THE STORY
“… in the mountains, African people listen to the voice of silence”
Credo Mutwa - Traditional Healer and advisor to Freedom Park, South Africa
THE STORY
I’d like to begin with a story—a personal ascent of a mountain that transformed my perspective and understanding of the landscape. In that climb, I discovered a metaphor for our work as landscape architects: We do more than shape land—we shape experiences. We shape stories into spaces and meaning into places, crafting environments that transform, heal, reflect memory, and embrace the evolving narratives of place. This is the essence of our practice: designing with purpose, guided by story, grounded in place.
It was 1991. I was on a sabbatical from my professional career and returned to Africa (as I always did) to climb Kilimanjaro. The trip gave me time to pause and reflect on aspects of my life and profession. Climbing Kilimanjaro had come at a good time. The experience allowed me to focus, consolidate my thinking, and gave me a much-needed perspective.
This is from my diary.
“We were flying at 31,000 feet and had just begun our descent. Four and a half hours earlier, we left Paris. South was to my right; I knew this because the Southern Cross, with its two pointers, was showing me the way. Beneath it, like a giant firefly passing through the night, brilliant flashes of lightning intermittently illuminated the earth’s horizon far below.
The pilot came over the intercom and said, ‘If you look out of the plane’s left side, you will see Kilimanjaro’.
I moved over and peered through the window. There she was! So close! Unlike the other mountains, far below and resembling anthills, she was beside me, as if I could reach out and touch her peaks. I then realised how high she was and felt the excitement grow.
Soon, we were lining up to land at Kilimanjaro International Airport. It seemed in the middle of nowhere, with only fields of half-grown maize as its neighbours. The plane’s doors opened, and fresh air soon filled the cabin. It was heavy with moisture and laden with the earthy aroma of wet soil and the sweet scent of exotic tropical plants.
My climb up Kilimanjaro was out of the night, through the setting moon, and into the awakening dawn—from darkness into lightness! This is true not only in the physical but also in the philosophical or spiritual sense.
William Blake said, ‘... great things happen when men and mountains meet!’ For me? Well, yes, ‘great things’ did happen!
A sketch from my diary while climbing Kilimanjaro in 1991
One thing is sure: it was an emotional experience! It was also a goal achieved. It was a time to contemplate, a time to pray! … a time to see with open eyes and listen with inward ears. It was a time to reflect and connect. It was a new beginning! It was also an ending! It was a moment in the celebration we call life. It was a letting go and a clinging to. … A time to shout out and a time to be still. But primarily, it was a time of immense joy, a realisation that all is well with the world if YOU would have it be. And I would have it be!
It was significant that as I climbed, the full moon was setting, and when I reached the summit, there was darkness before the coming dawn. A circle! No beginning, no end! Just a movement, a constant change, a carrying on. Certainly not a stopping! I had arrived, but as arrival is, in a sense, an ending, it is also a beginning.
On the plain between Uhuru and Mawenzi peaks and at Gillman’s Point, Kilimanjaro, Tanzania
On the plain between Uhuru and Mawenzi peaks and at Gillman’s Point, Kilimanjaro, Tanzania
So, at that very sacred moment, that moment of reflection, going back, and that moment of hopes and dreams, going forward, I realised my place. I am a part of it all, but I have a choice. The here and now is all-important because this is our reality as we can comprehend it. The moment! Live in the moment, live through the moment. This sets the course. This is the choice.
I realise that having scaled one ‘mountain’, there will be another and another. And that I must pause when I sit on top of my ‘mountain’ long enough to admire the spectacular view. This is how we learn.
Life then is a continuous journey, not a static arrival!
Now that moment is over, and the descent begins. My ‘Kilimanjaro’ is behind me. I’m exhausted but refreshed and ready for my next ascent. I’m happy! I celebrate the joy in life.
