Community is central to Sussurro—not only as a place built by locals, but one where guests are warmly welcomed in, and perhaps carry its spirit with them when they leave. Can you share an insight into your connection to the local community here?
We started building alongside the community. We depended on the community, and the community depended on us. It wasn’t like we arrived with a massive team and equipment. We got to know everyone. I started logging the different types of weaving and the natural materials in the area. We’ve had a fantastic master builder, Shumba Mesaere. He’s actually also Zimbabwean, but has lived in Mozambique for years. He speaks Xitswa, the local dialect, and the team has been led by him. Shumba was originally a master thatcher. I didn’t study architecture, but I designed everything at Sussurro and had it signed off by a local architect. Shumba was the one who taught me how high our walls could stand before reinforcement with plinths and ring beams was required. He taught us everything we know about construction. It took us about five years to complete the building project from start to finish.
We’re eco-inclined, but I knew we would build with some cement. I wanted to maintain a balance between the mineral and vegetable. Without this, the hand-crafted element is often lost. It was important that we had that structure. We used a limewash mixed with local sand, which kind of brought the color to the walls, but no glass or anything imported. We started with six rooms and we’re adding bungalows slowly now. Each room is unique in the way that it’s set out and the kinds of items that it holds from people or groups we’re ethically proud to stand by. For each room, we worked with different artisan groups for different parts, like the shutters, doors and roof canopies woven from palm fronds, which provide a natural ventilation system and coolness to the thatch. We don’t have any air conditioning here. Everything’s fan-run, the residence is powered entirely by renewable energy and around 90% of construction ran on solar power too. We have been pretty hardline when it comes to that.
You exclusively champion African artists, designers and craftspeople, and regularly commission one-off pieces, some which are also for sale in Sussurro’s ‘Library’ gallery. Can you share more about the artists?
Our north star was that we were going to source everything 100% from Africa, beginning as hyper-local as possible and moving outwards if we couldn’t find something in South Africa, Malawi, Tanzania or Zimbabwe. Our fired earth clay pots and vessels are designed and formed by our local Inhambane community. We have an ongoing collaboration with Khetu Khamba, a cooperative of weavers from Linga Linga Island, with whom we create basketware, shoppers and hats. Our kikoys, light East African cotton towels, are all made from unbleached cotton by a Tanzanian cooperative of hand loomers known as Laini. Our chairs are made by the inimitable master Malawian chairmakers from Blantyre, and our hand carved side tables are stools from the Tonga peoples of Binga in Zimbabwe and a group of Mozambican carvers from Maputo province. We have a few other beautiful pieces from North Africa in the gallery.
I worked with Maxwell Sande, a third-generation Shona sculptor in Zimbabwe, on our wash basins across the residence and in our bungalows—each is a one-off. Shona sculpture is amazing. It’s an age-old craft practiced generally by men who have passed down this art in the purest form. It’s generally not the most lucrative career in rural regions, it’s about living for the art, and about connection to place through their local stone. Instead of having soap dispensers, we have rough cut pieces of charcoal soap that are made here and shampoo amenities in ceramic vessels. For our fine ceramic collection, we collaborated with Mutapo, who are a group of amazing artists very close to my heart, led by master ceramicist and our close friend Marjorie Wallace from Harare, who sadly passed away last year.
What we really hope to do with Sussurro is to showcase local everyday hand-made objects. The pequena vasoras (hand brooms) we use across the residence are the most brilliant pieces of everyday domestic life in Mozambique, for example. They’re made of coconut palm fiber and splayed open through the plaiting of ilala palm through their bases. For our makers, there’s a pride in suddenly realizing that guests are coming here from all over the world and they’re in awe of these pieces in which maybe there previously wasn’t so much pride for locals.
It’s definitely made things less cost-effective, and has taken a lot of time to source only from Africa, but there are pieces here now that I’m really proud we’ve designed together with our team—our daybeds, our sun loungers, our bar stools are really special, entirely unique pieces. We use natural materials in key places, knowing that they will wear out over time in the sun and we’ll have to replace them. When that happens, like when the houses need re-thatching, we re-employ a local team. This sustains our continued connection with the community, and our sense of place within it.
What’s so important is not only that there’s a material transfer of culture, but that it continually maintains the connection with the land. When you’re working from the local land, you have to know just when to head out to gather Ilala palm in order to have the best and longest lasting material for weaving. A lot of guys reap the fruit or sap for palm wine—which is absolutely headache inducing!—as weavers we utilize the palho, the very fine fresh palm shoots of this specific plant. Again, there’s a connection to the land and to the plants and the seasons and when the best time to reap is. That connection is where the magic happens.
