Category: Africa

  • Tanzanian parents struggle with misconceptions of autism

    Tanzanian parents struggle with misconceptions of autism

    The nurse hands the newborn child to his mother, Jamila, who smiles down at him, mesmerized by the tiny being who is about to bring hope and joy to the family. Juma, the proud father, laughs with delight at getting a son, a symbol of pride.

     It feels like the beginning of a perfect future. The whole neighbourhood is celebrating.

    “Say ‘mama’.”

    “Come, walk to me.”

    “Can you count one to three?”

    But all the relatives begin to worry when, four years later, the child still can’t talk or walk and he behaves differently from the other children around him.

    The neighbours begin to whisper, quietly spreading false rumours about the family.

    “Evil spirits must have attacked them.”

    “They are being punished for their sins.”

    Unable to face the embarrassment, Juma refuses to take responsibility and eventually leaves. Jamila is then left alone to carry the weight of raising her child in silence, shame and confusion.

    This is the reality for many families in Tanzania who have a child with autism.

    Neema Massawe, the mother of a six-year old with both autism and cerebral palsy, shared her experience. “My child is a lovely six-year old, born with a condition described by doctors as cerebral palsy and autism,” Massawe said. “She has difficulties with movements and speech, and can only be helped.”

    Ignorance is the problem.

    As of 2023, less than 1% of the population of Tanzania is diagnosed with autism, but that’s more than 600,000 people. Still, public awareness of the condition remains alarmingly low, particularly in rural areas where access to diagnosis and support services is even more limited.

    For many children with autism in Tanzania, their struggle goes beyond their developmental challenges and is compounded by misunderstanding, stigma and limited support. Families often face judgment from their communities and cultural beliefs sometimes attribute the child’s condition to curses, punishment or supernatural causes.

    In an article published in 2019, Jane and Isaac Jisangu, parents of an autistic child, told how their community once believed their child was bewitched and accused them of being bad parents.

    Jane Jisangu told the interviewer: “The problem exists, but most people don’t know about it. Some will tell you to go to ‘experts’ or go see your elders. They might help you.”

    Her words reflect how, with limited awareness and scarce resources, families often turn to traditional healers or spiritual explanations rather than seeking professional medical help. The account was reported by China Global Television Network in 2019, highlighting how limited local research and reporting on autism in Tanzania often pushes families’ experiences to international platforms.

    No child deserves inhumanity. 

    Tumaini Kweka, the mother of a 14-year-old autistic boy said that because of autism, her son is often loud and restless.

    “Many people called him a ‘troublesome boy’,” she said. “One day, the maid decided to burn him with an iron machine to teach him a lesson. This really affected his siblings and I as well.”

    This is just one of many examples of how autistic children are treated daily. Sexual harassment, physical abuse and emotional mistreatment are heartbreakingly common. Many are scolded for behaviours they cannot control and are isolated simply for acting differently. Because of such treatment, countless autistic children are denied the chance to attend school, their educational journeys cut short before they even begin.

    Although the Tanzanian government has introduced policies such as the Law of the Child Act, 2009, to protect the rights of children with disabilities and ensure equal access to education and healthcare, the implementation remains weak.

    Limited resources, a shortage of trained professionals and widespread public ignorance continue to hinder meaningful progress.

    Deborah Mapunda, the grandmother of an autistic child, recalled how even visits to the hospital, which were meant for support and care, were met with cold stares and criticisms. “People gave us a lot of judgment and tend to look at us critically,” she said.

    Each stare and criticism left her feeling isolated, frustrated and painfully aware that society often rejects the family rather than understanding the child’s needs.

    “Maybe if everyone understood the situation, they would be nicer,” Mapunda added.

    Parents and caregivers carry quiet burdens.

    Just as autistic children struggle, their parents and caregivers carry a heavy emotional, social and financial burden that often goes unseen. Back in 2012, researchers at Muhimbili Hospital in Dar es Salaam found that many caregivers experience deep stress and even conflicted feelings about raising a child with a developmental condition.

    They spoke about how difficult it was to manage behaviours that are normal within autism but misunderstood by the wider community. Behaviours such as aggression, loud vocalizations, hyperactivity or restless movement often create tension with neighbours and extended family members, who quickly become irritated or uncomfortable.

    Over time, this constant friction makes some caregivers feel as if their child can not “fit in” within the community, a belief that grows into fear, shame and a persistent worry about the child’s future.

    Autism does not affect the child alone; it touches every family member. According to the Family Systems Theory, family members are deeply emotionally connected, so the challenges of one person influence the entire household.

    According to a 2017 study led by University of Kent researcher Ciara Padden, many parents of autistic children are forced to quit their jobs or reduce their working hours due to high caregiving demands, including communication challenges and severe sleep difficulties.

    This places a heavy strain on the parents, making it difficult for them to maintain financial stability and take care of the rest of the family and any other remaining children.

    What the future holds 

    Will children ever outgrow autism? The answer is no. But this does not mean that their lives cannot be full, meaningful and successful. Awareness of autism is slowly increasing in Tanzania, yet ignorance remains widespread, especially in rural areas.

    “I highly believe that educating people is the first step for improving the lives of these children,” said Shangwe Mgaya, mother of an autistic child and an advocate for autism awareness.

