We’ve got ten minutes to kill. Would you like a croissant and a coffee?”

It’s an easy yes. And soon, a thing of beauty is placed in front of you – burnished and buttery, still warm from the oven.

“Nothing better than that right?”

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Words by Georgina Selander
Images by JDee Allin

More from our blog:

Mussel Foraging in Plettenberg Bay | Memory Cloth | In Studio with Tres Nagual 

In December 2024, 631 swimmers took to the waters in Cape Town and the Garden Route for the 4th annual Mungo Swim Club. With 8 clubs in Glencairn, Camps Bay, Hout Bay, Greyton, Plettenberg Bay, Buffelsbaai, Nature’s Valley and Knysna, we collectively raised over R170,000, which was donated to I AM WATER Foundation, Nature’s Valley Trust and Cultural Connections, supporting ocean conservation and community upliftment.

To all who took part, well done on taking up the challenge. You were, like us, perhaps driven by the collective feeling that an early morning dip does wonders for the soul, and by the spirit of impacting meaningful change in your respective communities. Or perhaps by the keen sense that you never regret a swim…

We hope you feel revived. And that your custom Mungo towels remind you fondly of your swims. Here’s to Swim Club 2025.

Here’s What You Had to Say About It…

More from our blog:

Beyond the Waves | The Winter Solstice Swim | The Evolution of the Willow Beach Towel

Take part in our Mungo x AGULHAS giveaway and stand a chance to win an AGULHAS Mokarran Mask and snorkel, and a Mungo Cotton Changing Towel. Competition open until 6 December 2024.

Hanli Prinsloo is a South African freediver, ocean advocate and the founder of I AM WATER Foundation. Recently, she has launched AGULHAS – a sustainable freediving brand aimed at connecting people to the ocean – for good.

Through our annual Swim Club, a five-day early morning swim challenge designed to reconnect, refresh and raise funds for ocean conservation and community upliftment, we’ve collectively raised over R150,000 for Hanli’s foundation, I AM WATER. We last spoke to her after the wrap up of our 2022 Swim Club – read the story, The Art of Being Optimistic.

The last time I interviewed you, you had a newborn… What has it been like passing on your love of the sea to them? Have they taken to it as much as you have?

We try to spend as much time in nature with them as we can – in the ocean, in the mountains, visiting rivers… they love it. When we’re at the beach, Peter and I are like kids at the rockpools – just looking at life and spending time observing all the kritters – and the kids are exactly the same; they can spend hours exploring, talking about the little animals. My oldest is already an avid swimmer and is a very good little diver. And the youngest is so funny – at swim lessons he actually doesn’t even kick or practice his stroke – he goes into a little aqua trance and just floats and relaxes. So I don’t know if we’re paying for swimming lessons for him or aqua meditation but either way he loves being in the water!

Do you have a ritual around swimming or taking a dip?

Buying a nice coffee and taking it with me, tucking it into my towel while I go for a swim, and then just sitting quietly, watching the ocean and feeling the salt on my skin after. I also have this little ritual that as soon as I walk into the sea and my feet touch the water, I greet the ocean in Swedish. I started this ritual when I was living in Sweden and got into freediving. I’ll say, ‘Hey Havet’ before I dip my toes in.

Where’s your go-to swim spot if you want to take a dip?

If I’m at the office and I only have like half an hour to run down, then I’ll just jump into one of the tidal pools and have a peek at the kelp forest. Otherwise even jumping in Silvermine Dam or some of the amazing bodies of water around Cape Town. As long as I can get my gills wet almost every day, I’m fine.

Thoughts on the Mungo Cotton Changing Towel?

Coming out of the ocean you often just want to feel comfortable and warm, and get a little bit dry, but not too hot – I don’t like to put on thick things straight away. So the Cotton Changing Towel for me just felt like the perfect mix of cosy, soft and super absorbent. The colours are also so beautiful. I love the Kids Changing Towels – they are so cute. The colours, the feel, the fit – they just look like ocean gnomes and it’s adorable! I can’t wait for the whole family to be traipsing around in our towels all day.

What is the spirit behind AGULHAS?

AGULHAS was born from our own need for sustainable freediving equipment. Every year we would run expeditions around the world, teaching people free diving in the most beautiful places; speaking about conservation, and supporting conservation initiatives – all the while not being able to recommend equipment that’s friendly to the ocean and to the planet. Eventually we had spoken about this on so many of our trips, that friends of ours who had travelled with us on all our freediving trips said, “How about you guys design the product that doesn’t exist on the market?” So it really was a meeting of minds, visions and passions for more sustainable ocean exploration equipment. The name AGULHAS, like the Southern tip of Africa, speaks of a really wild, free ocean lifestyle.

AGULHAS defines itself as ‘business unusual’ – what does that mean?

In business as usual, it’s all about the bottom line. We’ve never been only about making money. It’s about preserving our oceans, finding opportunities for experience, and creating community.

How is sustainable design incorporated into an AGULHAS product?

Our flagship product at launch is our Mokarran Freediving Mask. Generally diving masks are made from a bunch of materials that are overmolded and designed in a way that they can never be taken apart and at the end of life it just goes into landfill. The Mokarran Mask is made in a way that’s fully modular – which means you can take the mask apart, and replace any damaged or broken pieces. Or the pieces that still work can be put towards a new product. So it’s about durability and repairability.

How does AGULHAS encourage making the ocean a place for all?

I’ve taught freediving for about 20 years, and working with thousands of people, I’ve really understood what the barriers are to the ocean – sometimes they are socioeconomic, which is a lot of what we work with at I AM WATER – making the ocean more accessible for others. But sometimes it’s about fear and being more comfortable in the ocean, and equipment plays a big role here. People often say I’m too claustrophobic to dive or I’d love to see the ocean below but the gear is so cumbersome. So to make beautiful, streamlined, comfortable equipment does make it more accessible for people who have not been able to find comfort in the ocean.

What’s something that keeps you grounded?

Staying connected to nature and the ocean in particular is what keeps me sane and able to keep going. Also prioritising living and working close to the sea – I see the ocean almost all the time and what a privilege that is. And deep, slow breaths – our breath connects us to the ocean immediately, and everytime we sit down and take a deep slow breath we calm our parasympathetic nervous system and remind ourselves that oxygen comes from the ocean.

Our 2022 story was entitled ‘The Art of Being Optimistic’ because that was such an apparent and inspiring theme to our first conversation. What continues to drive and inspire you?

I still choose to be optimistic – and it still continues to be a choice, right? Because there’s still as many things to be deeply pessimistic about as there are to remain optimistic about. I’m still very much driven by the joy of being underwater. But now, having small children, I’m even more driven by protecting the beautiful wilderness for them to experience one day and have in their lives.

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More from our blog:

The Art of Being Optimistic | Talking to Hanli Prinsloo  | Such is Love | In the Kitchen with Karen Dudley

Memory is a slippery thing. It can haunt and delude you, take you down false turns full of false accusations. But it is also a warm and tender container – of the perfect day, a fond meeting, a dinner with friends. It is a carrier of legacy, a conduit for dreaming, and a place where feeling and fantasy meet – and play.

Lately, I keep having this thought:
Memory cloth. Memory cloth. Memory cloth.
It’s becoming obsessive.

I have a dress in my cupboard that I’ve never worn. But I can’t bear to get rid of it, or to rehome it, and likely, I never will. This is because it belonged to my mother. It is a black linen shift dress, cut to the knee. In all the years it’s been in my possession, I’d hoped there would be a time I could slip into it – my mother’s frame much slighter than mine. And now I have outgrown it: my style has changed, and I find myself, time and again, making the same choices: comfort over all else. I cannot bear anything too cinching; it cannot touch my belly, it cannot hug my arms. The looser the fit, the freer I feel. The more room I have to move, the more room I have for everything else. I am a cloth person – I work for the cloth, so to speak – but I am fussy about how it lands on my skin. Or, perhaps because of this, I am fussy about how it lands on my skin.

I know that I will never get rid of this dress. It has followed me through three changes of address. It has travelled with me to Italy and to Spain, where I had the notion that I could use it to slip into a different skin – into another place, and another time. Travel opens up these kinds of romantic prospects; the ability to change yourself at will, on a whim.

Memory cloth. Memory cloth. Memory cloth.

I have in my possession a fairly vast and enviable collection of Mungo textiles. Some are one-offs or samples – strokes of creative genius that didn’t quite make the cut. Others accumulated over the years with a sense of I must have this thing. This thing feels luxurious and special. Linen bedding being one of them.

The first to be mine was the Summer Towel, woven in a vivid Cobalt Blue. It was 2019, I was fresh on the block, and slowly penning my way into the role of Mungo’s copywriter. “You work here now, you have to take home a towel. That is the deal. That is the rite of passage,” I was told.

Although I’ve accumulated several others over the years, that towel is still my favourite. It’s soft and organic, and the best reference to the old textile term ‘lofty’. And it has a story. It’s woven on a 130-year-old Lancashire loom – one that makes an incredible sound and stands sentinel at the front of the Mungo Mill. This loom is history in motion: a century ago, it clattered away in a different world, in an English weaving shed, powered by steam.

It’s the loom gifted to Stuart over 30 years ago, on which he began weaving limited runs of kitchen cloths from a small studio where passers-by would watch him work. Those were the early days of Mungo – one man and a loom. Now, we’re 100-strong. That loom, and that towel, have stories to tell. And what’s life without a little story to it; a little swing and a little song?

When my father died, it is the whispering of cloth that I remember. I received a phone call on a Thursday morning, at a time too early for any good news. I was in bed, and slipped off the sheets as if sliding down a wall, taking in three words that changed everything, all at once. I went to my mother – she was in bed, the duvet ruched up around her. Her bedding was always warm, always smelt like her, and always felt like home. We put sunflowers out for him on a square of linen. I do not remember the faces that came and went. I remember the sunflowers, and the linen.

Memory cloth. Memory cloth. Memory cloth.

When my niece was born, there was only one thing to do. I could not be there to count her eyelashes and her toes and her starfish fingers. I could not be there to hold her – but I could give her something that could. Her Mungo baby blanket is two years old now, and so is she. She still carries it with her into the lounge, the end trailing on the floor, her fingers curling into the folds. That cloth is part of her story now – it is memory in the making. Perhaps one day my Mungo Bakuba Throw – by then a vintage piece – will bear witness to my own children. It will swaddle small feet in bed, or add a sense of ritual to Sunday movie nights.

I hold no sentimental value to the uninteresting, mass-produced t-shirts in my collection. And this is perhaps a failing of their design – they won’t become hand-me-downs, or heirloom goods. They might briefly extend their life by being rehomed to another. And then, at last, they will see out their days somewhere they shouldn’t – the home no designer or clothmaker intends for their garment: the sprawling, and yet largely invisible elephant in the room – landfill.

But a Mungo cloth is a textile to be treasured. One that is timeless. One that will last. One that has a story – because I know how it was made, I’ve seen it on the looms, I know the face behind the cloth and six years later, I still feel very soft about working here.

Memory is a slippery thing. (I was right about the sunflowers. Was I right about the linen?)
But I do know its power, its beauty, its story.
I know its ability to turn a simple cloth into something much, much more.

Memory cloth. Memory cloth. Memory cloth.

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More from our blog:

The Subtle Magic of Scent with Tres Nagual | Winter Reflections | The Story Behind the Double Cloth

How many of us can say we bring our whole selves, our values, emotions, and life experiences, to work every day? It takes a special kind of job to make space for who you really are. For Master Weaver and founder, Stuart Holding, ​​Mungo isn’t just a business; it’s the reflection of a life lived fully. Stuart’s journey began in the mills of Yorkshire, where he trained as a weaver in his formative years. From there, his path took unexpected turns, from a stint in Australia to a new beginning in South Africa. Along the way, he embraced some wild adventures, found love, had children, and even explored unconventional projects like weaving with dog hair. Mungo stands as the culmination of Stuart’s experiences – a legacy of family, passion, and a lifelong commitment to the art of weaving. Join us as we sit down with Stu to talk about the story behind Mungo and the man who brought it to life.

When did your passion for woven textiles begin?

In many ways, weaving textiles was almost destiny for me. I grew up in High Bentham, a town with three textile mills. For many, working in the mills or the surrounding farms was a natural career path. I remember being about 11 years old when my mother would send me to the corner café. I’d often stop outside the mills, peering through frosted windows to watch workers inspect woven fabric, holding it up to the light to check for faults. It was captivating. Those moments sparked a lifelong interest in textiles.

At 16, I started my apprenticeship at the Wenning Silk Mills, spending five years “going through the mill” as the saying goes. It was there I developed a deep respect for the craft of weaving. To this day, the transformation of yarn into fabric amazes me. Standing in the Mungo Mill today, watching the first few metres of cloth come off the loom, still blows my hair back.

After completing my apprenticeship and qualifying as a Loom Overlooker at 21, I left High Bentham and spent a few years travelling before settling in South Africa, where Mungo would eventually take root.

What happened next?

In the 1970s, I moved to South Africa, where I met my wife, Janet, a potter. We eventually moved to Plettenberg Bay, a coastal town on South Africa’s Garden Route, where I began training local yarn spinners. My early weaving experiments involved mohair, which I turned into blankets, jackets, and waistcoats. I sold these at the original Old Nick trading store, part of the Old Nick Village, a historic homestead that Janet and I have expanded into a hub for creative studios, workshops, and retail stores.

How did Mungo become a family-run business?

About 15 years ago, our children, Dax and Tessa, joined the business, taking Mungo to new heights. Tessa brought a strong creative vision, shaping the brand’s visual identity and marketing, while Dax focused on upholding the company’s core principles: quality, innovation, sustainability, and transparency. One major milestone was achieving GOTS (Global Organic Textile Standard) certification in 2019, which was a proud moment for all of us.

It’s incredibly rewarding to have them onboard, contributing to Mungo’s future growth while maintaining its ethical production practices and commitment to sustainable textiles.

How did cloth-making expand into what Mungo is today?

In 1998, I was gifted two Lancashire looms dating back to the 1880s. These were the very looms I had trained on during my apprenticeship. I refurbished them and started weaving small runs of cloth in a studio at the back of Old Nick Village. I kept the doors open, allowing visitors to watch the weaving process. This connection between the maker, the product, and the process became fundamental to Mungo’s philosophy.

