A photo of the Blyde River Canyon in Mpumalanga stopped Johannesburg transplant Farirai Sanyika mid-scroll. She had no idea the landmark was in her own country. That moment of self-directed surprise pushed her to build Gophari, a platform dedicated to places that never make the standard itinerary. It also raises a bigger question: how much of the continent stays invisible simply because travellers keep looking in the same places?
Sanyika, fellow creator Tebogo Pin-Pin and Ugandan tourism entrepreneur Demo Riley all argue that the real story sits between the postcards. Pin-Pin grew up across South African towns like Thaba Nchu, Taung and Kimberley, then worked his way through all nine provinces. He describes these places as living classrooms, where history, language, food and local ecosystems come through conversations rather than campaign brochures. The landmark might get you there, he says, but the person who explains it is what you remember.
Visibility, though, is only half the battle. Riley, who runs the Vumbula Uganda Festival and Source of the Nile Festival, says Uganda's tourism assets already exist in its people, food, music, crafts and heritage. What is missing is infrastructure and marketing: roads, signage, accommodation, digital presence, and tourism products travellers can actually find and book. If no one tells the story, the destination stays off the map.
Sudden fame carries its own risks. Social media can turn an overlooked town into a global must-see overnight, but communities without preparation face strained infrastructure, rising living costs and residents pushed out by the very tourism that celebrated them. Riley's answer is not secrecy but responsible development with real community participation. Pin-Pin adds an economic test: does the money circulate locally, or pass through? Locally owned guesthouses, farmers supplying restaurants and artisans selling directly all keep revenue in the community. Foreign-owned developments and short-term rental sprawl tend to erode the character that drew visitors in the first place.
There is also the question of narrative. Sanyika is critical of township tours framed around hardship, where poverty becomes the whole story. She wants travellers to meet the entrepreneurs, chefs, artists and historians alongside everyday life, not just the struggles. Authenticity, in this framing, means asking whether the people whose culture creates the experience hold a stake in it.
The most striking shift proposed is internal: Africans travelling within Africa. According to the African Development Bank and African Union's Visa Openness Index, only 28.2% of intra-African travel was visa-free in 2025, and expensive flights, thin regional routes and accommodation priced for foreign wallets all add friction. Riley's prescription is straightforward: go slower, eat local, hire the guide who grew up there, take the road that is not first on Google. His pick for doing it well is Jinja and the wider Source of the Nile region, where visitors should meet communities and attend local events rather than just tick off attractions.
For anyone planning a trip to the continent, the takeaway is practical: build in a small-town detour, ask who owns the business you are booking, and let the unexpected conversations shape the itinerary.