    Connect Autism Tanzania, an organization that collaborates with about a dozen centres in northern Tanzania, has made a significant contribution to empowering and training teachers on how to support autistic learners effectively. Four workshops are conducted annually in rural areas and simple tools have been developed for primary caregivers, teachers and the general public to raise awareness and promote education.

    Many non-governmental organizations have also turned International Autism Day, celebrated on 2 April, into a powerful moment for understanding and support. Events like the annual Run4Autism marathon help raise both visibility and funds for autism centers across the nation. Additionally, a gala dinner scheduled for 31 January 2026, aims to bring communities, experts and families together to discuss the challenges autistic children face and inspire stronger national action.

    These efforts have brought a sense of hope to parents and caregivers of autistic children. As awareness slowly increases, more families are beginning to believe that their children might one day receive proper support in schools and be valued as members of the community who can make meaningful contributions.

    For example, a mother on Facebook shared a video of her autistic son swimming and wrote how proud she was that he had mastered swimming in a short period.

    Even though autism can not ‘go away,’ the future can change dramatically depending on how society responds. For now, parents in Tanzania are holding onto the hope that the next generation of caregivers, teachers and neighbours will be more informed, compassionate and better prepared.

    Questions to consider:

    1. In what ways do children with autism struggle beyond their developmental challenges?

    2. Why do you think so many people are ignorant about autism?

    3. In what ways might people have the wrong ideas about you?

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  • What happens when people lose access to birth control?

    What happens when people lose access to birth control?

    Abandonment of U.S. financial support for contraception around the world has disrupted the ecosystem that fostered birth control, family planning and sexual and reproductive health for decades.

    Back in February, the United Nations Population Fund announced that the United States had canceled some $377 million in funding for maternal health programs around the world, which includes contraception programs.

    Contraception reduces mortality and can improve the lives of women and families. The United Nations estimates that the number of women using a modern contraception method doubled from 1990 to 2021, which coincided with a 34% reduction in maternal mortality over the same period.

    Now, tens of millions of people could lose access to modern contraceptives in the next year, according to the Guttmacher Institute, a family planning research and lobby group. This, it reported, could result in more than 17 million unintended pregnancies and 34,000 preventable pregnancy-related deaths.

    Sexual and reproductive health and rights programs improve women’s choices and protection including violence and rape prevention and treatment.

    Who will fill the gap?

    European donor governments have pledged to increase contributions to UNFPA and other global health funds to partially fill the gap. The Netherlands, Sweden and Denmark, for example, have pledged emergency funds to UNFPA Supplies, the world’s largest provider of contraceptives to low-income countries.

    The EU has also redirected part of its humanitarian budget to cover contraceptive procurement in sub-Saharan Africa. Canada announced an additional CAD $100 million over three years for sexual and reproductive health programs, explicitly citing the U.S. withdrawal.

    Despite its own aid budget pressures, the UK has committed to maintaining its £200 million annual contribution to family planning programs, with a focus on East Africa.

    The Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation expanded its Family Planning 2030 commitments, pledging tens of millions in stopgap funding to keep supply chains moving. The World Bank Global Financing Facility offers bridge loans and grants to governments facing sudden gaps in reproductive health budgets and calls for governments to co-finance. However these initiatives will not immediately replace the scale of previous U.S. government investments.

    The loss of U.S. support has left many women with no access to family planning, especially in rural and conflict-affected areas. Clinics are reporting a surge in unintended pregnancies and unsafe abortions.

    Health clinics closing

    In Zambia, Cooper Rose Zambia, a local NGO reported laying off 60% of its staff after receiving a stop-work order from USAID. Clinics have been rationing contraceptives with some methods already out of stock.

    In Kenya, clinics in Nairobi and rural counties are turning women away, with some supplies stuck in warehouses and at risk of expiring. In Tanzania, medical stores confirmed they were completely out of stock of certain contraceptive implants by July 2025.

    Mali will be denied 1.2 million oral contraceptives and 95,800 implants, nearly a quarter of its annual need. In Burkina Faso, another country under terrorist insurgency internally, many displaced women have no access to modern contraceptives.

    The consequences of the stock depletions will be particularly catastrophic in fragile and conflict settings such as refugee camps.

    Struggling to adapt to the reality has led organizations to cut programs and redirect their remaining resources. Many are trying desperately to raise new funds. But there are some voices that cheer the cuts, describing them as a wake up call.

    A wake up call for Africa?

    Rama Yade, director of the Africa Center of the Atlantic Council, a non-partisan organization that studies and facilitates U.S. international relations, argues that the aid cuts could be a wake-up call for African nations to reduce dependency and pursue economic sovereignty.

    For pan-African voices who have long criticized foreign aid as a tool of neocolonialism, the U.S. government cuts are a chance to build local capacity, strengthen intra-African trade and reduce reliance on Western donors. Trump’s dismantling of USAID offers a new beginning for Africa.

    In an essay in the publication New Humanitarian, Themrit Khan, an independent researcher in the aid sectors wrote that recipient nations have been made to believe they are unable to function without external support.

    Khan proposes several actions to mitigate the foreign funding cuts: relying more on local donors; developing trade and bilateral relations instead of depending on international cooperation programs through the United Nations and other international organizations; re-evaluating military spending and reducing debt.

    Colette Hilaire Ouedraogo, a senior midwife and sexual and reproductive health practitioner, told me that up to 60% of activities were from external funding partners. She recalled the alerts sent by the health department to increase funding from national sources as early as 2022.

