Erebero Hills: Designing with the Forest and the Batwa Community
Written by Pablo Luna Studio Research Team
October, 2025
- UGANDA
- SITE ANALYSIS
- MATERIAL
- COMMUNNITY
Erebero Hills is an eco-lodge project on the edge of the Bwindi Impenetrable Forest in Uganda, a UNESCO World Heritage site known for its biodiversity and as home to more than half of the world’s mountain gorillas. The lodge is part of a wider vision of reforestation and cultural restoration.
The initiative is led by Asilia Africa, a safari operator in East Africa recognized for linking hospitality with conservation and community partnerships. Their work creates opportunities for tourism to support both ecosystems and people.
Photos © Pablo Luna Studio
Photo by Sanne Eekel
A central part of the story is the Batwa community. The Batwa are the original people of the Central African rainforests, often called the “first people of the forest.” For centuries, they lived as hunter-gatherers in Uganda, Rwanda, and Burundi — taking only what was needed, coexisting with wildlife, and leaving little trace behind. According to their creation story, when the world was divided, God gave them the forest itself, which they cared for as their body.
That bond was broken in the 1990s, when the Batwa were evicted after Bwindi was declared a national park. They lost not only their land but also their way of life, becoming what many describe as “conservation refugees.” This project creates new ways for the Batwa to share their knowledge, sustain their crafts, and reconnect with the land that has always been part of their identity.
For us at Pablo Luna Studio, joining this collaboration felt aligned with how we understand architecture: as a dialogue with the forest, with traditions, and with those who carry ancestral memories of the place.
Experiencing the Site
Our first strong impression was the forest in its full expression of biodiversity. Bwindi revealed itself with density, variety, and life at every scale. At the same time, there was a clear contrast with the land where the project was planned — hills covered with tea plantations. This single cultivated species created a kind of natural barrier, separating the abundance of the forest from the surrounding terrain.
When we visited, the reforestation plan had not yet begun but was already being envisioned. It was a project tied both to ecological knowledge and to the involvement of the community, projecting how the slopes could gradually return to a more diverse state.
The presence of the forest was so tangible that it shaped how we experienced the place. Some in the team described the tall crowns of the trees as “broccoli trees,” a simple way to capture their form and strength. There was a sense of balance in the landscape that reminded us how distinct every ecosystem is.
Coming from Bali, where life takes on another rhythm and character, being in Bwindi made that difference very real. It showed us that each environment has its own essence, and that any design must begin by listening to it.
Photo by Sanne Eekel
The Batwa Community
Visiting the site was not only about understanding the land where the lodge would be built. It was also about sensing the lives connected to it — the forest itself, the tea plantations that once shaped its edges, and the people whose history is inseparable from this place.
Photo by Kate Waite via Asilia
Among these lives is the Batwa community. The Batwa once lived inside the forest, relying on it for food, medicine, and livelihood. When the area became a national park, they were displaced and lost access to the environment that had sustained them for generations. Their ancestral way of life was profoundly affected, and the continuity of their traditions was disrupted.
Today, the Batwa are involved in reforestation and cultural activities. The project creates spaces where their crafts and traditions remain visible, and where their knowledge helps guide the renewal of the land. As a studio, meeting the Batwa community and listening to their stories was a privilege. It gave us a deeper awareness that every decision in design — every line drawn on paper, every model made on a laptop — would have a tangible impact on how this place would continue to evolve.
We wanted our participation to reflect that awareness: to engage consciously in the design of a living relationship between people and forest.
Architecture in Dialogue
The land itself guided the design. Terraces, light structures on stilts, and suspended forms were chosen to adapt to the slope and to keep the soil as undisturbed as possible.
Local materials were central to this approach. Bamboo, cultivated in Uganda, became the main element, allowing us to shape curving roofs that echo the organic flow of the forest. Wood, stone, rammed earth, and woven textures were added to anchor the buildings in place and connect them to local traditions of making.
From the early design stages, the project was imagined as a collaborative process. Together with Akeka, the construction partner, the plan included workshops where local artisans could explore bamboo techniques and strengthen their skills. In this way, the act of building itself became part of the dialogue — a way of generating knowledge and leaving capacities within the community.
The layout of the lodge was designed with care to avoid overloading the land. Villas were set with generous distance between them, opening views to the forest while allowing the terrain to remain as undisturbed as possible. At the center, a communal area was planned as a gathering space, also offering room for Batwa crafts to be practiced and shared with visitors.
Photo by Sanne Eekel
A Shared Experience
Erebero Hills was conceived as an experience of meeting the forest, the community, and the traditions that shape this landscape. Visitors will be able to walk the surrounding hills, see the young forest that is now growing where tea once stood, and sense how reforestation is slowly transforming the land.
The lodge also creates opportunities to connect with the Batwa community. Spaces for their crafts and handmade work are part of the design, giving visitors the chance to see and appreciate practices that carry ancestral knowledge. These encounters are not staged performances but moments of recognition, where the presence of the community is part of the life of the place.
For guests, the experience can mean sharing stories with artisans, walking to nearby waterfalls, or learning how the forest is being renewed tree by tree. Each of these encounters shows that Erebero Hills is part of a living landscape — one where biodiversity, memory, and culture continue to grow side by side.
Conclusion
Our involvement in Erebero Hills reminded us of something essential: architecture grows stronger when it is collaborative. This project brought together many different roles — Asilia with its vision of conservation, Akeka with its leadership in construction, the Batwa community with their ancestral knowledge, and our own contribution as designers. Each part was crucial, and it was through working together that the project found its direction.
For us, the experience highlighted the importance of community. Architecture can become a language of connection when it listens to people, when it recognizes their stories, and when it creates space for those stories to continue.
Photo by Kate Waite via Asilia
Working in Uganda also gave us perspective. It was a chance to see our way of working outside of Bali, in another ecosystem, with different materials, traditions, and techniques. And yet, the essence remained the same. Our task is not to push forward ideas detached from place, but to know, to listen, to understand, and to act as mediators. To use the tools we have — drawing, building, imagining — to represent and express values that are already present.
In this way, architecture becomes a reflection of relationships.