As we expanded, we built the Mungo Mill in 2017, a double-volume building next to our original retail store. Today, the mill houses close to 100 employees and about 20 looms. Visitors can witness over 150 years of weaving technology, from warp-weighted weaving devices to antique Lancashire looms, and even the latest state-of-the-art Dornier machines, which were custom-built for us in Lindau, Germany.

Did your early life in the Yorkshire mills influence how Mungo operates today?

Absolutely. The Yorkshire textile mills where I grew up were my first inspiration. I admired how they co-existed with the natural environment, and I wanted to bring that same philosophy to Mungo. It created a self-sustaining community, with gardens, allotments, and vibrant local markets.

We’ve incorporated that spirit into the Mungo Mill at Old Nick Village. The Mungo Mill is a beautiful space, designed by Italian architect Andrea Christoforetti, and surrounded by koi ponds and lush gardens. We host a weekly market that supports local artisans and small-scale manufacturers. It’s a place where work and nature come together, much like the mills of my youth.

How does Mungo stand apart in today’s fast fashion-driven textile industry?

What we’ve created at Mungo is quite different from the mass production of cloth we see today, especially with the rise of fast fashion. We focus on small-batch production of high-quality home textiles, made with intention and care for both the natural environment and the people who create them. Our process is slower and more thoughtful, but that’s how we ensure that every piece we make upholds our core values of sustainability, transparency, and respect for the craft.

How do you understand creativity?

As I get older, I find myself reflecting more on where I’ve come from and how it shapes who I am today. I always knew I wanted something different to the world my parents came from — something creative. To me, creativity isn’t just about artistic talent; it’s about living a life full of adventure. Whether it’s climbing the highest mountain or paddling down the longest river, it’s that spirit that defines a creative life to me.

The natural beauty of this place we live, with its dramatic landscapes, wild ocean and mountains, indigenous forests, and rich biodiversity, deeply connects me to the environment. There’s a rhythm to life here dictated by the seasons, tides, and changing light that influences my creative process in many ways. I’ve always known I didn’t fit into the corporate world where rigid structures and predefined paths often stifle creativity. Here, surrounded by nature, I found the freedom to express myself and explore alternative ways of doing business.

Watch the video below to learn about who we are.

More from our blog:

Antique looms and why we run them | An insider guide to the Chelsea Flower Show | In search of joy.

In conversation with David Plenderleith and Florian Baumann, the hands behind Très Nagual – an all-natural, holistic perfumery based in Cape Point. From their unassuming home base between the aloes, across from Scarborough’s iconic Scone Shack, you’ll find the pair producing small-batch, consciously crafted soaps and scents.

Find their custom-made liquid hand soaps now in our stores.

“Smell this”

The door is open to the sun. There are aloes and a purple-grey mountain. It is late afternoon; the in-between stage when the air settles into stillness. In a place where time seems to have slowed down.

David picks up a bottle of scent. He sprays the air. The fine mist catches the slow light. And instantly the room is redolent with a rich perfume. The kind that makes you close your eyes. Take a breath.

“Dry incense.”

Holy basil. Immortelle. Sandalwood.

“It’s like earth.”

There’s something about scent that shifts the energy in the room now. A softening. An opening. An ease. This is play. This is letting go. This is how friends are made.

“Scent is such a delicate perceptual door. It is much more subliminal, almost subconscious, in the way the messages come through. It can captivate. It can entice. It can shun. It holds this etheric feeling, because you can’t really see it. Present, and then fleeting. On a molecular level, natural scent is free to move. And the moment someone thinks they understand scent, it changes.”

“Shapeshifting?”

“Shapeshifting, in a way. But yet it’s formless. So there’s no form to shift.”

People amble into the shop. We fall quiet and watch. The easing, the opening, is happening for others too.

“Shifts happen within a realm of feeling. I’ve seen it so many times. Someone may enter the space, hunched, or not happy. Tense. After some time with Florian, they come out lighter and lifted. In some ways it’s the product speaking. But it’s also the transmission that happens. And for our work to uplift, that is essentially the way that aromatherapy works in healing the mind, body and emotions. But we’re doing it in a more contemporary way – rather than in treatment rooms behind closed doors, we want to make it accessible. Scent becomes an ambience that is created.”

It’s quite easy to see now. This is a place of feeling. Of learning. And perhaps unlearning too. This is experience, more than retail. In fact, the very idea that something is being sold here seems to slip away. What’s taking place is much more. The undoing, the connecting, the softening. One could easily be swept through the open doors on a yellow breeze, and casually stay forever.

“What surprises you the most about what happens here?”

“What surprises me is that people come,” says Florian. “And that is such a pleasure. It is a journey. Plants, and their essences, their memories, their function – they become your own. I like to see the bigger picture, and to take more into account than just the perfume. To look at the ‘why, how, when, and for what reason’? And I like to ask people, ‘How is your mother?’

Perhaps this says it all. The point of connection. The intimacy that can be created between strangers that soon become friends.

We are standing outside now, looking in. A girl comes to the door. She’s ridden her bicycle here. Her name is Fran. She greets Florian warmly and goes in. A new scent journey is about to begin.

“Another surprise is that whenever I am cutting soap I get a lot of people crowded around me, and they say, ‘Oh, that’s amazing! Is that a big bar of soap? I never thought that’s how it’s made.’”

But of course. So little process happens in plain sight. The same recognition that happens here, happens in the Mungo Mill. Faces turn in wonder. Shifts happen. Thoughts tick in time with the looms.

“Flo’s background is in biology,” David tells me. “He holds a scientific approach to formulation. He also trained as a chef at Silwood in Cape Town. So there’s that unique combination of gastronomy, textures, taste and smell, with the understanding of plants and their function. I would say the dance with us is that every product has both our hands. Florian brings a sense of compassionate craftsmanship; logic and thoroughness. I feel we really inspire each other and lead each other to new places of expression in the way that we co-create. We work to our strengths, and allow a space for the other to step into.”

We move inside. Now we are standing before a lineage of scents. Different batches of ‘Nefertūm.’ There are notes of lime, Amyris and blue lotus. Subtle variances in each.

“Try this one, Fran. The new batch.”

“What is interesting is that the new Nefertum lasts so long,” she says. “It’s so good. I sprayed it the other day, then I went for a bath and when I woke up I still had this scent – it was still there but it had changed. The batch that I get from your town shop is amazing. It has more of a floral base.”

We’re on to something here. The threads draw closer together. It’s about the nature of change. The changes in nature. It’s a reminder of the perfectly imperfect natural rhythms we should rest in.

“If I follow the cycles, some batches are very different from the others. The immortelle, for example, that grows out at Hemel-en-Aarde, is always different. The last batch is from a new field. The previous batch from a 3-year-old field. And so the oil is very different. But then I explain to the customers that this is the natural world, and it should be so. Once that is communicated, it actually becomes a quality unsurpassed.”

The understanding of seasonal shifts. The awareness of change. The sense of harmony. It’s a refreshing exhale in a world where uniformity has become the standard. A world obsessed with an illusion of perfection. David and Florian are small-batch, craft producers. Much like we are. They understand cycles and variances and the importance of flow. Of the mark of the maker. The mark of the material.

Another scent is introduced.

“What do you see?”

“It’s the forest.”

“Another layer to Florian is his understanding of the mind. The mechanisms of thinking. He formulates, creating an image, and then builds a scent from that place.”

“It’s wet, like the forest. Like moss, and deep, rich greens. And ferns.”

“Your words, they give me inspiration. Because now I see that I have permission to go deeper into the underground and maybe make it a little more soily too. Because you seem comfortable there, you see? So now I have direction for my next batch. That’s how seasons happen, how cycles come about. And that is my greatest freedom. So the next time you come, I’ll say, ‘Smell this – now it’s like wet terracotta.”

“This is one of my favourites,” says David, picking up Savon à Barbe. It’s a play of organic tea tree from Zimbabwe, Pure Bergamot, Virginian Cedarwood, lots of Patchouli and a touch of Sandalwood. It’s very clean – there’s a lightness. I get an image of a day at the beach – being sun kissed and salty. A little bit of suncream.”

“White shells.”

“Mmmm.”

“An aspect of the work is in living in receptivity to not only our needs, or nature’s, but someone else’s. That takes it up to their depth – from their perspective. It’s listening, in the way we formulate.”

More people come, and go, and play. Apprehensive, reserved at first. And then the lessening. The loosening. The easing into peace. The quiet healing.

“Matching scent to personality is another layer of experience. Flo has become very good at this – reading people and matching them to a scent. Perhaps something on the playful side; fruity and floral. Or we might talk about the intention of the scent, and see if that is an energy they want to step into.”

It is the closing of the light now. Three hours have passed quietly. The mountain grows its purple shadow.

“There are mornings here where the aloes are full of dew. They look like the cosmos is resting inside of them. Luminous. And that energy, that vitality, that bit of freshness that doesn’t get tiring. That’s uplifting, and happy, and very medicinal – that is Hildegard. For me Hildegard’s image is like the first light of a new day.”

And what a perfect end. As the light of this one closes. It’s in the art of looking, isn’t it?

“There is that growing sense of consciousness. People are awakening to it. Becoming conscious of your surroundings, of your actions, of your feelings. There’s the practical side – turning around the bottle, looking at the label. Thinking about what I put on my skin, the cloth I use. They say that where attention goes, energy flows. What you look at, what you seek, is seeking you.”

A last look at that wise mountain. The glowing aloes. The magic is complete.

Find Très Nagual at their stores in Cape Point and Gardens. 

Or pay a visit to one of our stores in Cape Town, Joburg or Plettenberg Bay to discover one of their unique liquid hand soaps, custom made for Mungo using all-natural botanicals. 

If you take a wander through the Old Nick Village grounds, there’s a spot where the trees hum with activity. Flashes of yellow. Weaver birds at work. In the run up to winter, we watch them building their nests. They are known to use only the freshest and best materials, and a masterful weave. They were here before us. Perhaps they’ll outlast us. But they’re a fitting kind of mascot for the Mungo Mill. For the place we call home.

In preparation for the cooling off, we too start nesting. Finding warmth in pattern and texture. The Double Cloth comes off the loom. A warm and weighty throw, with a unique weaving construction that differs the pattern on either side. A new run of Linen Scarves is brought to life on our Ruti looms. We weave the scarf in small batches, each carefully designed to make the most of the limited colours left in yarn storage. It’s our way of designing to minimise waste, whilst making something remarkable. Each fold of shimmery fabric bears a true selvedge, a special self-finished edge particular only to shuttle looms.

We find in the colder months, and especially when the rain pours, that our Plett store is full. People trickle into the mill next door. Winter (like any) is a good time to take a tour. We open our production doors because we believe in the value of bridging the gap between maker and consumer. Between product and process. To make better choices, one must first understand, learn, and witness. Today most of us keep a safe distance from how our goods are made – faceless production, products alchemized from obscurity into existence. We feel the call to resist the surge of newness, now and novelty that has characterised contemporary retail. And the cult of silence and disillusionment that sits alongside.

Which is why we stick with the values of old: craftsmanship and quality. Transparency. Longevity. Timelessness. We hope that the Mungo product in your hand adds beauty and ritual to your bathtime, or your home. Something to be used, treasured, loved. To bring comfort. To be handed down. To bring joy.

The Double Cloth

The Linen Scarf

This year we put a spin on our annual Swim Club – our much-anticipated 5-day early morning swim challenge, which we launched in 2021 with the shared goal to reconnect, revive and raise funds for a worthy cause.

In line with the Plett Ocean Festival, we hosted a one-day-only Winter Solstice Swim on June 20th 2024, challenging swimmers to submerge in the sea in the spirit of feeling good, making new friends and in a collective effort to raise funds for Adopt a Swimmer, a Plettenberg Bay-based NGO committed to giving every young child the life skill of learning to swim. With 120 swimmers taking part, we were able to raise R32,000 for Adopt a Swimmer. And of course, as a reward for getting you wet-haired and out of your comfort zone, we gifted all swimmers with a custom Mungo towel.

Adopt a Swimmer (AAS) is an organisation that creates a safe environment for children to learn the life-saving skill of swimming, under the care of professional coaches. Founded by Louise Auersperg in 2011, the organisation offers children from local, disadvantaged communities a pathway to water safety, and personal empowerment – recognising that swimming has the ability to foster confidence and self-reliance, boost physical and psychological well being, and equip children with essential life-saving water skills.

Louise’s personal journey set the foundations of the organisation. Inspired by her own struggles with epilepsy and learning disabilities, she recognised swimming’s transformative power to help children facing similar challenges.

“During my late teens and early adulthood I was privileged to spend most of my free time under or top of the water – either on boats, canoes, paddle skis, yachts, hobie cats, fishing or deep-sea diving. The water gave me freedom to discover more about myself without boundaries. I was inspired to share it with others, and to use water as a conduit to bring healing, to restore and to empower. Using the skills I have learnt, and sharing the experiences that have enriched my life, gave me the opportunity to offer hope to others facing difficulties,” says Louise.

Over the years, AAS has grown, helping over 800 children by providing not just swimming lessons but also a nurturing environment where all children can thrive, regardless of their background.

“Our students are from very challenging circumstances. We teach childrens from the local Born in Africa programme, whilst others might be recommended to us – students that would like to participate in Plett Nippers, or have dreams of becoming life savers, but cannot swim. We are also approached by other NGOs.’

Currently AAS employs two qualified coaches and 8 volunteers. The programme, which works with the natural pace of each child, lasts anywhere between 18 months to two years.

Seeing the children develop, and the opportunities that the skill of swimming affords them is a great source of joy for Louise.

“One of the first students to join the programme in the early days went on to join the Nippers, then Junior, and ultimately Senior, Life Saving. She was chosen to represent South Africa in the Lifesaving Champs in Egypt and World Lifesaving Champs in Italy, bringing back a gold medal.”

Reward is also found in the day-to-day milestones.

“Seeing students arrive that have never seen a pool, or been in one, get in and discover the soothing feeling of water on their bodies, or the moment when a nervous student finally lets go and starts taking their first few strokes, or witnessing one of our disabled students moving in the water on his own; turning on his back and floating… All of this gives me courage to face my own struggles head on.”

Looking towards the future, Lousie dreams of widening their reach. “We need more funds to teach more children, and to employ a full-time coach to run the programme daily. My dream is to pass on the torch, by teaching one of the students to coach, and employing them in the programme.”

To find out more about AAS, or how you can get involved, visit their website here.

Interested in joining one of our upcoming Swim Clubs?
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“Such is my love, that I made him a syrup.”

