There’s something quietly powerful about buchu. Not the kind of power that shouts for attention, but the kind that whispers ancient stories when the wind blows through the wild fynbos. Buchu isn’t just a plant—it’s a living thread woven through centuries of healing, ritual, and resistance. It’s one of South Africa’s botanical treasures, deeply rooted in both the cultural memory of its people and the ecological heart of the Cape Floristic Region.
When we talk about buchu, we’re talking about a family of aromatic shrubs in the Rutaceae family—most notably Agathosma betulina, Agathosma crenulata, and Agathosma serratifolia. These species, along with a handful of close cousins, many of whom call Lomond Wine Estate home, share a common homeland in the fynbos biome. This unique floral kingdom stretches across the Western Cape, a biodiverse wonderland unlike any other on Earth. It’s a place where the soil is poor, but the life it supports is rich – so rich, in fact, that much of it is found nowhere else on the planet.
But this isn’t just a story about biodiversity. This is about spirit, story, and survival. This is about buchu.
A Scent That Carries Stories
The first thing you notice about buchu is the smell. In fact, the names of the two genera most commonly found on Lomond, Agathosma and Diosma, respectively mean lovely smell and even more poetic, the smell of God. Crush a leaf between your fingers and it releases a complex cloud of scent—minty, camphorous, with hints of blackcurrant and citrus. For many, it’s instantly familiar, especially if you’ve ever had buchu tea or used herbal tinctures from a local apothecary. But this smell is more than a sensory pleasure. For the Khoisan peoples—the Indigenous custodians of the fynbos—buchu’s aroma is a marker of sacred ground.
For centuries, buchu has been used in rituals to cleanse both body and spirit. Traditional healers would burn the leaves to clear stagnant energy, anoint wounds with oil infusions, or sip the tea to treat ailments ranging from kidney issues to colds. It’s said that brides would rub buchu onto their bodies before wedding ceremonies as a connection to the spirit world.
These aren’t quaint traditions – they are living practices. They remind us that buchu isn’t just a “resource” or a “commodity.” It’s a bridge between the human and the more-than-human world. Its scent lingers in initiation rites, in stories told by firelight, and in the hands of elders who know that healing doesn’t always come in a bottle.
Medicine in Every Leaf
From a more clinical perspective, buchu is packed with potent plant chemistry. The essential oils found in the leaves include compounds like diosphenol, limonene, and pulegone—names that sound like something out of a pharmaceutical textbook, but that have been doing medicinal work long before science caught up.
These compounds give buchu its anti-inflammatory, antimicrobial, and diuretic properties. Today, you’ll find buchu in health shops around the world, used for urinary tract health, digestive issues, and even as a natural insect repellent. It’s made its way into sports drinks, skin creams, and wellness tonics, gaining global recognition as a “super herb.”
But there’s a delicate tension here. While it’s good that the world is waking up to the healing power of fynbos, we must ask: at what cost?
The rise in commercial interest has led to overharvesting, habitat destruction, and a troubling pattern of bioprospecting that often excludes the very communities who have safeguarded these plants for generations. If we honor buchu, we must do more than consume it—we must protect its home.
The Sacred Biome
The fynbos is more than a collection of plants. It’s a sanctuary. Home to more than 9,000 plant species, two-thirds of which are found nowhere else, it’s one of the most botanically diverse regions on Earth. It’s also incredibly vulnerable.
Climate change, invasive species, urban sprawl, and agriculture are rapidly reshaping the landscape. Fires that once renewed the fynbos now arrive too frequently or too late. Rainfall patterns are shifting. And with every degree of warming, the survival window for buchu and its kin narrows.
This isn’t just an environmental concern, it’s a spiritual one. To lose the fynbos is to lose the memory held in its leaves. To lose buchu is to sever a link to ancestral knowledge, to cultural identity, and to a more balanced way of being in the world.
That’s why conservation efforts matter. Not only formal ones (protected areas and botanical gardens have their place), but grassroots, community-led stewardship.
A Plant of Resistance
Buchu has always been tied to survival. During colonial times, it was one of the few native medicines that crossed cultural lines. Dutch settlers took it to Europe, where it became known as a “miracle cure” for bladder issues. But that export often came at the expense of local knowledge systems, which were sidelined or dismissed.
Even so, buchu persisted. It found its way into kitchens and medicine cabinets. It became part of Cape herbalism, a vibrant tradition that blends Indigenous, African, and European healing practices. For many South Africans, buchu is still the first thing you reach for when a child gets a fever or when you’ve walked a little too far in the mountains.
There’s something quietly radical about that. In a world that pushes homogenized healthcare, buchu stands as a reminder that healing can be local, ecological, and community driven. It says: we know how to care for ourselves, and we know how to care for the land.
Walking With the Plant
Spend some time in the fynbos and you’ll start to notice things differently. The dry rustle of restios in the wind. The bright flash of protea blooms. If you’re lucky, the silvery-green shimmer of a buchu bush catching the light.
Walking with buchu is a practice in itself. It asks you to slow down, to breathe in, to listen. Some people say that if you’re open, the plant will speak to you. Not in words, but in sensations—a tingle in the skin, a pull in the chest, a sudden memory.
And maybe that’s what we need right now, relationships where we see plants not as passive resources, but as teachers and companions. Where land isn’t just property, but a story. Where healing isn’t something you buy, but something you participate in.
Protecting the Spirit of the Plant
So what does it mean to protect buchu?
It means protecting the land it grows in – not just with fences and signage, but through deep connection and presence. It means creating opportunities for people to experience the fynbos not from a distance, but from within it – through the scent of crushed leaves underfoot, the hush of wind through Conebush, the shimmer of light on silvery-green shrubs.
At Lomond Wine Estate, this kind of connection is made real through guided fynbos walks and e-bike trails that wind through some of the Cape’s most botanically rich landscapes. These aren’t just outdoor activities – they are invitations to listen, to learn, and to reawaken our relationship with the living world. Every turn of the trail offers a chance to meet the plants on their own terms, to understand their rhythms, and to sense their quiet resilience.
Buchu is a small shrub, yes, but it carries a big message: that healing, in all its forms, begins with connection. To place. To story. To the soil beneath our feet.
A Call to the Future
As climate anxiety rises and the search for meaning deepens, plants like buchu offer more than just medicine – they offer a model. Of resilience. Of reciprocity. Of rootedness.
At Lomond, we believe that true stewardship begins with listening – to the land, to its stories, and to the quiet resilience of the fynbos. Nestled on the slopes of Ben Lomond in the Cape’s southern reaches, we are more than just a wine estate – we are caretakers of a living, breathing biome.
Through our Conservation Servitude with Fauna and Flora International – the first of its kind for a South African wine farm – we’ve made a lifelong commitment to protecting critically endangered habitats like the Elim Ferricrete Fynbos. We actively clear invasive species, manage fire as a tool for renewal, and work to safeguard rare plants like the Conebush, allowing the fynbos to thrive in its natural rhythm.
For us, conservation is not a closed practice. It’s something we share. Through guided fynbos walks and e-bike trails, we invite others to step into this landscape – not just to see it, but to feel it. To breathe it in. To learn from it. Because when people walk among the fynbos, when they touch the leaves and hear the wind through restios, something shifts. They begin to understand what we’ve known all along: that this place is sacred.
Next time you sip a cup of buchu tea or rub the oil on tired joints, take a moment to thank the plant. To thank the land. To thank the people who still carry its stories.
Because in the scent of buchu, there’s a promise: that we can remember our way back to balance.