    She predicts that the cuts affecting the availability and access to contraceptives and the overall quality of services will slow down progress towards universal health coverage targets and the UN Sustainable Development Goals. There is a risk of reduced attendance at reproductive health and family planning centers. Consequently, unwanted pregnancies and unsafe abortions could increase leading an higher maternal mortality.

    Questions to consider:

    1. How can contraceptives result in lower deaths for women?

    2. Why do some people argue that the cut off of funds from the United States might ultimately benefit nations in Africa?

    3. Why are contraceptives controversial?

     

     

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  • When life is bitter, don’t lose hope

    When life is bitter, don’t lose hope

    When life takes away your greatest support, it can feel as if the world is falling apart. For me, losing my father as a child was more than heartbreaking. It was a true test of strength. Yet in a world that often seemed bitter, the kindness of strangers and the power of personal dreams helped me rise above my sorrow and shape a future full of hope.

    My family and I live in the Eastern province of Rwanda. I was only five years old when one morning, my father packed his bag and left the house. He didn’t say where he was going and he never came back. Days turned into weeks, weeks into years, but there was no sign of him. No call. No letter. Nothing. 

    At first, I didn’t understand what was happening. I kept asking my mother, “When is Papa coming back?” But she would just smile sadly and say, “One day, maybe.”

    In her heart, she knew he was not coming back. 

    Life changed quickly after that. Without a father and without money, things became hard for the family. My mother, Catherine, had no job. She had never worked outside the home before. Now, she had to take care of me and my four siblings alone. 

    Struggling with little

    We had no house of our own. We moved from one place to another, staying with kind neighbors or sleeping in small, broken huts. During rainy nights, water would leak through the roof and we had to stay awake holding buckets. Sometimes, we didn’t even have enough food to eat. Many nights, we went to bed hungry. 

    My siblings were in high school at the time, but the family could not afford school fees anymore. One by one, they dropped out and stayed home. It was painful for me to watch them suffer. I loved them deeply and wanted a better life for all of them. 

    Despite everything, I stayed in school. My mother worked hard doing small jobs washing clothes, digging gardens or selling vegetables in the market. She never gave up. “You are our hope,” she would tell me. “Even if your father left, we must move forward.”

    I listened. I promised myself that no matter how hard life became, I would not give up. I wanted to finish school, go to university and one day help my family live a better life. 

    But it was not easy. 

    Help can come from surprising places.

    I often went to school with old shoes. I had no school bag only an old plastic bag to carry my books. I had no lunch and many times, I sat in class with an empty stomach. But still, I worked hard. I listened carefully, asked questions and always completed my homework, even if it meant studying by candlelight or by the dim light of a kerosene lamp. 

    Many teachers began to notice me. They saw that even though I had nothing, I had determination and a kind heart. One teacher gave me exercise books. Another helped pay part of my school fees. A neighbor who owned a small shop gave me a few snacks sometimes. A church group gave my mother food and clothes once in a while. 

    These acts of kindness kept me going. 

    I studied harder than anyone else and soon became the best performer in my class. Every year, I got top marks. My name was always on the honor list. At school, students looked up to me. But at home, things were still hard. My siblings had lost hope, but I kept believing in a better future. 

    After many years of struggle, I finally finished high school. I was the first in my family to do so. On the day I received my final results, my mother cried tears of joy. You did it, my son. You made me proud, she said, hugging me tightly.

    But my journey wasn’t over. 

    I had one more goal: to go to university. That meant more fees, laptop, more books, more challenges, but I didn’t stop. I applied for scholarships and after many rejections, I finally got accepted to a university with some financial support. 

    Now, I’m 22 years old. I’m in university, studying hard every day. I met with a kind person again, who gave me a place to sleep and dinner. Even though I have that support, I’m still facing challenges. I still lack proper shoes, clothes and transport money, but I keep going. My dream is to become a professional, get a good job first, then become self-employed and return home to support my mother and siblings. 

    I remind myself: “My father left us when I was just a child. We had no house, no food and no money. My siblings could not finish school. But I decided to fight. Kind people helped me and I stayed strong. Now I am at university. I will not stop until I help my family rise again.” 

    I hope my story will teach young people that even when life feels bitter and people let you down, you must not give up. Strength is not about having everything. It is about standing tall even when you have nothing. This is the reason why I’m writing my story. 

    Even when life is painful and people walk away from you, never lose hope. With hard work, faith and the help of kind people, you can still rise, succeed and help others do the same. 

    QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER:

    1. What was one thing the author promised himself when things got really hard for his family?

    2. In what ways did people help the author succeed?

    3. When have people helped you when you were having difficulty?

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  • Why so much confusion over climate change?

    Why so much confusion over climate change?

    Bwambale estimates that less than 1% of the global population truly grasps the implications of climate change. “Even worse are Ugandans,” he said.

    Gerison pointed out that much of the population of Uganda is young. “With 80% below the age of 25, many haven’t witnessed the full extent of climate changes,” he said.

    A diminishing crop is easily understood.

    Janet Ndagire, Bwambale’s colleague, said it is difficult for Ugandan natives to connect with climate campaigns. They often perceive them as obstacles to survival rather than crucial interventions.