We’d been on a hike in Newlands Forest. There was a coffee truck parked at the bottom of the hill. “The young kids ask for flavoured syrup,” the barrister had said. We come home. I’m standing in an emerald green kitchen. Doors open to a courtyard where a wall of basil is growing abundantly. Karen is preparing possibly the most luxurious thing I’ve ever eaten. A cardamom bun. Now being toasted to heavenly scented perfection. With a knife she works the cold butter (salted only). And then her son enters the kitchen. She tells him about the coffee stand in the forest. The barrister’s remark. “Oh really? He asks. “I made him one, you know? A syrup.” Her voice sounds like a wink.

It is 11:30 and I am laughing now. Laughing because it is not even noon and somehow I have had the profuse luck of being served three breakfasts by Karen Dudley. This has all happened spontaneously. I lucked in when I found out she needed a ride from the car service station while we were drinking our forest coffees the day before. She had a gap. I took it. Sliding through her front door, sneaking through a winding edible garden, and into her home. Speaking of.

“This is Willy Wonka’s paradise of the eclectic,” I tell her, placing my things on her kitchen countertop, eyes on stalks. There is a large mural of geese in front of me. A taxidermied peacock next to the fridge. And shelves laden with all manner of crockery – gravy boats, egg cups, milk jugs, and a mug for whatever mood you might find yourself in (the Mad Hatter would keel over). And a pink wall. “Everybody looks good against that wall,” she says.

“In another life would you be incarnated as an interior designer?” The words are instantly redundant. “Oh yes. “I’d like to think I’d be an interior designer just like I am as a chef. In the same way I help people to find their food identity, I’d want them to find their own sense of expression – through the pictures that they choose and the things that make them happy.”

“You know what I think it is?” Now she’s getting the coffee machine going. It’s very noisy but in a good way; this isn’t your run of the mill brew. And the conversation between sips will be good. “I think that life is too short to not be with the things that make you happy, and that are beautiful. I find it’s one of those things that people think they need permission for. They’re like, ‘Can I really try that? What if it doesn’t look like this person’s house?’ No. When you acknowledge what makes you happy, it all works together. Style is about knowing what you love.”

The coffee grinder continues to shout at us.
“You know what I do have? A bun.”
Now she is rustling in her freezer. I’m watching. So is the peacock. And I have this kind of tingly feeling. Something is happening here. The Karen Dudley thing is happening.
“Let me put these cardamom buns in the airfryer.” Soon the kitchen fills with a sweet, spicy scent.
“Did you get those from The Local Baker at the OZCF market?”
“Yes, on Saturday. You must go in the morning. Here. Have some of this while you wait.”
She presents me with a plate of green melon. It’s cold and sweet. It needs no dressing up. And it reminds me of a conversation we’d had the day before.
“One thing must sing.”
We were walking uphill and I was a little out of breath. The forest cracked open into a gravelly path. I thought about my notebook in the car. Instead, I mentally banked this perfectly formed pearl. She was wearing a silky red neck scarf and I thought, ‘I could never.’

I’m beginning to see it in action. Looking at this cold melon on a china blue plate. Karen’s food language does just this. In the way she heroes the simple ingredient. The everyday vegetable. She’s the champion of the humble broccoli stem. Transforming dishes not by overdoing them – by giving them voice. “You must go deep into what the thing was always meant to be, and wanted to be.” I know this melon wants to be eaten by me.

So I need to know. Where does this come from? Who is Karen Dudley?

“It began when I realised that if you make a warm loaf of bread and you serve it with cold slabs of butter that you would always have friends. I realised that I had some kind of skill in taking people somewhere with food – on a journey. And although I haven’t been to cooking school, that actually gave me a kind of freedom. I wasn’t tethered to anybody’s expectations. I also always had a huge genuine curiosity and interest in anything that was different, anything unusual – a new texture, a new flavour.”

The smell of cardamom is now dizzying.
“I’m going open the Langbaken cheese.”

“I’d been working in Washington DC with a chef who’d trained at the Culinary Institute of America.”
“So the lesser known CIA?”
“Yes, that’s the one.”
She pierces a knife into the corner of the cheese wrapper.
“He’d taken me under his wing and kind of baptised me. He’d say, “The President of Uganda is coming for lunch. We’re going to poach this salmon now.” And then he’d say, “Goodbye!” and I’d have to figure out how that was going to go. So I reached into my memory of all the things my mother was trying to teach me years back.

I combined what I was learning there, and came back to South Africa. I ran a little stream here for a while, persuading the YMCA, who had a large property in Constantia, that they needed a retreat. At that time we were a brand new country – it was ‘94, ‘95 – and there was this need for people to come together around a table. So I began to cook, with the idea to create a space where people could meet and connect.

Then one day a friend called me and asked me to come and help for the season in London – for all the schmancy people who collect their food on the King’s Road and go to the country. I stayed for two and half years, free as a bird. Beholden to no one. Cooking with everything that was presented to me. People were just coming out of Tikka Chicken and Coronation Chicken and a little bit of salad. And there I kind of registered, ‘Oh I can do the catering thing,’ realising that we didn’t have much of this going on in South Africa.

I came back and was doing people’s rugby boxes and 80th birthdays and their 21sts… My business was growing, and people were starting to understand that such freshness and deliciousness was possible. We were working from my kitchen, but soon realised we needed to find our place. We found a burnt out old fish shop on Woodstock Main Road. It was completely grody but perfect. And then we started up a stall at the Neighbourgoods Market, realising that we could do retail.”

This is my first memory of Karen. Iconic curls. The best dangly earrings on the block. Signature silver bangles and an energy, and a laugh, that was magnetic. Making ‘Love Sandwiches’. A name that needs no explaining. 17 years later and my mouth still waters, thinking about the sight of large bowls of pesto and honey mustard sausages and slabs of creamy white Danish feta. I’d take the pocket money from working at my mother’s cheese stand and ask for a panini with all the best bits.

“We had the shop in Woodstock. We thought no one would walk past the window and want to buy salad and beef fillet and sliced chicken. But before we’d even opened people were going, ‘What is this place?’ And suddenly I needed five staff to serve in the day and there were queues outside. People embraced our food. They embraced our vibe, and the fun. It was really quite magical. And it stayed like that for 11 years.”

The coffee is ready. The buns come out of the airfryer. They’re toasted and crispy on top. Karen works some cold butter on the plate. It’s the simplest thing really. Bread. Butter. But somehow it alchemizes into something more.

Somewhere in this genesis story, there’s mention of her mother. So I want to know: is the cult of deliciousness hereditary?

“My mom was a very good cook. Of just kind of ordinary things. But my parents travelled quite a bit in the 70s, which is quite unusual for coloured folks. But everytime they came back, they came with new ideas, which totally inspired and kind of enlightened us. And so we learnt that there could be white garbage collectors, and that people of different colours could be together. And about paella. With my folks there was very much an acknowledgement of deliciousness. Whether that meant hot rolls out of the bakery on a Sunday or slap chips from the right place. It was more about pursuing what was delicious and simple, as opposed to very pretentious, or what you think is supposed to be good.”

Which makes me think about this weird transition that happens – somewhere in your late 20s or 30s – where you’re suddenly supposed to prefer dark chocolate. Milk chocolate becomes unsophisticated. Pedestrian.

What she’s learnt – this concept of deliciousness – runs deep. Unadulterated. And so does the sense of family. I notice the large dining room table. Laid with a homely sort of cloth. I wonder what meals are being had around that table. I fantasise about being invited in (or locking myself in her pantry until dinnertime). “What are you eating here?” I ask, biting into the bun at last. Cracking off a piece of salty cheese.

“Supper is usually a layered one. My family likes a starch, so often it starts with a roast potato. One that’s either boiled or microwaved, and then smooshed and put in the airfryer so that it’s all crispy. And then we layer vegetables on top. You have some dressing at the bottom, some potatoes, some fine beans, some fried up brussel sprouts. We don’t eat a lot of meat. And when we do, we eat just a little. The night before we roasted eggplant with tahini ranch and tomato smoor and crispy onions. That’s kind of typical.”

I love how this is her’ typical’. I think of the years of unseasoned spag bol served up in my own home.

“Sadly nothing traditional like lasagna.”
“Oh why? That’s so boring.”
“It’s not that it’s boring; it’s sooo delicious. But there are too many stages. It’s too much love. I love lasagna but somebody else must make it.”

Karen’s dinner table scene seems to conjure up something emotional in her. Her eyes are shining.

“I speak about this in my new book, Onwards. A lot of the story is about me coming home. I would spend my days, and all my creativity energy, making food for strangers and a few friends. I poured all of this energy on people I didn’t know. And then I began transferring all of this loving attention, this creative energy, to my family. It was a most humble and beautiful thing to me.”

“Hang on. I have something else.”
She digs around in a drawer behind the counter. Now the toaster is going on.
“I only have white bread. How embarrassing.”
“Oh no, Karen, why not a sourdough?” I tease.
“Come with me.”
We go to yet another fridge. She takes out a large jar. You need to try this.”
It’s an orange-red-white concoction. I know exactly what this is.
The toast is popped. She butters it. Delicately layers some of the pickled cabbage on top. Slices it in four and hands it over.
“Here.”
The crunch of the toast. The tangy topping.
I’ve lived in South Korea. I’ve eaten more kimchi than most Saffers. I’m a snob, I admit. But this… This is eye-rolling-ly good.
“I put a Table Mountain stone in the jar.”
“Noted. The recipe calls for one Table Mountain stone.”
Ottolenghi might have his za’atar or rose harissa, but Karen Dudley has her Table Mountain stone.
“You know what? The humble government bread is actually perfect. It doesn’t overpower. It heroes the kimchi.”

I tell her about the years I spent living in South Korea. And how food – like this piece of toast – transforms and transports you. “It’s the ultimate nostalgia. A smell, a flavour – it instantly takes you back to a time or a place.”

“It’s so interesting that you say that, because food has this way of becoming an articulate of culture. How people clutch things to their bosoms – those memories and those evocations that become part of the fabric of culture; of the way we live and choose to live. Similarly, you have a Mungo towel that you may be lucky enough to have for 20 or more years. And that fabric, that feel, becomes part of the culture of your life. Becomes part of the culture of your family.”

“One more.”
Another toast goes in. Another jar is plucked from the pantry.
“Try this.” She turns my palm over, pouring out an hourglass trickle of sesame seeds. Gomashio. Sesame seeds and salt.
She comes back to the counter. Swipes the toast with butter. Deftly places a few small boat-shaped lettuce leaves on top.
“The other thing that people always underestimate is how generous plants are with us. In that they create opportunities to catch flavour. Look at these leaves. Pockets of opportunity, I call it.”
She plucks a few sprigs of dill. A crack of salt
“Here my friend. Have a try of that.”
Lush. Of course it is.

“I think my thing is to kind of reach for what is truly delicious. And then bring it into the world to share. And to present it in a way that feels free and accessible, but also beautiful. It’s not a fusion. It’s about how flavours sit beside each other and make each other happy.”

Yip. Yip. The fact that I’ve been called her friend makes me feel part of a secret club.

“Some chefs are very caught up in their recipes and in their techniques. I’m more interested in the ones caught up in flavour – which is a very sensuous thing. The ones going for the jugular.”

I can’t waste any of it. Now I’m mopping up the fallen sesame seeds with my fingers.
“You see? I’m leaving my DNA here. So that I can be buried with your basil.”

Life would be immeasurably more pleasurable if I could eat like this all the time.
“How can the home cook up their everyday dinner game?” I ask for myself. For anyone reading whose mouth is watering.

“Don’t underestimate the importance of a dressing. A dressing or a sauce can really pull things together at the last minute, and save you from boredom and monotony. You have a plate of broccoli? Sauce. Piece of fish? Nước chấm. And then the other thing that is so worth exploring is a crunchy topping. Like seasoned bread crumbs sprinkled on a pasta – pangrattato, they call it. Or coconut flakes and mint to make a gremolata. It totally elevates the game.

Watching her put this together, I’m reminded of how creativity can’t be constrained to the canvas. Or to the kitchen. Looking around, listening to her speak, I’m reminded that all of it is a creative act. Your life is your work of art.

“Every minute the energy is flowing. From every minute new is created, and new is created, and new is created. We’re in perpetual creation, you know?”

I nod. Take another bite.

“Do you want some pomegranate with that?” She sprinkles a few of the ruby gems on my toast.

“You know what? I’m going to crush this pomegranate aril into my notebook. A memory of love.”

Cooking is just that for Karen. An act of love. Whether it’s around the dinner table, or for the lucky guests who are welcomed into the warmth of her kitchen. Who join her for a cup of coffee or a walk in the forest. She can’t even seem to help it. It flows out of her, much the same way as everything else. A natural extension of the inside out.

If you’d like to feel it too, listen to her podcast – Toast.

Featured products

Read next: In the Studio | A Conversation with Textile Designer, Lucie Panis-Jones

We’re at Villa d’Almè for one reason, to visit the linen spinners who have, for the past 150 years, meticulously transformed flax into yarn. We are far from the fields of Normandy where it is grown, yet the connections run deep, and the relationships are old.

Written by Dax Holding

Bergamo, Italy

Descending from the mountains of the Alps, you follow the streams that once fed the factories of Italy’s industrialised north. Green Alpine valleys with rapidly moving waters, ice cold from the source of melting snow. We’re at Villa d’Almè for one reason, to visit Linificio e Canapificio Nazionale and the linen spinners who have for the past 150 years meticulously transformed flax into yarn. We are far from the fields of Normandy where linen is grown, yet the connections run deep, and the relationships are old.

We enter through a mechanised glass door, ascend in a lift into a modern office space where people sit staring at screens, plying the trade of modern-day commerce. There is information on the walls telling stories and revealing history – old oil paintings of the founders, the changes that have occurred over the past 150 years. We are ushered into a large boardroom, offered coffee, and discuss the effects of market pressure, war and climate on linen.

The narrative is scary; however, we sit in the same seats that generations before us did. We are guided by their history and soothed by their presence. Soon we have spoken of the things we must speak of and it’s time to delve deeper into the building.

We travel down, out of the light, into the humid basements where the real magic happens.

Walking down the humming rows of spinning frames you are immersed in the unique smell of linen, like earth, the same smell you find standing over one of our looms in South Africa.

A smell reminiscent of the fynbos that surrounds us in Plettenberg Bay.

The workers move quietly and gently, focused, with the sure movements of people familiar and confident with the repetition of their work.

