Nature, but closer than you think

From the start, Moja Collective has been about proximity and possibility. Rather than chasing dramatic mountain ranges hours from the city, Shukura focused on nature that is closer than many Londoners realise.

“A lot of people think of the Lake District or Peak District, places that are like hours and hours away,” she says. “But I discovered the North Downs. It is only about 40 minutes on the train from London.”

That short journey became a gateway. Friends and community members arrived on the chalk hills of Surrey and Kent, surprised to find big skies, woodland paths and far reaching views just one train ride away. Their reactions convinced Shukura to turn one walk into a monthly practice.

As Moja Collective grew, so did its horizons. Collaborations followed with the North Downs, Epping Forest, the Lake District Foundation, and now the YHA for a heavily subsidised trip to the Peak District – all with a focus on people who have never visited these landscapes before.

From hiking group to mindful collective

The real pivot, though, came on a day when everyone, including the founder, turned up feeling overwhelmed.

“I had to host a walk, but everyone else seemed overwhelmed too,” Shukura remembers. “So I decided to pivot the hike.”

Drawing on something she had read about using nature to cope with stress, she invited the group to spend the first 30 minutes of the walk in silence, each person focusing on one thing – leaves, wind, soil, a fallen plant on the ground.

They were walking through the Surrey Hills, but for half an hour they were also walking inward, listening to their bodies and the landscape together, without needing to speak. Nobody said much as the minutes stretched past 30, then 35.

“At the end, I felt lighter and less anxious about the week ahead,” she says. “Other people felt like that as well.”

That experiment nudged Moja Collective into new territory. Today the group still hikes, but it also offers mindfulness walks, guided meditations and intentionally quiet time outdoors. On one trip, a meditation specialist led the group to a hilltop, where they sat in silence for an hour, surrounded by cows and the sound of the breeze.

“People were surprised they could be silent for an hour,” says Shukura. “It showed them that if they need to calm down, they do not always have to go to technology. They can literally go outside on a walk, sit in a park, listen to the wind. A lot of these things are free and accessible.”

Facilitating, not fronting

Although Moja Collective centres her work, Shukura resists the idea of being a singular “face of change”.

“Yes, on paper I lead it,” she says, “but I see myself more as a facilitator or a vessel.”

That facilitation shows up in subtle choices – from keeping walks to around 20 people, to making space for community members who are into poetry, herbalism or tech to share their skills.

“I want to say, these are the opportunities that exist. What other opportunities would you like to see? How can I support?” she explains. “The group does not have to be strict. It can create opportunities for other people too.”

It also shapes how Moja Collective sits within a wider ecosystem of nature groups. Rather than competing for attention, Shukura goes out of her way to highlight others.

“There is Flock Together for birdwatching, Black Girls Hike for hiking, trail running groups and so many more,” she says. “I do not want to gatekeep. I just want to say, these are the opportunities that exist.”

If someone mentions an interest in birds, she is likely to direct them to Flock Together. If they want to take on more responsibility in their neighbourhood, she will tell them about London National Park City and its volunteer Ranger community. For Shukura, signposting is part of the work.

Storytelling, safety and the politics of land

Moja Collective’s walks are spacious and gentle, but they are also highly considered. Behind the scenes, Shukura is training as a Lowland Leader with Black Girls Hike and the National Trust, learning how to combine risk management with storytelling.

“Storytelling is a way to connect people to nature,” she says. “My group is very curious about who oversees the land we are on.”

In the North Downs and Kent, that might include the National Trust, Natural England and Kent County Council. On a meditation walk in the chalklands around Wye, she found herself explaining not just the geology, but its safety implications – why chalk paths become treacherous after rain, and why a windy day might not be the moment for a spontaneous trip to the White Cliffs of Dover.

That curiosity extends to the politics of land, ownership and privatisation.

“There is a fear of privatisation creeping into nature spaces,” she says. “But in the UK, places like the Lake District are not controlled by one company. You cannot just decide to build flats everywhere. There are farmers and communities whose interests are in caring for the land.”

Conservation volunteering in Epping Forest has deepened that perspective, revealing the invisible labour that goes into maintaining ancient woods for people and wildlife. It also led to one of Shukura’s favourite new discoveries – that there are beavers in London, only revealed to her through a conversation with someone from the Ealing Beaver Project.

“Those conversations and stories help us connect with nature,” she says. “Then we pass that on.”

Caring for people, caring for place

For all the talk of wellbeing, Shukura is sceptical of prescriptive rules about how people “should” behave outdoors. She is just as likely to spend an evening watching reality TV as she is to walk alone in silence.

“I never want to tell people there is a right or wrong way,” she says. “If someone wants to be on their screen, that is fine. If someone wants to go for a mindful walk, that is fine too.”

The line for her is when our presence tips into taking up space at nature’s expense – 500 people in a single spot, three different sound systems blasting through the trees.

“I am not an ecologist,” she laughs, “but I am sure 100 plus humans in one area might spook the wildlife.”

It is one of the reasons Moja Collective keeps its walks intentionally small. With a maximum of around 20 people, Shukura can speak to everyone, make sure no one is left behind, and hold a space that feels safe for both people and place.

On one walk, that intimacy allowed two strangers to discover they worked at the same hospital. Now they meet for lunch breaks. It is the sort of quiet connection that would be almost impossible in a crowd of 200.

Passing the torch

As Moja Collective approaches its second birthday, Shukura is thinking not just about what comes next, but who.

“I am really interested in how you create longevity without burning out,” she says. “The level of work I am putting in now probably is not sustainable forever.”

She namechecks Young Wilders, a group whose funding means members have to step back at 30, as an example of building succession into a structure from the start.

“That idea of knowing when to hand over has stayed with me,” she says. “There is only so much I can do with my ideas. I want the community to shape what comes next.”

For now, Moja Collective will keep doing what it does best – taking people just far enough out of London to feel different, but not so far that it feels unreachable, and offering small, powerful tools to see the world around them in a new way.

A silent hilltop. A gust of wind. A chalk path underfoot. A stranger who becomes a friend.

Sometimes the quietest walks contain the loudest revolutions.