    “Imagine telling someone who relies on charcoal burning for survival that cutting down a tree could be hazardous!” Ndagire said. “It doesn’t make sense to them, especially when the tree is on their plot of land.”

    Reflecting on personal experiences, Ndagire recalled childhood days of going to sleep fully covered. Nowadays it is too hot to do that, he said.

    Ssiragaba Edison Tubonyintwari, a seasoned bus driver originally from western Uganda but currently driving with the United Nations, recounts the challenges of driving between 5 and 9 AM in the Albertine rift eco-region especially around the Ecuya forest reserve.

    “It would be covered in mist,” said Tubonyintwari. “We’d ask two people to stand in front, one on either side of the bus, signalling for you to drive forward, or else, you couldn’t see two metres away. Currently, people drive all day and night!”

    Irish potatoes in the African wetlands

    What happened? Tubonyintwari pointed to unauthorised tree cutting in the reserve, residential constructions and the cultivation of tea alongside Irish potatoes in the wetlands. The result was rising temperatures.

    His account supplements a Global Forest Watch report which puts commodity-driven deforestation above urbanisation.

    It’s notable that Tubonyintwari didn’t explicitly use the term “climate change,” yet the sexagenarian can effectively explain the underlying concept through his detailed description of altered environmental conditions.

    Global Forest Watch reports alarming deforestation trends, with 5.8 million hectares lost globally in 2022. In Uganda, more than 6,000 deforestation alerts were recorded between 22 and 29 November this year.

    The consequences of such environmental degradation are dire. Ndagire emphasised that those who once wielded axes and chainsaws for firewood are now the very individuals facing reduced crop yields due to extreme weather conditions.

    Even as Uganda grapples with the aftermath of a sudden surge in heavy rains from last October, Bwambale questions the country’s meteorological department, highlighting the failure to provide precise explanations and climate-aware preparations.

    These interconnected narratives emphasise the need for accessible climate campaigns and community-driven solutions. As COP28 gathers elites, the call for a simplified narrative gains prominence, mirroring successful communication models seen during the Covid-19 pandemic; else it’s the same old throwing of good money after bad.

    Questions to consider:

    1. Why does deforestation continue in places like Uganda when people know about its long-term consequences?

    2. In what ways are high level discussions about climate change disconnected from people’s everyday experiences?

    3. In what way do you think scientists and environmentalists need to change the climate change narrative?

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  • Emerging leader of the year 2025 – Bimpe Femi-Oyewo

    Emerging leader of the year 2025 – Bimpe Femi-Oyewo

    The post Emerging leader of the year 2025 – Bimpe Femi-Oyewo appeared first on The PIE News.

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  • Decoder Replay: Let’s celebrate Mandela Day

    Decoder Replay: Let’s celebrate Mandela Day

    February 11, 1990 was truly a turning point in the history of South Africa.

    For decades the nation at the southern tip of the continent had been pilloried by much of the rest of the world. This was because of its apartheid racial segregation laws that hugely favoured the white population over the far larger and mostly black majority.

    Apartheid means “separateness” in Afrikaans, the language rooted in Dutch that evolved when the country was a colony.

    By 1989 — itself a remarkable year for the wave of revolutions in communist East Europe — South Africa had made significant steps in its effort to end its pariah status. International sanctions were costing it dearly economically, culturally and in sporting terms.

    As a taste of events to come, the government freed senior figures in the African National Congress (ANC), the exiled organisation waging a low-level guerrilla campaign against apartheid.

    The fight against apartheid

    A favourite weapon of the ANC was small mines. One of them exploded in a shopping mall in the commercial capital Johannesburg just as I had finished shopping there and was safely in the mall’s car park.

    But there was no word when ANC leader Nelson Mandela — who ultimately spent 27 years incarcerated, much of it in an island prison — would be freed.

    Lawyer Mandela entered the world stage with a famous speech at his 1963 trial for sabotage acts against the state in which he stated that freedom and equality were “an ideal for which I am prepared to die.”

    Releasing Mandela from prison was a key card that South Africa could play to regain respectability, and the government would play it “soon,” Anton Lubowski, an anti-apartheid activist and human rights advocate, told me.

    Lubowski did not live to see his forecast fulfilled. In September 1989, gunmen pumped AK-47 rifle rounds into him, with the coup de grace a pistol bullet. He was the latest in a long list of opposition figures in southern Africa to fall victim to unnamed assassins.

    Freedom as news

    Knowing that Mandela was expected to be released — his freedom would be a huge news story — but not knowing how or when it would happen was particularly frustrating for a news agency reporter like me.

    Reuters and its rivals compete tooth and nail to get stories first, and to get them right. Being just one minute behind another news agency on a major story rates as a failure.

    What I dreaded most was that Mandela would be released from prison unannounced, just as his ANC colleagues had been. This possibility made it necessary for me and my colleagues to be constantly alert, straining to catch the first authentic information.

    The problem was that, then as now, the pressure to get hard information was compounded by a fog of fake news and hoaxes, saying that the release of Mandela was imminent or indeed had actually happened.

    These claims were typically relayed on pagers, the messaging devices of the pre-smartphone age. Such messages, no matter how bogus-sounding, had to be checked. This took time and energy and shredded nerves.

    Recognizing a hero

    It was one such scare that prompted reporters to flock to an exclusive clinic outside Cape Town where Mandela was known to be undergoing treatment.