These machines were designed and made before any of our times, modified through decades of innovation to produce a little bit more, a little bit better, hopefully a little bit faster. But always using the same basic ingredients. Wood, water, iron and people. All singularly focused on twisting the long thin fibres of a grass into yarn.

We just skim the surface.

We leave the spinning process and now travel by stairway, twisting up to the top floors to find ourselves immersed in an exhibition celebrating linen, life and art. This unexpected delight takes us into yet another dimension and precipitates a completely different conversation. What are we doing as people, as businesses, to change the common narrative?

The space once filled with machines is now devoted to art. High-value real estate is no longer able to sustain production in a country where labour and the cost of doing business has forced the majority of production to move to Lithuania and Tunisia.

More on our fibres:

The Lineage of our Linen

From Flax to Fibre

The use of agrochemicals in the conventional cotton sector affects an estimated 44% of cotton farmers each year. The results of this are grim: soil degradation, water pollution, biodiversity loss and habitat destruction. Not to mention to the health risks associated with exposing cotton farmers to harsh chemical pesticides and fertilisers. A reaction to these conditions has witnessed many companies disengaging from cotton and opting for alternatives such as synthetics, in the form of cheap plastic-based fibres.

The result? It’s thought that 70% of the world’s clothes are now produced from plastic. And although many of us are more adept at saying no to single-use plastics (straws, single-use bottles and the like falling out of favour) we often forget about the toxic plastics in our clothing and textiles.

Cotton has been farmed and used for thousands of years. At any one time, everyone on the planet is wearing or using at least one article of cotton cloth a day. Not only in the everyday t-shirt, but in everything from bank notes to bubble-gum. Versatile, soft, breathable, absorbent, hypoallergenic, durable, biodegradable and renewable. It’s easy to sing its praises. But the production of cotton fibre into cloth has not been an unblemished one either. And although changing old systems is hard, at some point you have to strike out.

We continue to believe in using natural fibres. They feel better on the skin. Are better for the planet. They biodegrade, rather than not spending aeons in landfill.

We’re also committed to being transparent with our manufacturing. Which is why we open the door of our mill to you, each and every day. We don’t claim to possess all the answers, but we recognise that there are better ways to doing things. And that organic agriculture is part of this shift.

In 2020 we became South Africa’s first Global Organic Textile Standard (GOTS) certified mill. A world-leading standard for organic fibre processing, that has rigorous environmental and social ramifications – right from the soil and seed, to the finished product. Whilst not all our textiles are woven with organic cotton (we use OEKO-TEX certified linen and conventional Southern African grown cotton too), we’re committed to finding better ways to produce and to consume. To pursue sustainable stewardship. And to reflect that process with you too.

This Earth Day, we celebrate those textile standards that serve the betterment of our people and planet.

Find out more about our GOTS certification and organic journey here.

#happyearthday

Read next: Behind the Seams | The Hidden Cost of Fast Fashion

Organic Cotton Range

A bird’s eye view of Poortjies lagoon in Plettenberg Bay mid-March would have afforded an interesting sight. Starfish bodies, floating on the water’s surface. Each connected at the centre, and slowly drawn down the line of the beach by a guide, donned in bright blue. You’d spot the telltale sign of a snorkel. A small face, coming up for air. A peal of laughter carried on the wind, rippling across the slow-moving tide.

At the end of 2023, we hosted our third annual Mungo Swim Club. A five-day challenge with the shared goal to reconnect, revive and raise funds for a worthy cause. We held clubs across Cape Town, Knysna and Plettenberg Bay, asking swimmers to join us for a consecutive series of early morning dips. We encouraged swimmers to extend their good will, by each donating towards I AM WATER to secure their spot. And in the end we rewarded each who saw it through – rain, wind or shine – with a custom Mungo Swim Club towel.

665 of you participated. Driven by a collective sense of good feeling – and perhaps the shared self-possession that you never regret a swim.

Through this we were able to raise over R100,000 for I AM WATER. A contribution supporting their incredible and vital work – one that tackles ocean conservation and issues of accessibility, by offering transformative water experiences for youths in under-resourced communities.

“IAW has helped me overcome my fear of not being able to swim, and helped me bridge the gap between my community and the ocean, making conservation accessible to those who, like me, yearn to be part of something greater. Now, as I teach the next generation about their connection to the oceans, I see the same spark of wonder in their eyes that I felt. It’s a reminder that no matter where we come from, the ocean is a part of us all, and it’s our duty to protect it.”

– Marlin van Sensie, IAW coach.

It was a pleasure to see the funds materialising into action, with the IAW team visiting the Garden Route to host a 2-day Ocean Guardians Workshop. The event began with a talk at the Crags Primary School, where IAW staff brought home the need to protect our oceans, against the real and present threats of overfishing, pollution, and habitat destruction. The enthusiastic and engaged responses from the students were a testament to the passion of the IAW team.

Then the Ocean Guardians Workshop was underway. Day 1 unfolded at Poortjies Lagoon in Plettenberg Bay, with a programme that included mindfulness and breathwork activities, educational presentations, nature walks and beach clean ups, explorations of the shore and team work activities, before getting into gear – wetsuits, masks and snorkels donned for the first dip. Guided by the team, the students were put at ease in the water, mastering their new gear before exploring the world of wonder below. Lunch on the beach followed, with an opportunity to share feedback and reflect on the day’s learnings.

“Hosting the Ocean Guardians Workshop in Plettenberg Bay and Knysna was a first-time endeavour for us… but the serene beauty of these locations offered a refreshing change of scenery, with new marine life to discover. The estuary and lagoon ecosystems presented a distinctive environment, teeming with seagrass, sea hares, hermit crabs, and nudibranchs.”

Day 2 saw the students building on their confidence from the previous day, with a trip to the Knysna Lagoon. Exploration of the rocky shores revealed an abundance of sea treasures – gem-toned anemones, starfish and even a shy octopus, before a dip into deeper waters of the Knysna Lagoon.

The afternoon ended off with a certificate ceremony, bringing home the students’ newfound roles as future ocean guardians.

“The most fulfilling aspect of conducting these workshops is witnessing the joy reflected in the students’ smiles at the conclusion of each session, helping them overcome their fears regarding the oceanic environment and its organisms. It’s a testament to the effort invested in educating, mentoring, and nurturing the upcoming generation. By equipping them with the necessary knowledge and skills I hope to inspire them to become stewards… perpetuating a legacy of ocean conservation.”

To mark the event, we presented each student with a Mungo Scout Towel, a sea-spired kids towel woven with 100% organic cotton, and designed with the next generation in mind.

A towel we like to say was designed for the sea swimmers, oceanographers, avid explorers… for the rockpool-finders, sandcastle builders and first-time snorkellers of the future…

Looking around at the faces, and hearing the feedback at close of day, drove it all home.
The importance of hopefulness. The power of possibility. The value of inspired collective action.
What a pleasure it has been to work with this incredible team.
Here’s to Swim Club 2024.

Want to get involved? Sign up to our mailing list to join one of our upcoming Swim Clubs.

IAW was founded by South African freediver and ocean conservationist, Hanli Prinsloo. Read our conversation with her, The Art of Being Optimistic, next on our blog.

Summer in Plettenberg Bay is renowned. A time of year that sees tens of thousands of locals and holidaymakers alike flock to the town’s pristine Blue Flag beaches to make the most of the sun and surf. But whilst many of us are enjoying the waters or working on our tans, there are those who are hard at work: the lifeguards. Over 60 of whom keep vigil over 13 beaches in the area, right from Nature’s Valley to the Robberg peninsula.

Above and beyond safeguarding our seas, the Lifeguard Programme supports a proactive skill development initiative in Plettenberg Bay. Training and upskilling youths from local communities with valuable skills that set them up for future success.

“We have about 15 kids who come through the programme each year. Some of these kids might take 2-3 years to pass through the necessary training – others a year. So on average that’s about 10 kids every year. A very small fraction of these kids come from affluent communities. They are predominantly from disadvantaged backgrounds,” says Lifeguard Instructor and Examiner, Chas Fraser.

The programme is rigorous, and requires a strong level of commitment. Not to mention peak physicality, strong aquatic skills, effective teamwork and open communication. Constant vigilance is key, as the guards must consistently monitor both the water conditions, and swimmer capability. Those who persevere are led through a comprehensive program of personal and professional development, acquiring skills that open up a world of career options.

“This profession has to have real working skills. You have to be on time, you can’t bunk work, you have to have a lot of discipline. We’ve seen these kids get jobs on cruise ships, in fire and rescue, become paramedics… It’s a stepping stone to earn income and to move onto other careers.”

In support of the programme, and as a gesture of appreciation for the boys and girls in red and yellow, over the last few years we’ve been weaving a special run of our Itawuli – a pure cotton towel that has been a signature of the Mungo range for close to a decade. Keeping the towel’s iconic geometric design, we’ve switched up the colours – an all-red towel with a yellow stripe to reflect the occasion.

“The Mungo towels were among the most cherished sponsorships we’ve received for the individual guards. They love them and have kept them warm, dry and protected from the wind. They are durable, attractive and practical and the squad would like me to thank you for this. External support of the programmes has become a cornerstone in its ability to carry on developing and keeping a highly professional labour force and to direct more funds to our highly successful, disadvantaged community development training. Lifesaving is the catalyst of the programme. But at the end of the day, the real life saving is saving these kids lives; giving them opportunities.”

Since the hand over, we’ve had many customers and beach-goers ask us where they can get their hands on one of these towels. Whilst this red and yellow beauty isn’t part of our current range, you can still shop one of our Itawuli colourways here. And if you spot one on the beach, we’d love to see – tag us at @mungodesign

Shop the In Range Mungo Itawuli

Blue Moon

Cango Grey

Emerald Green

In December 2023, 655 early morning swimmers dove into the sea, across 6 clubs in Cape Town, Plettenberg Bay, and Knysna for our third annual Swim Club. Together, we raised over R100,000. All the proceeds were donated to the I AM WATER foundation, a registered NPO committed to using environmental education to ignite the passion for conservation in the next generation. We celebrated this accomplishment by awarding every participant with a custom woven Mungo towel.

Read more about previous Mungo Swim Clubs, and how it all began, here.

“You never regret a swim.”
A friend once told you this. You were hiking in a forest and the trees broke open into a quiet stream.
“Wanna get in?”
“Sure.”
The water was cool and dark. Little beams of sunlight cracked their way between the leaves.

You’ve remembered this. Put it in your pocket like a personal mission statement.
Yes.
You’re the kind of girl that always says yes to a swim.
So then,
Surely,
You could never say no to the Mungo Swim Club.
But.
It’s early.
And you live in Plett and you’re used to rolling out of bed at 8am.
But.
You’re true to your word,
If anything.

So you get up early.
Resist the alarm clock at first, but then kick your legs off the bed and wipe your eyes
And when you’re up
And in the car
And on your way
You’re in it –
There’s no going back.

You get to the beach.
You’re still half asleep and the water looks pretty cold.
You dip a toe in and confirm: freezing.
But there’s a big group of people around you that are here too.
And you’re in it together.
You’ve made this commitment to yourself.
And to them, in a way.
A silent pact.

And once your head’s beneath the waves
Something happens
Especially if you linger a little
To let the water seep into your bones
And behind your toes
And wash away the mental cobwebs.
And then you get out.
And chat to the person next to you.
You find out they live just up the road
Or like the same secret coffee spot as you
Or drove here with their dog.

Maybe by the end of the five days
You’ve learnt these people’s names
Or said
“Hey, are you getting a coffee at that secret spot? Cool, I am too.”

And for the rest of the day
The smell of the sea salt lingered on your skin
Or in your hair.
You had that little shiver of cold water about you
And you carried around with you a secret smile –
That you’d seen the dawn
You’d danced beneath the sea
You’d felt a little more connected
To something,
Somehow
To the water
Or the waves
Or perhaps
Just
Yourself.

A special shout-out to our dedicated ambassadors who were there every morning to register your swims. Thank you @lilla_ae, @sunnyshelbs, @coldwatersocialclub, @chloewallacejewellery, @conoreastment, @jaybonemusic and @amy_theresa_murgatroyd. And huge appreciation to the Plett lifeguards.

Thank you to @mattie_lennon and angus_tongs_and_photo_blogging for joining us for the swims, and sharing the photos used in this blog.

There’s a kind of magic in an early morning swim…
To dip into the salty sea before the day begins
Before office hours and computers and well-worded emails
To refresh. To revive.
To connect more – to the sea. To ourselves. And to each other…

It was from this idea that the first Mungo Swim Club was born.

Swim Club 2021

We launched the Mungo Swim Club in 2021 – a 5-day challenge with the idea to help us all feel good, and give back something whilst doing so.

We sent a newsletter on a Thursday afternoon at the end of November. Made nervous jokes about whether anyone would join us. 12 was one guess. ’15 people?’ was Tessa’s. And in the morning we came into the office with a full mailbox – and an incredibly enthusiastic response.

In the end, 231 swimmers completed this first challenge – meeting us every morning for a sunrise dip at Hobie Beach, Clifton and Dalebrook. Through Swim Club 1.0 we awarded 231 swimmers a Mungo towel, and sponsored 231 Surf Therapy lessons with Waves for Change.

Waves for Changes is a registered South African NPO who work with youths from stressed environments to develop a community-based, child-friendly mental health service through Surf Therapy.

Swim Club 2022

With our newly launched European site, based in Northern Ireland, in 2022 year we thought to take our Swim Club to foreign shores… In October 2022, we held a Swim Club in the Lake District – a five-day cold water challenge, hosted by Monique Rodgers. 15 swimmers completed the five days, and on their behalf we sponsored 15 Rivers Guardians workshops with I AM WATER foundation.

Two months later we launched our second South African Swim Club. Again the popularity took us by surprise – with over 300 people registering within the first two hours. We hosted 3 pods at Hobie Beach, Clifton 4th and Water’s Edge from the 5th to the 9th of December. We had 292 swimmers complete the challenge. For every person to stick it out, we donated R100 towards an I AM WATER foundation River Guardians workshop. By the end of the week, we were pleased to hand over R29,200 to I AM WATER.

2022’s Swim Club had an incredible response – and so for all those who missed out, we decided to open two more pods to round out the year – one in Knysna, and another in Plett. With 164 swimmers in 2022, we were able to raise an extra R16,400 for I AM WATER.

Clifton 4th Swim Club

Clifton 4th images supplied by Angus Mackenzie and Tremayne Ward-Smith.

