IN THE WOLOF language, native to the majority of Senegalese, the word buntu means “door” or “portal.” And many consider Dakar, the city at the westernmost point of Africa, the gateway to the continent. Bantu is a term loosely meaning “people” or “humans.” It designates a family of several hundred languages spoken by over 400 different ethnic groups stretching from central Cameroon to South Africa; that’s upwards of 350 million people, or 5% of the total world population. So it’s fitting that in celebration of Africa’s 16,000 miles of diverse coastline, entrepreneur Yodit Eklund established Bantu Wax, the continent’s original surf brand, and chose Dakar as its home base.

I arrive in Dakar during the second week of its month-long biennale, reinaugurated in the post-Covid era, and the city is pulsing with activity. Dak’Art’s bold and colorful billboards are posted everywhere, beckoning exploration, but my primary mission is to check out the city’s beaches, infamous waves, and urban surf scene. I meet Eklund on the shaded patio of Seku Bi, the intimate hotel of which she is also the proprietor. It’s discreetly tucked into a small impasse within the central plateau neighborhood. The air is salty. A breeze blows off the Atlantic stretching out just below and out to the horizon. “There are at least 20 beaches within a 20-minute drive that have a surf break,” she tells me. Uniquely situated on a peninsula that catches swells from both north and south, the city’s coast allows for consistent waves throughout the year, and has spots suited to every ability. Moreover, she continues, “Dakar is a fun place to come surf or learn to surf, but then you also have this other cultural experience: great music, great food, and a great art scene. It’s quite cool.”

Since those whirlwind early days, Eklund has sharpened the brand’s identity. For one thing, the product offering has expanded. “We have things that are industrially produced, artisanally produced, and quite luxuriously produced,” Eklund proudly states. Bantu Wax makes swimwear, apparel, monogrammed small leather goods, boxer briefs (for layering), and an assortment of summertime and beach accessories. The design ethos is driven by the skill sets and traditional practices that she and her team research and source across the continent. She’s emphatic when she tells me, “I will not make a Bantu product that's not made in Africa.” Wetsuits produced in South Africa are 4/3 mm only, colorful sun-bleached hats and visors are woven with natural fibers in Burkina Faso, beach blankets are worked on by Ghanaian flag makers, bandanas are pieced together by Kenyan sewers, and for the logo-obsessed consumer, a Bantu monogram was created to mimic traditional block prints, covering the surface of tote bags, wallets, and a cotton night shirt and short set.

The boutique, located on the ground floor of Eklund’s Seku Bi hotel, evokes the bounty of merchandise of an African market, with curation to suit a chic paddle-out and beach hang. La Marzocco–pulled espressos are at the ready while you shop. Pastel-colored jelly fisherman sandals spill out of tin buckets, crochet and straw market bags hang from sculpted wooden pegs, and an assortment of the brand’s graphic T-shirt and sweats mix and mingle with wetsuits. This is the only store in the world where shoppers can buy Bantu Wax gear in person. “We wanted to sell in Africa and be closer to the people that inspired the brand. We have a strong African customer today. That was my goal. I didn’t want to build a brand that wasn’t represented in Africa.” For the customer who does not yet have Senegal in their travel plans, Eklund concedes, “Our big thing now is pushing our digital presence, direct to consumer, and making the brand global.”

Tourists, adults, and kids are scrambling up onto longboards and catching the gentle ripples off the beach at Ngor village; others practice their paddle moves on sand, all patiently coached by the local surfers, who earn something extra by teaching visitors. As we wait to board a colorful hand-painted pirogue (traditional fishing boat) to cross the quarter-mile stretch of bay to Ngor Island, we discuss the evolving landscape of the surfing industry. “Africa has every race. You have Black, Arab, Indian, white; you have all these different races and they’re surfers, which I think speaks more to what the world is today,” Eklund says. Back in 2009 when the brand was founded, conversations around representation were uncommon. To see images of surfers outside the male, beach-blond, Caucasian archetype was not a thing. “We did that first,” she asserts. “I think we showed a different side to surf culture before anyone was really covering it. I see change in the industry, and I see people trying to adapt; I think in that way, we did open people’s eyes to a lot of things.” She’s happy to be at the forefront, serving as a sort of facilitator and guide for those in the industry looking to expand their rosters with fresh talent and get a foothold in this burgeoning youth-driven market. Local girls and women are finally getting in on the action, with economic opportunity of sponsorship deals, and cultural barriers that define gender roles are loosening. Malika Surf Camp at Yoff beach, run by expat Marta Imarisio, has pulled together a team of schoolgirls who practice daily, and has struck a deal that covers their school fees for the years to come. “I’m really excited that so many surfers are getting signed,” Eklund says. “They are the ambassadors for the oceans of Africa.”