    It was then that another problem surfaced: Nobody among us knew what Mandela looked like after his marathon spell in prison. There had been no pictures of him. Would we even recognise him if he walked out of the clinic?

    The hilarious result was that every black man leaving the clinic — whether porter, delivery man, cleaner or whatever — came under intense scrutiny from the ranks of the world’s press assembled outside.

    But on the timing of the release, I had a lucky break. A local journalist friend introduced me to a senior member of a secretive police unit who was willing to share with me whatever information he had on when Mandela would be a free man.

    The police official’s name was Vic — I did not then know his full name. But he was no fake policeman. He introduced me to his staff in his offices, which were in a shopping arcade concealed behind what looked like a plain mirror but was in fact also a door.

    Verifying fake claims.

    All cloak-and-dagger stuff. With enormous lack of originality, my Reuters colleagues and I referred to Vic as our “Deep Throat,” the pseudonym of the informant who provided Washington Post reporters Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein with information about the 1972 Watergate scandal.

    Some time in the latter half of 1989, Vic told me in the less than cloak-and-dagger setting of a Holiday Inn coffee shop that Mandela was likely to be released in January or February of 1990.

    This was not precise information, but at least it was better than anything that I had, or apparently anybody else in the news business.

    In later meetings, Vic refined the information without disclosing the exact day of the release, which apparently was known to just four people in the South African government.

    One of the ways Vic was valuable to us was that whenever a fake claim about Mandela’s whereabouts surfaced, I could call him, day or night, to check. And it was Vic who told me on February 10 that “it looked like” Mandela would be a free man the next day.

    And so it proved.

    Mandela instantly became universally recognisable, South Africa disbanded apartheid, elections were held in which all races voted, the ANC won, and Mandela became South Africa’s first fully democratically elected president.

    February 11, 1990 is indeed a day to remember.

     

    Three Questions to Consider

    1. Why did apartheid last so long?

    2. What was the reaction of South African whites to Mandela’s release?

    3. Can you think of someone today who is trying to fight against an system of oppression?

     

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  • Finally, a focus on freshwater fish

    Finally, a focus on freshwater fish

    Africa is home to more than 3,200 recorded freshwater fish species — a number that grows annually as new species are described, including 28 in 2024 alone. Yet many of these species live in isolation, bound to single lakes or rivers. The continent’s geography, fractured by plateaus, mountains and deserts, has produced distinct and stunning radiations of life. 

    Consider the cichlids of Africa’s Great Lakes: Lake Malawi alone harbours over 800 species, most found nowhere else. Some parent their young by brooding them in their mouths; others, like Nimbochromis livingstonii, feign death to lure prey. In the Congo’s lightless rapids, Lamprologus lethops has evolved with skin-covered eyes. 

    Lungfish, relics of the Devonian era, survive years of drought by burrowing into mud and breathing air through primitive lungs. The ornate bichir, another ancient lineage, gulps air through a lung-like swim bladder and can endure short stints out of water if kept moist. 

    Cichlids and cuckoo catfish

    In Lake Tanganyika, the cuckoo catfish surreptitiously deposits its eggs among those of mouthbrooding cichlids, leaving its young to be raised — at the expense of their foster siblings — by another species.

    These are not curiosities, but rather sentinels. Freshwater fish are the regulators of aquatic ecosystems — grazers, predators, cleaners and recyclers of aquatic systems.  

    They “are an aquatic version of the canary in the coal mine for Africa’s rivers, lakes and wetlands,” the report warns. “If the continent’s freshwater ecosystems deteriorate to the point where they can’t support thriving fish populations, they won’t be healthy enough to continue to underpin Africa’s societies and economies”.

    The cost is already being felt. On the Kafue Flats in Zambia, once a thriving fishing ground that supplied 15-22% of the nation’s catch, dam construction has altered seasonal flood pulses. Permanent inundation has decoupled the river from its floodplain. Five key fish species have become commercially extinct. 

    In Salonga National Park in the Democratic Republic of Congo, local fishers have resorted to toxic fishing methods, poisoning the very waters they depend on. Along the Rufiji River in Tanzania, traditional species like the Rufiji tilapia are declining under pressure from monofilament nets and habitat loss.

    Despite the devastation, the report also offers hope. Community-led conservation is showing results. In Tanzania’s Lake Tanganyika region, 21 Beach Management Units — local organizations of fishers, elders, and women — are enforcing seasonal fishing bans and banning destructive gear. In Zambia’s Liuwa Plain and conservancies in Namibia, fishers are co-managing resources with support from WWF and The Nature Conservancy. 

    Conserving freshwater ecosystems

    In Angola, community leaders are building bottom-up monitoring systems to track and protect fish stocks. In Madagascar, captive breeding programs are trying to save rainbowfish and cichlids teetering on the edge of extinction.

    Still, freshwater ecosystems remain the “forgotten sibling” of terrestrial and marine conservation. Their decline has unfolded quietly, out of sight of many global decision-makers. “It’s time we stopped treating freshwater fishes as an afterthought,” said Nancy Rapando, WWF’s Africa Food Futures Lead. “They are central to Africa’s biodiversity, development and future. We must act now before the rivers dry out.”

    The report outlines a science-based Emergency Recovery Plan — a six-pillar framework that includes restoring natural river flows, improving water quality, protecting habitats, ending unsustainable use, controlling invasive species and removing obsolete dams to let rivers run free. 