Swim Club 2023

This year we expanded our Swim Club across 5 locations in Cape Town, Plettenberg Bay and Knysna.

655 swimmers swimmers joined us this year helping us to to collectively raise our biggest sum yet – over R100,000 for I AM WATER foundation.⁠

A shout-out to all those who joined us to swim rain or shine, to our ambassadors who were there to register the swimmers, and to the Plett lifeguards.⁠

⁠Swim Club 2023 images supplied by Matt Lennon.

Want to join us at our next Swim Club?
Sign up to our newsletter here to stay in the loop.

I AM WATER

This year’s Swim Club beneficiary is I AM WATER foundation, for their incredible work using environmental education as a tool to inspire the next generation of conservationists. They work with under-resourced coastal communities who, despite their proximity to the shoreline, have often never explored the world beneath the waves. Those who have opened their eyes underwater, those who have seen the beauty, the majesty, and the great marine creatures of this world, will learn to love and to protect it.

On Saturday, 9th of December, we gathered at Central Beach in Plettenberg Bay for an ‘Activation Swim’, to appeal and object to the CGG Seismic Blasting due to start January 2024,

Following the round-up of our 2023 Swim Club, an annual five day swim challenge held in Cape Town, Plettenberg Bay, and Knysna, we made the call to add on an additional swim, in response to the Seismic Blasting, which will have devastating impacts on our marine life, our tourism and local fishing livelihoods. We collected donations on the day for the vital work of the Plett Environmental Forum, a group dedicated to promoting and educating in environmental awareness, ensuring a clean and green environment, and actively participating in sustainable development projects.

Huge gratitude to everyone in our community who braved the rainy weather to swim with us, and make a donation. Thanks to our engaged swimmers, we raised R12,540 for the Plett Environmental Forum. And as promised, Mungo is doubling the impact by matching the donation.

If you’d like to support, please sign the petition below.

Navigating Paradox and Complexity

Paradox: I looked it up to get clarity before writing this.
This is an explanation.

“A statement that seems to contradict itself, or seems to go against itself, but may contain a basic or underlying truth when examined more closely.”

I suppose another way of looking at a paradox can be posed as a statement.
How not to be a hypocrite.
Or a question.
How do I stand for what I believe and not be a hypocrite?

In terms of sustainability the term paradox comes up a lot. So does the term complexity. To understand sustainability and the interconnection between humans and the planet one needs to spend some time thinking about paradox and complexity.

How do I stand against the seismic testing that has been approved off the coast of Plett when I drive my diesel bakkie to work and cook my food with gas?
Am I a hypocrite?
I guess I am if you wish to look at it in such binary terms as good and bad.
But it isn’t that simple, if only it were.
We don’t live in a fantasy world, it’s not simple and it’s not easy.

It’s complex.

We have a lot to thank fossil fuels for and we can’t just switch off the ‘tap’.
Every single one of us is inextricably linked and entirely complicit.
That’s what is being debated at COP28 right now.
The just transition.

And it’s a paradox.

I will drive my car to a protest against the very company that puts the fuel in the tank to get me there.
But my desire is pure. I mean well. We shouldn’t be blasting the oceans and extracting more pure carbon to stick into the atmosphere. The system needs to change.
So I believe that it’s our intent that counts.

I am searching for a different way.
Even when it makes me a hypocrite.
There isn’t much choice in that. I will embrace it. Try regardless.

It’s complex. It’s a paradox.

– Managing Director, Dax Holding

This is a story about a piece of cake. Let’s see where it goes.

There’s something that happens in my brain when I close my eyes and take a bite of the birthday cake Caroline has brought into the office. A burst of fireworks. Awakening a space of joy that sweeps out the mental cobwebs. Wipes off the darkened corners, where anxious thoughts have been collecting dust like antique furniture. Weighty, unlovely pieces that nobody likes, but that have been there for so long, there’s a kind of craven sentimentality. Oh, surely we can’t get rid of those? Who would I be without shame? My misplaced guilt?

I don’t think I’m alone in the sentiment that cake, and birthday cake specifically, holds a rare magic. One that speaks to whimsy and joy. Unshackled by age or the shrewd sensibleness that comes with it. Something on par with plunging feet-first into a crunchy pile of leaves. With the ridiculous and random delight of popping candy. To misattribute Dom Perignon, ‘Come quick, I am tasting the stars!’

Disillusioned.

In another life, I studied Journalism. Four years followed by quick disillusionment. A quest for storytelling and human-to-human connection turned sour by what soon became clear – that we are hooked on sensationalism. Drawn to the deathtrap of negativity. Sex sells – but tragedy sells better. A short-lived, toe-dip into the field (a smattering of internships, really) from since I have fought against the onslaught of righteous and unappeased comments from my mother, who cannot understand why I am not inclined to pick up a newspaper or watch the news. ‘How can you not know what’s going on in the world?’ To me, this is entirely subjective. A scope of ‘what’s going on’ varies depending on who’s asking, on whose story is being told. And the answer to that is wrapped up in politics and influence and advertising and…

Let’s just curtail this by saying that I am not an ostrich when it comes to the goings on of the world. But I am selective.

The Golden Snitch

A decade on, there are a few things I can take away from a Journalism degree. Besides the fact that I am lily-livered and have little grit for the gutsy world of hard news, there is one distilling point. It’s about the merry chase of the industry – the elusive Golden Snitch. Objectivity. There is no such thing. There is no universal truth. And should anyone tell you otherwise they need to be knocked down a peg or three. Whilst we might quest for a vision (a version, really) of veracity, the media world is no doubt negatively bent. Underpinned by a fear-mongering mentality that, if you allow it, would leave us all acutely agoraphobic. Pinned behind closed doors with the last stand of the doomsdayers.

Cold, hard fact.

This is not an exercise in denialism. Real crises – political, social, economic, environmental – are rupturing the planet on a daily basis. They have been, and will continue to do so. But this is not a story about that. This is a call for optimism. A stake on the revolutionary power of hope. Not reductive, or toxic, positivity. But hope and joy as forces for change. As energising agents.

The importance of optimism

Recently I was surprised by a conversation with champion freediver and ocean conservationist, Hanli Prinsloo. By her refreshing take on the importance of being optimistic. In her words, hopelessness would ‘spell the death of everything we care for.’ Because without hope, with only apathy as an ally, why would we change? Why would we act differently, forge on, or look for better ways of doing things? If there was nothing left to fight for, why even get out of bed in the morning?

Mungo?

Two years ago, on a weekend away, I had a casual conversation with the owner of the guesthouse I was staying at. I told her where I worked. Mungo? As she waved me off her property, and I thanked her for an enjoyable stay, she said 9 words that have reverberated in my memory ever since. Mungo really is the shining light of South Africa. I profess in writing this into the story, there may be a sense of immodesty. But I knew what she meant. That amidst all the stories of gloom that characterise our daily landscape, that ripple through our conversations, peppered no doubt with a South African sense of humour, that it was good, refreshing, to see a story of success. Of growth and hope and expansion. Of a company striving for something better. We deserve that – to hear stories of hope. We’ve earned it. Hope is also perhaps the greatest driver for change, the richest source of inspiration, the sharpest tool at our disposal, that will allow us to envisage a world better than this one. A place liveable for all.

Let’s talk

In August, Mungo participated in the line-up for the 2023 African Textile Talks. An annual event, hosted by Twyg and Imiloa Collective, that offers a full day of inspiring talks and panel discussions that shine a light on – and celebrate – innovations around sustainability, environmentalism and circularity in the fashion, craft and textile industries.

Talks were presented by engaging speakers from around the continent. Stories of change and promise. But also stories that brought us down to earth. Like the representatives of the OR foundation, who showed us pictures of the Kantamanto market in Accra. Of an ocean awash with textiles. A shivering example of a city drowning in the faults of the fashion and textile industries. Where overproduction and overconsumption have become the name of the game. And the Global South a dumping ground for the sins of the North.

The textile industry is a historical quagmire. Characterised by lack of transparency and lack of traceability. By exploitative working conditions. By gross overproduction that has led to bulging landfills and throwaway mindsets. But I’d like to think that these hidden costs are gradually coming to light. That more people are cotton-ing on.

2023 Africa Textile Talks

Fetching the future

One of the contributing speakers at the Africa Textile Talks was design journalist and creative director, Bielle Bellingham. She spoke about the role of design in shaping the future. And the need to design not just new products but new behaviours. Of using our resources as makers and innovators to ‘fetch the future’. One that is beneficial for all.

After the Textile Talk’s wrapped up in Cape Town, I drove back home. To the haven of Plettenberg Bay, where the Mungo Mill and its hub of production is based. And with the conversations around the textile industry, around fears for the future, still fresh in my mind, I looked around with a new sentiment. Something that felt a little a little more… effervescent. Buoyant. Optimistic.

It’s not hard to find. When you work in a place that is naturally and abundantly beautiful. Green. Nestled between oceans. If I look out of the office where I write this, I see leaves and skyline. If I stand at the window I can hear the sea. See the waving arms of a large and stately Coral Tree. And if I take the short flight of steps into the mill adjacent, there it is. I still get a catch in my throat when I hear the sound of the looms, five years on. It comes with the knowingness that there are visions of the world where equity and good feeling are interwoven into each thread. Spaces of optimism. Spaces of joy.

Final thoughts?

Joy, like birthday cake, is better when shared.

So I asked on our WhatsApp group – to 76 weavers, dreamers, designers, cutters and cake lovers: What brought you joy today?

Here are just a few of the replies.

For me it’s walking from the shop to the mill, saying hi to all the smiley faces as I go past to nag Ginny in production about an order. The different types of greetings, the fabric coming to life as it gets woven, Norton asking for nibbles (we all mother him), checking in on the ladies in despatch, stopping to watch the guys in the warping doing their work with such pride and care, out the back door through the nursery back to the shop, the fabrics, my lovely coworkers and the wide eyes visitors. It’s great! I love it. Oh, and the Wisteria full of bumble bees buzzing next to the shop.- Jonica

Mine was walking through the mill today. I am still mesmerised by the sound of the looms and the creation of a beautiful product. Plus another bonus is working with an awesome team of people. Grateful! – Caroline

Mine is just the lovely space we all get to work in. Not just the mill but also Old Nick Village and its lovely peaceful gardens. And also the generator. – Craig

I’m on the road in Durban and for me it’s meeting our clients and customers who say, ‘We loooove Mungo, you are so lucky to work for such an amazing South African brand, the new towels are incredible, the colours are amazing, I won’t use anything else, my clients insist I use Mungo in their home…’ Just praise and more praise. It’s humbling to say the least. – Merle

I love walking along the walkway overlooking the looms, hearing the intense clatter, feeling the difference in the air/humidity, watching everyone intently working, seeing the threads weave together – it is mesmerising! – Tijen

For me it’s looking at the warp and weft threads binding together and forming the most beautiful designs. Each one with a unique story behind it. – Nicky

I’m grateful for the opportunity to be able to help shape a company that has as its foundation principles and philosophies that go beyond the need to make money. It makes life infinitely more interesting to be involved in a pursuit that has some meaning. And I really enjoy offering a platform for the improvement of people’s lives in a space as beautiful as ours. – Dax

The product, the people, the place and the poetry it all makes. – Tessa

Also in search of joy?
We can’t promise cake, but we can promise more feel-good stories.

Read next: In Conversation | Mungo Mill, Architect, Andrea Cristoforetti

From Field to Fibre

Our linen bedding is woven with the world’s most ancient and noble fibre – pure flax.
Grown in Upper Normandy by our farmers from Terre de Lin, in fertile fields that bloom with blue-gold flowers.
Harvested after 100 days – and then another 100 days to rett and scutch and spin.
From Flanders to Bergamo, the thread are then spun into golden-grey fibres by our Italian Master Spinners, Linificio e Canapificio Nazionale, and yarn dyed for brilliant colour fastness.
Then by sea it wings its way to our mill in Plettenberg Bay – where thousands of threads are warped and woven, cut, sewn, pressed and finished.

Guided by human hand at every step to produce linen bedding like no other.
Carrying with it all the artistry, all the heritage, of centuries of passed-on skill.

Flax flowers blooming in Normandy

So Why linen?

Linen for luxury, and longevity. A fibre of heirloom quality, of an unmatched feel.

Linen is breathable through all seasons – tempering the temperature no matter the weather. And the final feel? Cool and crisp to the touch. Yet warm, inviting, once under its covers.

Crisp when first woven, linen develops a luxurious lived-in feel over time, ageing gracefully.

Once you’ve slept under the breathable texture of 100% linen, nothing else quite compares.

Naturally Low Impact

At Mungo, we take pride in using traceable yarn sources.
Flax farming has an inherently minimal environmental footprint – requiring little, if any, chemical interference.
Our linen is spun by Master Spinners in Northern Italy, who hold OEKO-TEX and B Corp certifications for their commitment to socially and environmentally responsible practices. The yarn is meticulously dyed, ensuring brilliant and long-lasting colours, as per the OEKO-TEX Standard 100 for harmful substance testing.

We then warp, weave, cut, finish, and sew our linen in small batches at our mill in Plettenberg Bay – South Africa’s first GOTS-certified weaving mill.

A Unique Handle

The feel of linen is distinct.
Its handle bearing the careful craftsmanship that wove it to life.
Tactile. Natural. Organic.
Characterful and textural – it’s quality is known and beloved to the true connoisseur.

Truly Timeless

Linen bedding builds its character over time. Softening, surrendering, developing with use.
Ageing gracefully with each wash, and gradually transforming its look and feel to become softer, and more inviting. Through the years gaining its lived-in quality.
Standing the test of time. Embodying an enduring elegance. Something truly timeless.

Introducing our newest colourway, Terracotta.

Earthy. Sun-baked. Rich and rustic.
Full of texture and tone.
Inspired by the earth. Woven right from the source.

Interested in learning more about the meticulous care that goes into producing our linen yarn?

Read the full story on our blog: ‘The Lineage of our Linen’ or watch the film, ‘From Flax to Fibre’.

Talking Certifications.

The Global Organic Textile Standard (GOTS) is the world-leading standard for the production of organic textiles. It sets the bar high, with rigorous social and environmental criteria for each step of the supply chain – right from seed and soil, to the spun fibres and finished product. In 2020 we became South Africa’s first GOTS-certified company. An exacting and undoubtedly expensive process that involves annual auditing of each of our departments – but one which we stood behind in our pursuit of sustainable textile manufacturing.

