By DINA KRAFT

Associated Press Writer

KRUGER NATIONAL PARK, South Africa (AP) _ The apartheid regime herded the Makuleke off their ancestral lands in this huge game reserve, leaving only white shards of broken dishes and the concrete foundation of a general store as reminders of their presence.

It took nearly two decades, until after the introduction of South Africa’s multiracial democracy, for the impoverished tribe to win back ownership of the land near the junction of the Limpopo and Luvuvhu rivers.

It’s one of the most verdant spots in the region, a place where tendrils of red flame creepers dangle and yellow-tinged trunks of the fever tree glow. Kudus and elephants graze on grassy expanses. Eagles soar overhead.

Yet, instead of moving back, the Makuleke decided to develop an ecotourism business there as a way to create jobs for their young people while protecting the remote northern corner of the park.

The marriage of conservation with efforts to eradicate poverty for the rural poor was a key theme at the World Parks Congress this month in the coastal city of Durban, and the Makuleke story was hailed as a model.

People living near parks need to see the land benefit them for conservation campaigns to work, South African President Thabo Mbeki said.

``Mere exhortations to poor people to value and respect the ecosystems contained within national parks will not succeed,’’ he said. ``It is critically important that alternative means of livelihood be found for the poor of the world, so that they are not forced to act in a manner that undermines the global effort to protect these ecosystems.’’

The conference grappled with how best to preserve parks and protected areas in the face of species loss, climate change and increasing demand for resources as populations grow.

Much of Kruger National Park’s most diverse plant and animal life is found in the Makuleke people’s nearly 100 square miles of canopy forests, gorges and grassland.

The several thousand Makuleke were forced from the land at gunpoint in 1969 as South Africa’s racist regime sought to expand the park for white tourists. Driven away in trucks from the land they had hunted, fished and farmed for generations, the Makuleke were dumped on the outskirts of the park and left to fend for themselves.

They got back ownership in 1998 after negotiations with South Africa’s new government.

Then, in a move that surprised many people, the 15,000 Makuleke decided to stay in the three villages where they were dumped in 1969 and instead lease the ancestral lands to investors to build four game lodges that will cater to tourists who want to see the park’s wild life.

The Makuleke will get a percentage of the profits, and within 30 years, complete ownership of the lodges.

Gibson Maluleke, 65, a community leader who played a key role in the land claim, said getting back ownership raised the question, ``So, how are we going to benefit?’’ He said the ecotourism idea was presented to the people.

He beams as he enters the first lodge built so far _ a sleek luxury setting called The Outpost, built and mostly staffed by the Maluleke.

Water drips from exposed copper pipes into a narrow Zen-like swimming pool near a concrete bar. The rooms, called ``spaces,’’ have no walls and overlook cinnamon-colored earth dotted with mopane, nyala and baobab trees. The Luvuvhu River meanders nearby, lush plants hugging its banks.

The hotel charges $950 a night per couple.

Tens of thousands of dollars are expected to come into the community from the lodges each year.

In their villages outside the park, the Makuleke live in small thatched rondellas along dirt roads where most traffic is cows and donkeys. There is no running water inside the homes, but the first profits from their venture is paying to run electricity lines to each home.

Young Makuleke now have job opportunities at the lodge, and in related activities, such as the Working for Water project, which employs them to remove nonnative plants that sap scarce water resources.

Thomas Ndobe is among those being trained to take over management of The Outpost, while others learn to manage the land.

``For me it’s home,’’ said Ndobe, 27. ``My future is here ... working for the community.’’

Some Makuleke work as cybertrackers. Rifles slung on their backs, they travel by bicycle and foot, tracking the movement of animals with hand-held computers linked to global positioning satellites.

``I feel great because now I have something to conserve, something to look after, something that will let us live as a community,’’ said Edward Maluleke, a 28-year-old cybertracker.