    “These six pillars have all been successfully implemented successfully around the world,” said Eric Oyare, WWF Africa’s freshwater lead. “With bold leadership, African countries can adapt them to local contexts.”

    The Freshwater Challenge, a growing coalition aiming to restore 300,000 kilometres of degraded rivers and 350 million hectares of wetlands now includes 20 African countries. 

    But headlined declarations are not enough. What’s required is a shift in how governments, funders and societies value the submerged world. For decades, development decisions — from damming rivers to draining wetlands — have ignored the true cost of fish loss. Policies rarely account for the food, labour and cultural systems tied to inland fisheries. 

    “Africa’s freshwater fishes are not forgotten by the people who depend on them, whose lives and livelihoods are interwoven with the continent’s rivers, lakes and wetlands and the fish beneath their surface,” the report said. “But they have invariably been out of sight and out of mind for policymakers, especially when it comes to big decisions that impact freshwater ecosystems.”

    Questions to consider:

    1. What is the goal of the COP15 meeting in Brazil this year? 

    2. Why do freshwater lakes deserve the same protections as oceans?

    3. What freshwater lake is nearest to you and what lives in it?

     

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  • Top govt figure in the dock for role in Kenyan scholarship scandal

    Top govt figure in the dock for role in Kenyan scholarship scandal

    Jonathan Bii, governor of Uasin Gishu, one of Kenya’s prominent counties, is now facing legal scrutiny over his alleged involvement in the controversial Uasin Gishu Finland/Canada Scholarship Program. 

    Bii, a member of the United Democratic Alliance, an affiliate of Kenya’s ruling coalition, is accused of supporting the scholarship scheme and requesting additional payments from students.

    As per media reports, he later distanced himself from the initiative amid allegations of misappropriation of over KSh 1.1 billion meant for scholarships.

    Individual accounts by parents of the students revealed that payments ranged from KSh 650,000 to over KSh 1.2 million (approximately USD$5,000–$9,230), with some families reportedly paying up to KSh 3 million (around USD$23,100). 

    These amounts covered expenses such as tuition, visa and insurance fees, and accommodation deposits.

    Kenyan news outlet Daily Nation reported that a key witness, Mitchelle Jeptanui, testified before senior principal magistrate Peter Ndege that in June 2023, Bii held a meeting with parents to assure them that the overseas trip would receive approval shortly.

    The parents, already anxious as their children had received admission letters from universities in Canada and Finland, were allegedly asked to pay an additional KSh 200,000 to KSh 300,000 (approximately USD$1,540 to $2,310) for accommodation fees. 

    However, despite the payments, none of the students were able to travel abroad.

    My son never travelled. I am still hoping either for a refund or support for him to go
    Benjamin Kibet, parent

    When parents once again demanded answers, Bii allegedly shifted the blame to his predecessor, Jackson Mandago, who initiated the program.  

    However, testimony from seven out of eight witnesses last week confirmed they made their payments after Bii assumed office.

    Benjamin Kibet, a parent of one of the affected student, told the court that he took out a loan of KSh 650,000 (around USD$5,000) to fund his son’s education at Stenberg College in Canada, after being introduced to the programme by Mandago and Bii.

    “My son never travelled. I am still hoping either for a refund or support for him to go,” Kibet told reporters. 

    As the case unfolds, Mandago, along with former county officials Meshack Rono and Joshua Lelei, is expected to face criminal charges related to the alleged misappropriation of the scholarship funds.

    Over the past two years, the scandal has shaken Kenya’s growing middle class, who have aspirations for overseas education.

     A 2020 survey had found that more than half of Kenyan students preferred studying at international universities over local institutions.

    Moreover, Kenya has been identified as a “high-growth potential” source market for international education.

    It ranked as the leading East African market for US universities, with enrolments rising by 45% in 2022 compared to 2019.

    Canadian institutions, a key draw for many of the students who ultimately became entangled in the scholarship scandal, also recorded a 12% rise in Kenyan student enrolments during the same period. 

    Kenyan parents have taken to the streets across Uasin Gishu County over the past few years, demanding answers, as the scandal has left over 300 students stranded at home.

    Many of them have reportedly been expelled from Finnish universities or deported, as previously reported by The PIE News. 

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  • With a passport, you should be able to vacation abroad. No?

    With a passport, you should be able to vacation abroad. No?

    On a weekday in Kampala, people line up early outside the embassies of European countries. Last year, almost 18,000 Ugandans joined these queues, according to an analysis by the Lago Collective. This year, I was one of them, folder in hand, hope in check. 

    Typically, those folders contain bank statements, proof of visa payment, job contracts, medical records, photos of family members, land titles, academic transcripts, flight reservations and detailed itineraries — each one meant to prove stability, legitimacy and belonging. 

    After paying to apply for a Schengen visa — which allows free travel between some 29 European countries for a limited time period — 36% of those Ugandans were rejected. Why? Mostly because embassy officials doubted the applicants would return home.

    Each applicant must pay €90. That added up to more than €1.6 million that Ugandans paid Schengen countries last year, more than half a million of which was from applicants who ended up rejected. 

    The collective wager lost by Ugandan applicants was part of an estimated €60 million spent in Africa last year on Schengen visa applications that led nowhere. In fact, Africa alone accounted for nearly half of the €130 million the world paid in failed bids to enter the Schengen zone.