On August 18th we were pleased to be part of the discussion around certification – as we hosted an open dialogue on our GOTS certification from our our Cape Town store on 78 Hout Street. The talk was held in connection with the 2023 Africa Textile Talks, and featured a conversation between Africa’s GOTS representative, Muktar Dodo and our designer, Lenore Schroeder – mediated by Twyg founder, Jackie May.

Timely and interesting conversations grew from the initial dialogue, as makers in the local textile and fashion industries discussed the role of organic fibres, as well as challenges to certification in their various sectors, and need for support and transparency.

Navigating the sea of ‘sustainable’ buzzwords can seem overwhelming in a world where real solutions are easily lost in a mix of clever marketing speak and greenwashing. That’s where certifications stand strong as beacons of credibility. In order to safeguard the health of our families and communities for the future, organic agriculture is essential, and although certification might involve very real and immediate cost to company, the longterm value is priceless.

Whilst we’re currently flying the GOTS flag on our own, we hope to positively impact the industry and the future of responsible design. Proving that there is a demand for organic textiles, and supporting a growing industry of innovators and change makers.

2023 Africa Textile Talks

The discussion was part of the full programme of the 2023 Africa Textile Talks, hosted by Twyg and Imiloa Collective. Organised between South Africa and Mauritius, the annual event offers a full day of inspiring talks and panel discussions focussed on, and celebrating, sustainability, environmentalism and circular solutions in the fashion, craft and textile industries. The talks offer a platform to spotlight textile innovation, whilst creating a space to address issues like the need for credible supply chains, industry support systems and intra-continental collaboration, the importance of circularity and transparency within the industry, and the role of certifications. The day provided a refreshing opportunity to network and to explore responsive solutions, as we look to reimagine Africa’s fashion and textile landscape amidst globally relevant issues.

2023’s line-up began with a presentation by Kenyan textile artist and creative director Sunny Dolat, who took the audience on a narrative journey of textiles from around the continent with this keynote talk entitled ‘African Textiles – Vessels of Memory, Identities and Heritage.’ Referencing iconic African cloths such as the east African Kanga, Malian Bogolan, the Kuba Cloth of the DRC, and the Ghanian Kente Cloth, he evoked the long and rich history of the textile making on the continent, recalling the power of cloth to communicate, commemorate and preserve intangible heritage. Amidst Sunny’s impressive body of work, his recent project for Documenta Fifteen, entitled Return to Sender, drew attention to the dumping of textile waste in Africa by the Global North. In a thought-provoking spotlight of the west’s the gross overconsumption and rampant appetite for textiles, Sunny redirected 144 bales of clothing waste from African countries back to Europe.

Sunny Dolat

Following was a panel discussion, moderated by Esethu Cenga of Rewoven Africa, between Krelyne Andrew from Sappi, Noreen Mwancha from Rethread Africa, Deon Saayman of Cape Wools SA and Carolina Li of DDI Mauritius. Noreen’s work as the co-founder of Rethread, a Kenyan biomaterial startup using agricultural waste for textile production, drew particular interest – with the company’s recent development of a fabric produced from pineapple fibre, a responsive textile innovation that sits alongside the need to improve and support local livelihoods, whilst improving land productivity and maintaining biodiversity. Krelyne’s talk highlighted Sappi’s release of an innovative new product – a renewable dissolving pulp product that can be used in a multiple sectors, including the textile industry.

Krelyne Andrew, Noreen Mwancha and Deon Saayman

Designer and founder of hand-woven mohair textile brand, Frances V.H Mohair, Frances van Hasselt, shared her design process and love for South Africa’s most prized natural fibre in an evocative talk entitled ‘Farm to Fibre: A Story from a Karoo Mohair Studio.’ Frances took us on a vivid and visceral journey through the rich and robust landscape of the semi-arid Karoo – where her studio is based and where she finds unending inspiration.

Lukhanyo Mdingi then presented a beautiful short film about the provenance of their cotton fabrics in Burkina Faso, followed by a panel discussion, moderated by Bielle Bellingham, on how design influences the future textile economy. On the panel were maker and textile artist, Tinyiko Makwakwa, Natalie Green of knitwear brand, INKE, and Merchants on Long fashion buyer, Sumendra Chetty. Conversations arose around the role of design – and the need to harness its power to rethink, reimagine and improve the world we live in. To design deliberately, to change the way we shop, and the importance of designing not only new products, but new behaviours.

Muktar Dodo

Yvette Tetteh of the Or Foundation was in person, joined by her colleagues Sammy Oteng and Kennie MacCarthy, who streamed in from Accra, Ghana. Their powerful presentation discussed the impact of waste colonialism, bringing into stark reality the effects of fast fashion, mass production and hyper consumption, and the toll it is taking on Ghana and the Global South. The talk spotlighted Accra’s Kantamanto market, one of the world’s largest secondhand clothing markets, where approximately 15 million garments arrive weekly – of which only a small percentage are suitable for resale, with about 40% ending up as waste.

In an inspiring feat, Yvette recently swam 450km of the Ghana’s Volta River, from Buipe to Ada, in a drive to raise awareness around the impact of textile pollution on the quality of water. Serving as part of her broader initiative known as the Agbetsi Living Water Swim, Yvette collected water and air samples, to research the presence of microfibres in the river, and call to light the effects of decades of exploitative global trade.

Tinyiko Makwakwa, Natalie Green, Bielle Bellingham and Sumendra Chetty

The day rounded off with a presentation from Tina Smith of the District Six Museum, whose talk brought to life the power of cloth as a tool to both document and heal. Head of Exhibitions at the museum, Tina’s discussion entitled ‘Memory and Cloth’ showcased the use of textiles as part of the museum’s methodology and aesthetic framework, becoming vessels to mediate the past and navigate identity. Tina was accompanied by Patience Watlington, Jean Pretorius and Sylvia Ganget, who presented their personal stories of being involved with the museum’s ‘Huis Kombuis Memory Project’ – a project that mobilises creativity to access memory and lend a reflexive lens to issues of loss, through the revival of home-based crafts like embroidery, sewing and appliqué work.

A big thank you to Twyg and the Africa Textile Talks for creating a platform to engage in forward-thinking dialogue, and to collaborate and connect. It felt both timely and refreshing to have had an open space to discuss, network and reimagine the future. We look forward to 2024’s talks!

All images kindly provided by Rizqah Dollie @thedolliehouse

Read next: Behind the Seams | The Hidden Cost of Fast Fashion

Integrity is doing the right thing. Even when no one is watching – C.S. Lewis

We like to think we’re good people. Doing good things. If not… that might be concerning. Regardless, most of us want to be. Try to be. We have good intentions, even if that gets muddied by personal weaknesses or subjectivities.

I came across this quote by C.S. Lewis and it gave me pause to think. This idea of doing things in view. Or the inverse, behind closed doors. I thought about the Mungo Mill. Perhaps the greatest enactment of Mungo’s ethos. An anomaly in a world where to see behind the scenes is a rarity. And by ‘BTS’, I mean that in a genuine sense of the word. Not some stylised, marketing-curated foray, where a tight-shirted TV host beckons you in with a bended arm for a ‘sneak peak’. I mean an all-day, drop-the-fourth-wall kind of insider view. To see real processes and real people. Machines, faces, fibres, hands. All the bits that brought your product to life. To look into a company’s cavity. Its hub. To question what you see there.

Out of sight, out of mind?

In most parts of the world, production is done behind closed doors. In sealed-off factories where we have a convenient out-of-sight, out-of-mind distance to how the goods we use are made. There’s a reason McDonalds doesn’t operate off an open-kitchen system. Why your iPhone is produced in a city you likely can’t pronounce. Or why most of our textile production is done in places where the western world can keep its armchair activism at arm’s length. They don’t want to show it. And frankly, we don’t want to see it. But there is a truth – a story – that’s happening here. And it harks back to the fact that despite the convenience at which we can pick up a product from a shelf, or click it into a cart and have it arrive within an extraordinarily fast amount of time, it does not just emerge into this world fully formed and wrapped in plastic. Money does not grow on trees, they say. And neither does your pair of Nikes.

Ask questions first. Shop later.

The truth is that we tend to forget about sustainable supply chains, the importance of longevity and the real people behind the product, because we’re hardwired to choose quick and cheap. To complain about the cost of a shirt or the price of a pair of shoes, without really questioning why. Without doing a little homework. Or perhaps it’s just that we never really thought about it in the first place. Because the illusion – the invisibility cloak draped over the factories and fast fashion houses of the world – has done its job too well. Such to the extent that we are blinded to our own moral failings.

So let’s ask ourselves this question: where does this come from? How was it made? And under what conditions? Does a ‘Made in Taiwan’ sticker on the back of my plastic alarm clock really provide enough traceability? And who really made those knock-off Adidas sneakers I bought in Vietnam in 2017? And for all my Google searches, and good intentions, why can’t I answer these questions effectively? Because it is by design. It’s the consumer cog at play. Capitalism functioning at its best. Or its worst, depending on who’s asking the question.

Fast fashion is a sign of the times

The shift from slow to fast fashion is all part and parcel of the times. Cognitively overloaded. Addicted to newness. Bingeing on conspicuous consumption because we’ve been told the next something-something will satisfy our needs. Consumerism making us slaves to the checkout – where it seems easier to buy new things at an evermore hysterical rate, rather than enjoying (or repairing) what’s already in our closest. Most keenly evidenced by the clothing industry, where annual, or even seasonal fashion cycles are now replaced by a 52-week cycle. All of this is compounded by urgency – the need to have it now.

So where did it all go wrong?

200 years ago the production of fibre into cloth was a significantly more time-consuming affair. One that would have required you to raise your own sheep, spin your own yarn and weave your own cloth. Quality was prioritised over quantity and garments were worn for years on end – resized, repaired and remade before binning was ever a consideration. But something changed around the mid 18th century. The Industrial Revolution took its roots. And in its wake came a wave of machines and technology that sped up production. That replaced work done by hand. The result? It was now cheaper to buy than to make.

In the last few decades things accelerated. Globalisation, improvements in communications, social media… Self-esteem straddling a wobbly seesaw with self-expression. Shopping as a hobby. (The term ‘retail therapy’ says it all.) Overproduction and overconsumption now the name of the game.

At whose cost?

The reality for most of us, myself guiltily included, is to succumb to consumer culture. To choose instant gratification. The quick-fix, click-to-cart dopamine rush that comes with online shopping, and with the fast fashion brands that dominate our feeds. We’re quick to choose our own comfort – but at whose cost? The reality sadly isn’t all tied up in ribbons. It’s often ugly. Don’t let Shein’s influencer campaign tell you otherwise. Suspicious supply chains, exploitative working conditions, textiles dumped on the Global South. Low quality offered at low prices, energy-heavy production cycles, toxic dyes, soil and water pollution. Bulging online hauls, clothes to be worn once (if ever), sale signs as hypnotic headlamps beckoning us into material frenzy… But conspicuous consumption cannot be dressed up in bows. Neither can suspiciously low-cost goods. If it’s that cheap, ring the alarm. You might be winning, but someone else is losing out.

Fast. Quick. Cheap.

The Iron Triangle tolls keenly in the world of textiles. Fast, cheap, quick – you can only have two. But there’s another to add to the mix: conscience. Production shouldn’t negate fairness. Equity. Livelihood. Perhaps in the future all our production needs will be outsourced to AI. Which in itself may have dire consequences for the state of our workforce, and the need to learn a livable wage. But for now, whilst there are still humans who till our soils, grow our food, and weave our cloth, let’s not forget about ethics. The cost to people. The cost to our planet.

In writing this I run the risk of sounding perilously self-righteous. But I too have fast fashion demons in my closet. A never-to-be-worn oversized denim jacket at the end of the rack that I’ve kept year-on-year as some sort of penance for my textile sins. Three pairs of unworn sunglasses bought in Spain, where I found myself love drunk on the streets of Barcelona (or perhaps just on the Cava), and mesmerised by the big bad lights of Zara, Mango and H&M. I’m not immune to material misbehaviour. But I do find myself a little more considered, a little more quizzical, these days. Looking for some sort of traceability beyond just clever marketing speak.

It’s an exhausting paradox. Production fuels the economy. And so does the spend of our hard-won cash. And yet to participate in that cycle in excess leaves us in a state of fracture. Tenuously holding on to our values. To our last good soil. To our hope for the future.

Something’s rotten

As I try to make sense of it all – where I stand on the moral metre – I’m reminded of a childhood memory. Going back over two decades to a powder blue uniform with shiny round buttons and brown leather shoes. Sitting on a wooden seat, my feet too short to touch the ground, poring over the beginnings of an experiment. A single bean. Some damp cotton. A plastic plate. The task was to get the bean to sprout. So we’d nestled our beans into the cotton wool, written our names with a dry black marker on a piece of masking tape, and left them in a sunlit spot of our grade four classroom to germinate. After a day, there was a tiny crack in the bean. Then came the curly yellow-green shoot. After several more days there were green leaves – unfurling one by one. I was awed by this. How a single seed carried inside itself all the ingredients for new life. How with only a little light, water and sun, life could be coaxed into being. It is perhaps the closest feeling a child could have to touching magic.

So strong was the sense of wonder that I conducted an experiment of my own in our garage. I can see the image of my own shadow, framed in the bay window, setting the ivory white seed into its cotton blanket atop an old unplugged Deep Freezer. Adding a few drops of water. And then a couple more. Watching it as if it might sprout forth then and there. And then walking away. The truth was this time I’d misjudged the recipe. Over eager, I had grossly over-watered. And when I’d returned to peel back the cotton a day or two later, therein lay a rotten bean.

So what now?

Is that how I feel now? Knowing how putrid the cycle of creation can be when approached with a rash and reckless hand? Perhaps. But to take a less cynical approach, there is the understanding that creation takes care. Requires a fine balance. An even temperament in your toolbox and not a jackhammer. But without the poetic nuance, or the pragmatist’s search for analogy, there is a singular revelation. One that ripens the memory of that day, such that I can recall it like a taste in my mouth, or a familiar scent. That this was about process. About the alchemy of creation. Connecting the art of making – the gentle coaxing of resources, the sharpened skill – to a finished product. And to realise, looking at the store bought bag of beans cut open on the kitchen counter, what effort it must take to grow them all.

A matter of choice

Bean or cotton boll or basketball cap. Fast food or fast fashion. A pair of earrings or a piece of woven cloth. It all takes time, process and resources.