The glaciers on Kibo peak and the clouds at dawn around Mawenzi peak, Kilimanjaro, Tanzania
The glaciers on Kibo peak and the clouds at dawn around Mawenzi peak, Kilimanjaro, Tanzania
THE METAPHOR
You might ask, “What does this have to do with landscape architecture?” The journey up Kilimanjaro became more than a physical ascent—it transformed into a profound metaphor for landscape architectural design. Much like that climb, designing a landscape is a layered, evolving journey that demands presence, reflection, and an awareness of both the visible and the invisible forces at play. It’s not simply about arriving at a finished product; it’s about unfolding meaning along the way—the process, the place, and the people involved.
The ‘stage’ framed with children’s self-portraits in mosaic, Thokoza Park, Soweto, South Africa
Children from a local nursery school drew self-portraits that women from the neighbourhood turned into mosaics. As part of the project mandate, the women were trained in mosaics.
Children from a local nursery school drew self-portraits that women from the neighbourhood turned into mosaics. As part of the project mandate, the women were trained in mosaics.
The narrative is intensely aware of context, atmosphere, temporality, and personal transformation. These very elements mirror the most insightful approaches to landscape architecture. Like a mountain, a site holds its spirit, stories, and memories. To design it well, one must first understand its metaphorical moonset and sunrise rhythms. Upon arrival, the earthy smell of wet soil, the awe of seeing Kilimanjaro at eye level, and the stillness in the summit moment are not just sensory details; they are experiential cues, the kind a thoughtful landscape architect listens for when shaping a space.
The reflection, “Life is a continuous journey, not a static arrival”, speaks to a crucial design ethos: landscapes are never truly finished. They evolve, grow, decay, and regenerate. Good design allows for this, acknowledging seasonal shifts, cultural layers, and people’s changing needs. As I wrote about letting go, clinging on, shouting out, and being still, a designed landscape must also make space for contrast: celebration and contemplation, activity and rest, gathering and solitude.
In this way, the narrative becomes a powerful allegory for landscape design as a pilgrimage of intention and empathy. This journey honours where we’ve come from and where we’re going. To design a landscape is to climb Kilimanjaro repeatedly, each time pausing to take in the view, listen to the site’s story, and move forward with purpose.
THE REFLECTION
Narrative is at the heart of meaningful landscape design. It begins with listening to the land, its history, and the people connected to it. Every site carries stories, whether whispered through indigenous traditions, etched into the terrain by past events, or expressed in the everyday rituals of those who inhabit it. A designer must approach a site like a storyteller, uncovering these layered narratives and allowing them to guide form, material, and spatial experience. In doing so, the design becomes more than aesthetic—it becomes a vessel of memory, identity, and emotion.
Mpumalanga Legislature Buildings. The architecture and landscape design are derived from the nearby granite ‘koppies’ (hills) and the adjacent Crocodile River gorge.
Understanding a site’s story transforms the design process from an imposition to a dialogue. Rather than forcing an external vision onto a place, narrative-driven design emerges organically, drawing from the spirit and rhythm already present in the landscape. It invites users to engage not just physically but emotionally, creating spaces that resonate on a deeper level. Whether it’s a park, a memorial, or a community space, the power of narrative grounds the design in authenticity, turning space into place, and place into meaning.
And so, just as my journey up Kilimanjaro was not merely about reaching the summit, our work as landscape architects is not simply about shaping land; it is about honouring the stories that lie beneath it. We are listeners, interpreters, and storytellers. We work with memory, movement, and meaning. We craft landscapes that speak of where we have been and where we might go. Kilimanjaro taught me that design is never static; it breathes, shifts, and holds emotion. And in that, it becomes timeless. Designers carry the responsibility and privilege of giving voice to the land and its people, creating places that, like that mountain journey, have the potential to move the soul and anchor the spirit.
Isivivane, Freedom Park, South Africa, is a memorial. In isiZulu culture, it represents a space where individuals contribute to a shared space, often associated with a pile of stones that signify a monument, where individuals come together to achieve a common goal.
Written by IFLA Africa Region by President Graham A. Young