    The Schengen gate

    Tucked behind those numbers lies a quieter cost: missed opportunities for work or travel and the often-overlooked spending on legal consultations or third-party agencies hired to improve one’s chances. But more tellingly, there is a perception problem — wrapped in geopolitics and sealed with a stamp of denial.

    “It’s like betting,” says Dr. Samuel Kazibwe, a Ugandan academic and policy analyst. “Nobody forces you to pay those fees, yet you know there are chances of rejection.”

    One such story belongs to Fred Mwita Machage, a Tanzanian executive based in Uganda as human resource director at the country’s transitioning electricity distribution company. Machage thought he was just booking a summer getaway — a chance not only to unwind, but to affirm that someone like him, who had worked in Canada, had traveled to the United States and Great Britain, and, if you checked his profile, was “not a desperate traveler,” could move freely in the world. That belief, like the visa itself, did not survive the process.

    He had planned a trip to France the past April. Round-trip tickets? Booked. Five-star hotel? Paid. Travel insurance? Secured. A $70,000 bank statement and a letter from his employer accompanied other documents in the application.

    “They said I had not demonstrated financial capability,” Machage recalled, incredulous. “With my profile? That bank balance? It felt like an attack on my integrity.”

    Worse, the rejection wasn’t delivered with civility: “The embassy staff were rude,” he said. “And they weren’t even European — they were African. One of the ladies looked like a Rwandan. It felt like being slapped by your own.”

    Banned from travel

    For Machage, the betrayal was not just bureaucratic — it seemed personal. He estimates his total loss at nearly $12,000, including tickets, hotel deposits, agent fees and visa costs. While he hopes for a refund, it’s understood that most travel agents don’t return payments; instead, they often suggest that you travel to a visa-free country.

    That will likely get more difficult to do. This month, U.S. President Donald Trump issued a sweeping travel ban targeting twelve countries — seven in Africa. Somalia, Sudan, Chad and Eritrea faced full bans; Burundi, Sierra Leone and Togo, partial restrictions. The official reasons included high visa overstays, poor deportation cooperation from the home countries and weak systems for internal screening. And it ordered all U.S. embassies to stop issuing visas for students to come to the United States for education, although U.S. courts are considering the legality of that order.

    For Machage, the rejection left him with a lingering sense of humiliation, though he found some small relief in a LinkedIn post where hundreds shared similar tales of visa rejection.

    “I realised I wasn’t alone,” he said, “But the process still left me feeling worthless. Sorry to mention, but it’s a disgusting ordeal.”

    I know exactly how Machage feels.

    How to prove you will return home?

    When I applied for a visa to the United Kingdom, I too was rejected. The refusal read: 

    “In light of all of the above, I am not satisfied as to your intentions in wishing to travel to the UK now. I am not satisfied that you are genuinely seeking entry for a purpose that is permitted by the visitor routes, not satisfied that you will leave the UK at the end of the visit.”

    The “I am” who issued the rejection did not sign their name. Perhaps they knew I’d write this article and mention them. How easily the “I am” dismissed my ties, my plans, my story. Meanwhile, my British friend who had invited me was livid. 

    “It felt like they were questioning my judgment — about who I can and cannot welcome into my own home,” she said. She was angry not just on my behalf, but because she felt disregarded by her own government.

    Captain Francis Babu, a former Ugandan minister and seasoned political commentator, doesn’t take visa rejections personally. He said the situation is shaped by global anxieties over the scale of emigration out of Africa into Europe that has taken place over the past decade. 

    “Because of the boat people going into Europe from Africa and many other countries and the wars in the Middle East, that has caused a little problem with immigration in most countries,” he said.

    Needing, but rejecting immigrants

    The issue is complicated. Babu said that these countries depend on the immigrants they are trying to keep out. In the United States, for example, farms depend on low-cost workers from South America. 

    “Most of those developed countries, because of their industries and having made money in the service industry, want people to do their menial jobs. So they bring people in and underpay them,” Babu said. 

    For Babu, even the application process feels unfair. “Even applying for the visa by itself is a tall order,” he said. “There are people here making money just to help you fill the form.” 

    While Babu highlights the systemic hypocrisies and challenges, others, like Kazibwe, see hope in a different approach — one rooted in political and economic organisation. Where people enjoy strong public services and can rely on a social safety net, there tends to be low emigration so countries are less hesitant to admit them.

    “That’s why countries like Seychelles are not treated the same,” he explains. “It’s rare to see someone from Seychelles doing odd jobs in Europe, yet back home they enjoy free social services.”

    For Kazibwe, the long-term fix is clear: “The solution lies in organising our countries politically and economically so that receiving countries no longer see us as flight risks,” he said.

    Perhaps that is the hardest truth. Visa rejection is not just an administrative outcome, it’s a mirror: a verdict not simply on the individual but on the nation that issued their passport.

    Back at the embassies, the queues remain. Young Ugandans, Ghanaians and Nigerians — some with degrees, others with desperation — wait in line, folders in hand, their hopes in check. And every rejection carries not just a denied trip, but a deeper question:

    What does it mean when the world sees your passport and turns you away?