I can attest that it does feel difficult, at every turn, to do the right thing. Whether people are watching, or not. But there are choices. There are open conversations to be had. Ethical producers and certifications that provide credibility. They are more minimalist modes of being: to buy less and buy better. To choose longevity over quick-cheap-inferior. To slow down a little. To remind yourself that one more item of clothing might not change your life. But it might change someone else’s.

Righteous, or right – who knows? But perhaps it takes a little querying of what goes on behind the seams.

The Mungo Mill is South Africa’s first, and only, GOTS-certified weaving mill. The Global Organic Textile Standard is the world-leading standard for the processing of organic fibres, assuring environmentally and socially responsible practices across the entire supply chain. GOTS has rigorous implications for manufacturing – right from soil, to seed, to finished product – and every hand that touched it along the way.

It takes 100 days to grow our flax in Normandy.
Once pulled from the field it takes a further 100 days to process the raw fibre through retting and scutching.
From Normandy the fibres reach Bergamo, to our Italian Master Spinners.
To be spun into lustrous golden-grey threads, and yarn dyed for brilliant colour fastness.

For our Terracotta bed linen, we ordered 280 cones of yarn.
Travelling by sea over several weeks from Italy to Plettenberg Bay.
And from there, it takes a further several months to bring you the finished product.

2 days to warp inside the Mungo Mill.
3960 threads tied on by hand.
2 months to weave.
1840 metres of cloth taken off the loom.
A day for an expert eye to inspect and mend any weaving faults.
5 days for a skilled cutter to measure and cut.
4 weeks for 7 seamstresses to sew into fitted sheets, flat sheets, duvet covers, and pillowcases.
Several days to wash and steam to give the linen its final luxurious finish.

Months, many hands, quality fibres and careful craftsmanship.
After all this, there are just 40 sets.

In a world that’s obsessed with quantity rather than quality, we know where we stand.

Batch 1.
Limited sets – now available online and in our stores.

Join us as we visit the farming cooperative, Terre De Lin, in Normandy to learn about their farming practices and the meticulous care that goes into cultivating the flax we use in our linen products. We witness the transformation of the flax fibre as it is prepared to be sent to Linificio e Canapificio Nazionale for spinning.

The unique climate conditions found in the Flanders region of Europe, as well as the mineral-rich soil, contribute to the growth of flax plants that produce fibres that are particularly long and strong. Generations of farming expertise in the region have contributed to the exceptional quality, resulting in linen yarn that is widely regarded as the best in the world.

At Mungo we buy all of our raw materials direct from the source. We manufacture everything ourselves under one roof at our Mill in Plettenberg Bay, South Africa. We control the whole journey. Knowing where our yarn comes from, who grows it, and processes, has always been a part of our transparency objective. Visiting, documenting and sharing it with you is part of that too.

This video was edited by Julian Culverhouse.

Delicate sky-blue flowers stretch across the landscape, reaching the horizon. Their long green stems sway in the sea breeze. It’s early June in the north of France, and we’ve made our way here especially to witness linens’ annual spectacle…

Interested in learning more about the story of our linen? Read the full story on our blog: The Lineage of Our Linen

There’s a distinctive change in the air this time of year; the quality of the light, that first nip of winter. It’s also one of Plett’s most beautiful times – when the sky is clear and crisp and calm – until the rains roll in. And as you drive down the N2, towards Old Nick Village, you’ll see the early morning light catch the sea. Glittering. And then the bow of the Mungo Mill. The telltale slatted structure that curves up, threadlike, towards the sky. It’s picturesque, yes. Naively pastoral, perhaps. But it’s also our home – and we are lucky to have it.

It’s a place that provides unending inspiration – a vital source of colour and texture, that fuels our creative compulsions. It’s also a reminder – looking out at that quiet sea, at the weaver bird’s moving between their nests around Old Nick, at the Coral tree that frames the entrance of the mill – of everything that’s at stake for the future. All that we need to protect.

As producers, we are of course contributing to the cycle of making. A cycle that pulls from a pool of resources, but which also fuels innovation and change and livelihoods. It’s a conundrum of which none of us can really escape. So we look for ways of doing things a little differently. And a little better. It’s why we pursued our GOTS certification. And why we hold true to our initial vision – on which Mungo was founded over 20 years ago: to create a product woven to last, not destined for landfill. Something of quality, of craftsmanship, of beauty. To be used. And to be treasured.

Step beyond the threshold of the mill, past that curving Coral tree and through the open glass doors, and you’ll hear a distinctive sound. A chorus of looms. First, the beat of the Lancashires, then the lower hum of the Dorniers. The metallic timbre of thousands of droppers, each holding a single thread in place – some of which have been tied on by hand. The shuttle of the Rutis has its own resonant beat, as it flies back and forth, carrying the pirn. But if you lean in, listen closely, you’ll hear it. As does the Saurer – on which the Caribbean Check is weaving. A soft cotton tablecloth, designed by Stu, our Master Weaver. The Saurer is the newest in our collection – a loom, like many others at the Mungo Mill, that has been refurbished and restored. Itself a testament to repurposing and refining. A concept from which we take our name.

It’s an orchestra. And there are several conductors. Nicolette, our weaving manager, who moves from machine to machine with a keen eye and deft hand. Caroline, running her hand over the droppers, an instinctive feel for the cloth. And here, passing beneath the large east-facing windows, our newest weaver, Donovan. Last week we watched him being trained by Ryno, at the helm of our Lancashire looms, weaving organic baby blankets. Today moving through the mill with greater confidence between the Rutis, weaving our pure linen Selvedge Serviettes. Then through the double volume building into the warping department, where thousands of threads are being lined up under the eye of Rodney or Gordon or Eugene. Up into the CMT, where Ginny, who’s been with us since we first opened our doors, is directing the flow of cutting and sewing and pressing. The whir of the needles, the hiss of the press – these too contributing to the swell of sound. Parts moving together at different paces but also in unity.

If you have a chance to walk among our looms, perhaps you’ll feel this too. That there are human hands at play, many steps involved, considered design and carefully selected threads. There are real people at the centre of it – dreams and livelihoods and visions of a better future.

This is the fabric of our life. Indeed it is a daily source of inspiration.
And perhaps, as you open, as you feel your Mungo product, you might intuit some of that too. The fibres, the hands, the craft, the care. Feel yourself a little more connected. To the threads that bind us all.

There is no consumption without impact.
Let’s just put that out there.

There is no article of clothing, piece of food that you eat, good-hearted gift that you buy, that doesn’t cost something, somewhere.
That doesn’t cost the planet.

Consumption fuels the economy.
The way the world works, we are locked in a cycle of creating and consuming.
This is the capitalist machine at play. The 21st century monster. And we’re all on the hamster wheel.
Creating, consuming. Yes, it feeds the beast. And yes, it puts money into the pocket of the powerful few.
But it also creates jobs, and this means putting food on the table for the many.

Unless you join an exodus of people throwing their cellphones into the ocean, cutting up their credit cards and heading out into the wilderness to live off the land, Into the Wild style.
This could be a viable option.
But for many it is not.

It’s not viable even for those of us who are well-intentioned, read the labels on our clothing or bag of tomatoes – cruelty-free, GMO-free, organic, BIPOC-owned, Fairtrade – and wince when you’ve forgotten your shopping bags – yet again.

The point is, I’ve come to believe that there’s no such thing as sustainability.
There it is, I said it.

The very definition of the word belies any sense of possibility.
“The ability to be maintained at a certain rate or level.”
This is impossible. Because everything changes. Everything revolves.
Even a mountain, as stoic and stable as it may seem, wears away over time – only the change is so gradual to the human eye that it cannot be noticed.

But there are better ways of doing things.
Not ‘no impact’. But ‘less impact’.
And I think it’s important that people understand this.

Important that people hold companies – but also themselves – accountable.

But it’s also worth shining a light into the grey area – the zone of complexity.
You plant a tree out in the woods. Great. But perhaps it took you a lot of fuel, and some plastic sheeting, and a coffee cup in a throwaway receptacle, along the way to get it to that place of planting.

You buy a linen shirt – it has a OEKO-TEX label on. And maybe you already know that flax is fairly good for the planet – in comparison to resource-thirsty cotton.
But it still takes raw materials, finite ones, to produce that finished product.
There’s still creation, and consumption, at play. The hamster wheel still spins.

This isn’t a name and shame game.
And it isn’t about pessimism.

In fact, it’s about being so deeply optimistic about the planet, and it’s future, that you’re inspired to do better.

It’s about crucial conversations, acknowledging the grey area, and open-ended dialogue.

And it begins here.

We’re a GOTS-certified homeware textile company, based in Plettenberg Bay.
We are particular about sourcing the highest quality fibres, and creating a product designed to last, not designed for landfill. 

We believe in open and transparent production – which is why our weaving mill is open daily to the public.

Read more about what we, and why we do it, here.

Katrin Coetzer is a Cape Town-based illustrator, who recently produced a series of illustrations for a new range of Mungo Gift Cards. We talked to her about her work and artistic philosophy, her most compelling sources of inspiration, and her thoughts on our newest piece of workwear apparel, the Mungo Artist’s Apron.

Can you speak to your upbringing, and some of your early influences?

I was born in Cape Town, an only child to medical workers with creative skills. I had a happy childhood with lots of animals, many freedoms and artistic pursuits. Books, plants and animals were primary sources of exploration, fun and engagement in my childhood and I’ve carried it through to my work. My mother kept a notebook and markers in her handbag ready for me whenever I needed occupying.

Our family farm in Botswana had a formative influence on my spatial sense of who we are in the world. It was a strong contrast to busy urban life during the school holidays where we would do nothing but walk in the bush and quietly observe every living thing. I also had a very special art teacher aged 3 -12. Mavis Foale introduced the magic that can be brought from material limitations and affirmed my art making such that I really believed for the first time that art making could become a vocation.

Did you study art, or find your way to it naturally?

I studied Applied Art at Stellenbosch University and then a Postgrad in Illustration at the same institution. I loved it and might have kept at academics if practical work hadn’t taken over. The critical skills from theory and philosophy classes which felt useless as a twenty-year old starting out in graphic design turned out to be far reaching later in life. I know that art school isn’t for everybody but I’m the sort of worker who likes to know the “rules’ before I break them.

What does your studio look like?

My studio is a converted office in a Victorian house in Rondebosch Cape Town with a tiny view of Devil’s Peak. It has a bay window and a fireplace and it faces west, the wrong way for good light so I have many lamps and a heater. It is literally full of materials, paper, pigments, art and objects. I tend towards control and order in the work I produce but my studio is a chaotic compost heap of stuff. Erin Road is a hub of fruiting banana trees, private school moms in SUVs and a steady Malawian expat community.

Who (or what) is a major source of inspiration?

Colour and paper. My biggest creative compulsions are about colour. I feel as though I’m thinking about colour combinations or gradations of monotones all the time. I’ll mentally file ideas for colour themes and draw from those when a matching opportunity comes up in an image execution. I love paper. The way an unmarked piece is already a beautiful form in itself and the way in which every mark or manipulation to it leaves an obvious trace. I heard someone say recently that paper eats pigment and that is probably my favourite thing about it.

How would you describe your artistic philosophy or style?

I like to think my ambition for each image I create is to always hit an interesting midpoint between the perceived world and the inner dream world. Equal parts observation and imagination are good for most things I think…

My creative process has mostly two modes; one I call directive, in which the image is planned researched, plotted, rendered. In this mode the end result is pre-imagined and known. In the second mode which is essentially a flow state, I am at play and the images and constructions pour out from who knows where. I love both and they’re mostly complimentary.

Can you find a parallel here with your personal philosophy?

Yes, I’m always trying to understand and interpret existence. I watch, observe, interpret, then try and fail to make sense in creating tiny worlds.

What does your process look like?

My regular job is as a commercial freelance illustrator so the work begins with a client’s request and then I begin the process of visual problem solving, research and image production to match the client/art director’s need. When I’m making self-directed work I’ll refer to my notebooks and sketchbooks where I hoard unrealised visual and sculptural ideas. There are many. Both processes start in analog mode with scrap paper, a pencil and a huge curiosity about the world.

Can you talk through the illustrations you did for Mungo?

In the depth of winter we dream of summer! My inspiration was summer in my home town. Cape Town is nothing if not an outdoorsy town and the life here is always geared for a towel or a picnic blanket moment. I started drawing people in different scenarios with their Mungo towels and just kept going as my longing for a beach holiday grew. I wanted to include silence and talking, relaxation, joy and rest in the scenes. I used my favourite gouache pigments for a flat painterly effect with opaque colours. Towels and blankets are a lovely subject matter towards creating characters absorbed in their pragmatisms and comforts.

What challenges did you face getting to where you are now? And how has this impacted your life and art?

With the expanding personal and public responsibilities as an adult in the world and more than anything as a parent and a partner; the major current challenge is always the battle for solitary time. Likely not all artists will agree with me but I tend to think of art as a selfish pursuit. Perhaps it’s selfless in the honesty and expression it requires, but certainly selfish in the time it demands of the artist to be alone, childlike and to show up for the work. I had a relatively easy way up in life with most of the privileges you could want. Working for yourself is a constant challenge of invention, trial and error. Self-reliance supported by art is hard and jointly supporting a family with it even more so. So I think it’s helped me recognise my selfishness and tempered it a little bit. The challenge of time also highlights the temporality of absolutely everything and so I am not precious about what I create although I can become overly sentimental thinking about the transience of people and place.

What else keeps you busy?

My growing kid keeps me very busy. Also cycling, walking, birdwatching, swimming, reading in bed, cooking, treasure hunting. I like to find pottery shards in the dirt near old dumps and printed skirts in Observatory’s vintage shops.

What are your thoughts on the Mungo Artist’s Apron?

I’m definitely the target audience for aprons, I wear my Mungo Artist’s Apron every working day. My German grandmother was an apron person and we gave her one each Christmas when she was alive. I aim to follow in her footsteps. An apron is a signifier of a hand-worker; it signals preparation and consideration. The Mungo Artist’s Apron is long and generous but it doesn’t swamp you. I’d never come across a linen apron before and I think it’s such a clever textile for this type of workwear. It’s somehow sturdy and soft at the same time. Kind of perfect.

Where do you see yourself going forward?

To sustain the thing I already do and to do more of it. In the post-pandemic, politically confusing world order, with mounting climate worries, I find my formerly reliable sense of ease has shifted. I hope to figure it out and be a bit kinder and calmer moving forward.

Illustrations by Katrin Coetzer @trini_prins. Photographs by Rebecca Meissner @becsmadevisible

In 2022, over the course of 6 Swim Clubs, with 471 swimmers taking part, we raised R49,200 for I Am Water. We spoke to I Am Water’s founder, free diver and ocean conservationist, Hanli Prinsloo about moments of majesty beneath the waves, and staying hopeful in hard times.

“To wake up in the morning and feel optimistic – to get up and smile and stretch and look out at the sea and go, ‘I can do this. I can do this for you’ – that is way more powerful than looking out and going, ‘Oh my God, it’s so heavy. It’s all too late.’ I really believe that.”

There’s something profoundly refreshing about optimism.

Especially in this country. Especially in these times. So this is what perhaps, amidst all the stories of daring and adventure, that stands out the most: that Hanli Prinsloo, world-champion free diver and founder of I Am Water, considers herself a ‘deeply optimistic’ person.

Hanli’s outlook isn’t driven by naive idealism – but by the possibility of change. And perhaps, at its baseline, by love. A love for the ocean, as deep and unending as its depths, that you see cause to fight for it.

And it feels like a sounding call to despondency. To a dead-in-the-water apathetic approach to apocalypse.

“I really feel that hopelessness spells the death of everything we care for. Because if we don’t believe that there’s hope anymore, then why would we act differently? Why would we change our behaviour if it’s already too late anyway?”

Yvon Chouinard, founder of Patagonia, who recently made waves for revolutionising his company – making ‘Earth the only shareholder’ – expressed the sentiment that “the cure for depression is action”. And there’s a parallel here. Or a paradox. That these two polar forces – optimism, and depression – compel us to change. And yet both are true. The darkest depths drive us to radically change our lives. And the greatest joys, that sense of optimistic awe, equally compel us to move, to shake. And to protect.

“If you really take time to be in nature, you’re compelled to remain optimistic. Whether it’s standing in the rain or hearing the waves crashing or diving down underwater and seeing that biodiversity and life. Nature just keeps transforming and giving and thriving.”

Hanli’s own affinity with water started early – growing up on a horse farm, where she quickly learnt of the incredible importance of water from the two rivers that ran through the land, and a dam that on occasion dried up if there wasn’t enough rain. A dam where she and her sister spent afternoons playing, diving deep and pretending to be mermaids.

“That connection really came from an early age… loving that silence and that feeling of weightlessness and stillness and that holding [of] the breath even when it burns. I’ve enjoyed that from very early on.”

And from these simple adventures – ones of childlike wonder – there have grown moments of incredible majesty; vast adventuring and tales of which most can only imagine.

“I’ll never forget the first time I was surrounded by a pod of dolphins – being observed and scanned and clicked and welcomed in. And just feeling, ‘wow’ – there’s so much beauty out there and there’s so much trust… We have so much good that we should do, and could do, and there are so many pure life forms out there that we affect… [and from that] I really just had this sense of, ‘I would do anything – anything – for this to be protected.”

To experience life between the waves – to experience the ocean at all – is both a pleasure and a privilege. Because for many, the ocean isn’t an accessible space. It was this that compelled Hanli to found I Am Water in 2010.

“All through my competitive freediving career I felt so privileged to be learning so much about my body and so much about the ocean through what being underwater offers us. And it always made me sad coming home to South Africa and seeing how much South Africans have access to the ocean and how it’s very much divided by communities and demographics. And so much of it is a throwback to beaches not being accessible to all and swimming pools not being accessible to all. So starting I Am Water was really about creating opportunities for young South Africans to have access to the ocean. It’s so important for us to realise that what we think is normal – to be able to swim, to be able to safely run into the water on the beach – is not normal for so many South Africans, and I Am Water is a vessel for changing that.”

Experience. Optimism. Depression. Love.

Drivers for change. Movers to action. Such that influenced Hanli to make another profound change in her life. A first – and last – spearfishing expedition, that became the last time she ever ate a fish.

In South Africa, to be a good spearfisherman, you need to be a good freediver. But, as I realised floating above the kelp, my speargun dangling limply from my wrist – being a good freediver, is not enough to be a good spearfisherman… I am not a natural hunter. I am an observer. To switch from observing to stalking didn’t seem to happen naturally for me. It took me several long dives, self-sabotaged misses, self-talk and a bruised sternum from reloading the speargun before I actually shot my first fish. My only fish…

Excerpt taken from ‘Killing Fish.’ First published in DIVESITE Issue 3, 2011

“I do think that the old saying, ‘when we know better we do better’, is true. But I also think that we act when we experience things on a deep level. And for me that happened with that fish.”

Experiences like these can be transformative – in the way they help us to connect. To rewild. To remind us of what we need to fight for. Of what’s at stake. But they’re also a way to bridge the gap between concepts that might seem abstract, larger-than-life. Overfishing. Imminent sea life extinction. Ocean pollution. Climate crisis. Issues that are large and looming. But where is the inroad? How do you start? Perhaps putting your head beneath the waves. Seeing creatures great. Or small. Seeing a piece of plastic float by. Querying this.

“Being in Indonesia, and diving in what should be a pristine ocean with manta rays, and seeing this manta ray open its mouth and plastic going in and I was literally swimming next to it trying to push this plastic out of its way as it was filter feeding. That to me was just so shocking… The rest of that dive I didn’t even swim with the manta rays anymore – I was just swimming around with this huge bag, just pulling all this plastic out of the water. It was just so horrific to see and that suddenly for me brought it home – that ‘aha’, plastic in the ocean is a real issue affecting the animals I love. So needless to say I avoid plastic where I can… and then just in general – thinking [about] our lifestyle choices… what car you drive, what products you buy, the durability of the products you buy, what you eat – all those things matter.”

And it does matter. The little choices that we make. The small actions that amount to bigger ones. The times where we look for agency – and use it.

And above all, perhaps, remaining optimistic. Remaining in awe.

Recognising your power. Recognising your privilege. The teetering right, the radical responsibility, that comes with being on a planet with finite resources. One that offers us such bountiful gifts. And which asks so very little of us in return.

Photographs taken by I Am Water co-founder, Peter Marshall

I Am Water is an NPO that uses environmental education as a tool to inspire the next generation of conservationists. They work with under-resourced coastal communities who, despite their proximity to the shoreline, have often never explored the world beneath the waves. Their mission rests on the belief that “those who have opened their eyes underwater, those who have seen the beauty, the majesty, and the great marine creatures of this world, will learn to love and to protect it.”

Click here to find out how you can support the good work that they do.

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Every year we invite a class of students from the Crags Primary School for a tour of our mill, and a workshop in textile design.

The day begins with a mill tour – getting a first-hand view of the looms, and a demonstration from our weaving supervisor, Nicolette.

For those who’ve had a chance to walk among the looms, you’ll understand the full sensory experience of the Mungo Mill – noisy, visceral, but offering up a view of real craftsmanship – an insightful educational experience that brings visitors behind the scenes; connecting product to process. A significant experience perhaps for a generation raised in a digital age.

With Nicolette silencing the machines one by one, the students got a more intimate look – getting to grips with how a textile is woven to life – the warp and weft, picks, pirns and pattern cards…

From the mill, the class is taken round our flagship store, guided by our retail manager, Jonica. From first fibres pulled together into fabric, the shop tour brings home the finished product. Function and form coming to life in all the many colours and texture of Mungo bath, bed, kitchen or table linens.

From there, the students make their way into the designing phases – preempted by an introduction to colour theory and colour psychology – reflecting on the signficance of colour and symbolism, and how a hue can revive, inspire or evoke a mood or moment.

The fundamentals of design – the importance of form meeting function – are looked at, leading the students into the design of the day: the kikoi. Looking at examples from our range, poring over pattern and colour, the students get to grips with their kikoi designs. With magazines as inspiration, and a selection of yarn colours to choose from, the students are guided to create their very own colourway, with help from our resident colour expert and designer, Lenore.

Using paper and drawing materials, the students lay out their designs, drawing on their own sources of inspiration, and naming the designs accordingly. Yarn wrappings are then attached to the finished works.

From there, Lenore pulls together the designs into simulations. Each simulation is put to a vote, first internally and then to our followers, and a winning design is selected, woven to life and sold in our stores and online.

The full proceeds of the sale of this kikoi go towards the Kids of Kurland project, which funds a much-needed additional teacher at the Crags Primary School.

‘Summer Vibes’ was designed by Grace Hendrickse.

A good looking kikoi, that’s pretty ‘feel good’ too.

Now available to shop online and in our stores.

The Caribbean. An archipelago known for its diverse beauty, and vivid colours.

Blue above, and below. Golden sunshine. White beaches. Turquoise waters. Hot pink corals. Green of the palms, mangroves and rainforest.

They are a group of islands varied in virtue; some are coral, others volcanic, some are shady and sheltered against the elements, others open, exposed to the wild Atlantic. And they pull from a patchwork of influences, having seen dominion from the French, the Spanish, the Dutch and Americans; passed from hand to hand to leave behind a melting pot of memories and influences, indelibly linked to a rich and varied African tradition.

It is a place of unending inspiration and interest. And so too has it inspired our newest tablecloth – The Caribbean Check.

A breezy, checked cloth that draws from the richness of Caribbean colour. Woven to life on our newly acquired Saurer loom from 100% cotton, for a drape that’s soft, light and breezy. A drape that will sweep over your table, just like a balmy billow over the tropics…

So why the Caribbean?

It so happens that our founder and Master Weaver, Stu Holding, is not only an adept textile craftsman, but a keen sailor too. If you’ve ever made your way down to the Garden Route, you might have spied him on his boat – which he built by hand. A boat which, for those who know their way around a loom, is quite aptly named, ‘Flying Shuttle.’

The story goes that some time ago he set sail on Flying Shuttle with his wife, Janet, and his two children, Tessa and Dax.

The idea was to see how far they could go. And how far they got was the Caribbean. Here they took up residence for two months, enjoying the beauty of the tropics – crystal clear, warm waters, sunny skies… you get the picture.

It was from these windswept memories that he later wove the first run of Caribbean Check Tablecloths.

This was around the time that Stu had moved from handloom to mechanised weaving – a move that had given him the chance to weave finer textiles – ‘less chunky cloths’ in his own words – and in turn to be more flexible in his designs.

The first run of Caribbean Check Cloths were cut from a shuttle-operated Saurer loom, one much like the kind that’s newly made its way into our mill…

The Saurer Loom

As of 2021, a new loom has entered our midst: the Saurer. A loom donated to us by Jan Paul Barnard, who, in his day, was one of South Africa’s great mohair weavers. A loom which, in the words of Stu, was once considered to be the Rolls Royce of its day (it’s day being the 1960s).

Initially Stu wove a run of kikois on the Saurer – testing out its features and flexibility. This he did from our top mill – a restored dairy barn in the Crags which at one time housed our full operation. After this first run of kikois, we then moved the Saurer down to the Mungo Mill at Old Nick Village, to be united with the rest of our looms.

Now, with a bit more finesse under our proverbial belt, we’ve woven a new Caribbean Check – a reimagining of Stu’s original design.

What makes the Saurer so special?

The Saurer has a set of unique features.

Like our Hattersley, Lancashire and Ruti looms, it operates by means of a shuttle – a tool designed to carry the weft threads across the warp. One of the prize points of the shuttle is its ability to produce a textile with a true selvedge – a tightly woven, self-finished edge that requires no extra hemming.

Incredibly, the Saurer can also accommodate not one, but two pattern cards. One card to control the colour sequence of the warp, and the second to control the formation of the weave.

Unlike our other shuttle looms, which operate with a single shuttle, the Saurer can accommodate four – giving us flexibility to add multiple colours in the weft.

The missing link

The Saurer is a rare find that forms the missing link in our story at the Mungo Mill – where we showcase a display of weaving techniques and technology from pre-industrial to present day. It fills the gaps between our really old girls like (the 100+ year old domestic Hatterlsey loom), and our more modern rapier-operated Dornier machines, crafted by the airline company of the same name post World War II.

Our Saurer thus brings to life the progression of weaving through the ages – from hand weaving, to shuttle looms, and rapier-operated power machines. From the progression of cottage industry textile production, to the models of mass production that came in the wake of the Industrial Revolution.

Which brings us to where we find ourselves today – a meet point. A niche textile producer, committed to quality craftsmanship, and thoughtful production. Finding the balance between age-old tradition and contemporary design…

Setting Sail Once More

It so happens that the story of Stu, and his Caribbean adventure, lives on…
For just this month, Stu has been roped in for a ferried favour – to bring over a boat to the Caribbean. Soon he’ll be on his way, back in the land of coral and colour, that so inspired a breezy cotton cloth some decades ago.

Stay tuned – this story is to be continued…!

Keen to see our looms in action? The Mungo Mill is open daily for visitors, and you are welcome to take a self-guided tour. To arrange a guided tour, or for bigger groups, send us a mail via retail@mungo.co.za

Any intrepid seafarer needs the towel of the trade. And by that, we mean a Mungo Towel.
But this is no everyday flat-weave. This towel is for the next generation of sea swimmers, oceanographers, and avid explorers. It’s a towel for the rockpool-finders, for the sandcastle builders and first-time snorkellers.

Bright Futures

It’s important to us to think about the future. To look for ways to safeguard this one planet we call home.

In 2019 we began shifting our yarn to organic sources – and the Scout Towel is the newest to join the ranks.

Our Scout Towels are woven with 100% Global Organic Textile Standard (GOTS) certified organic cotton.
A fibre that’s better for the planet – and for you.

Organic cotton is cultivated in pesticide and chemical-free fields and uses up to 90% less water than its conventional counterpart. By eliminating the use of harsh chemicals, organic cotton not only helps to protect the farmers who cultivate it, but also the soil and water supplies. Organic fibres are also handpicked, preserving their quality, and ensuring an ultra soft handle.

Why GOTS?

We choose GOTS certification because it’s the gold standard for organic threads. What does all of this mean? That the health of the seeds, soil and the farmer is protected, as well as each hand along the way that helps to weave your Mungo product to life.

We are currently South Africa’s first, and only, GOTS-certified weaving mill.

Dream Weaver

If you look closely, the Scout Towel will reveal more secrets. Because this isn’t just your regular plain weave towel. This is a towel with texture and tone. Featuring a unique ‘recess’ weave – a design that’s both functional and good looking. By adding more thread into the weft (that’s the left-to-right threads), we’ve created a towel that’s not only absorbent and good looking, but soft and supple to the touch. Perfect for young skin. And wriggling, runaway bodies.