     

    Questions to consider:

    1. Why are so many Ugandans getting denied travel visas to Europe?

    2. Why do some people think that the visa and immigration policies of many Western nations are hypocritical?

    3. If you were to travel abroad, how would you prove that you didn’t intend to stay permanently in that country?

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  • Kidney disease doesn’t have to be a death sentence

    Kidney disease doesn’t have to be a death sentence

    At first, Carolyn Atim thought the headaches she was experiencing were just the residual echoes of pregnancy. Consultations then indicated she had high blood pressure. Slight of frame, barely out of her twenties, Atim had given birth to a boy in 2013. 

    Nine months later, the headaches hadn’t gone away and she was feeling unrelenting fatigue. She brushed them off.

    “I was so tiny,” she said. “And you know the perception that a tiny person doesn’t suffer from high blood pressure!” 

    Her doctor suggested she take some comprehensive tests. So she did them: renal function, liver function and complete blood counts. The verdict came as a blow. “You have end-stage kidney disease,” the specialist said.

    Atim didn’t know where to place that phrase. End-stage. It sounded so final. “You look at yourself, and you’re told you have a chronic illness,” she said. “You see yourself dying. I had hallucinations of being buried. I saw myself in a coffin.”

    The holistic costs of kidney disease

    In Uganda, kidney disease is not just a medical condition — it’s a verdict with economic, emotional and systemic implications. The country is slowly clawing its way toward better care, thanks in part to pioneers like Dr. Robert Kalyesubula, one of Uganda’s first nephrologists. 

    When he began his profession 15 years ago, he was only the third in the nation. Today, there are 13 kidney specialists and two more are expected. That’s progress, but measured against a growing burden.

    “About seven in every 100 Ugandans are living with kidney disease,” Kalyesubula said. 

    That translates to 7% or roughly 3.2 million people — a statistic that may not seem extraordinary at first glance. After all, the global burden is heavy. 

    A 2023 report in Nature Reviews Nephrology estimated that 850 million people — one in 10 worldwide — live with some form of chronic kidney disease. In the United States, the rate climbs to 15% of adults; in Europe, it ranges from 10 to 16% depending on the country.

    But prevalence tells only part of the story. 

    Inequity in healthcare

    In high-income countries, there are safety nets: screening programs, subsidised treatment and specialist care. In much of sub-Saharan Africa, the same illness unfolds without a cushion or warning.

    The World Health Organisation already ranks chronic kidney disease among the top 10 causes of death globally. The trajectory is alarming. By 2040, researchers expect it to become the fifth leading cause of years of life lost, overtaking many cancers. 

    The drivers are familiar: longer life spans, surging rates of hypertension and diabetes and widespread neglect of early detection. In countries like Uganda, where comprehensive testing is still a luxury, the disease often makes itself known only when the body is in full collapse.

    “Fifty-two percent of our patients come when they are already at stage five,” Kalyesubula said.

    By then, treatment is no longer medical alone — it is economic. Stage five is the red zone: dialysis or death. Dialysis, in Uganda, will demand four million shillings per month — about US $1,100, cash on delivery — just to keep the body’s silent custodian from shutting down.

    A transplant? That fantasy starts at 100 million shillings (about US $27,000). This, in a nation where only 1% of about 23 million working Ugandans earn more than a million shillings a month. Nearly half survive on less than 150,000 shillings. 

    An economic death sentence

    In countries like Uganda, kidney failure isn’t just a medical crisis, it’s an economic death sentence. But Atim’s story didn’t end at diagnosis.

    She found herself clawing at survival — medical appointments twice a week, pill regimens that bloated her cabine and a spiritual fog that refused to lift. Her saving grace came in a rare combination: a devoted husband, an unusually supportive employer and a doctor who didn’t just treat her but stood by her.

    “Dr. Kalyesubula told me, ‘You’re still a young girl. Get me a donor, and we shall find the money. God will help us,’” she said.

    Atim did find a donor. Her sister stepped forward. Her employer, moved by her story, urged her to go to the media — not to plead, but to make a case to headquarters for support. Her husband’s workplace did the same. Friends, colleagues, family — they all mobilized.

    “I was lucky,” Atim said. “Other people go to the media to beg. For me, my company said, ‘Go, so we can help you.’”

    A new lease on life

    The transplant took place in India in 2015. The morning of the operation, someone unexpected showed up at her bedside.

    “I opened my eyes, and there he was — Dr. Kalyesubula. I didn’t even know he had flown in. That humbled me,” she said. “He had seen the journey through.”

    For Kalyesubula, his work is a calling. “One day I was with my family at school — visiting day,” he said. “I had promised my daughter I won’t work. But then I got this call — ‘You are the one who has to save me.’ I had to leave.”

    Uganda now has over 300 dialysis machines — up from just three when Dr. Kalyesubula started — and more than 25 centers spread across the country. 

    Kidney care is expanding, even if slowly. Yet transplants within Uganda remain rare, and still rely heavily on partnerships with hospitals in India. The selection process is tight: donors must be related, young and a near-perfect match. Atim knows how slim her chances were.

    “If Dr. Kalyesubula hadn’t insisted on a preemptive transplant, I would have gone on dialysis,” she said. “And with our income, that might have been the end.”

    Instead, she got her life back. She’s gained weight. “From 40 kilos to 72,” she said, laughing. And she works full-time. 

    Their bond has grown beyond prescriptions and reviews. They speak quarterly, consult online and even banter like old friends. “We call each other ‘dear’ — like family,” she said. “We even joke now. He says he won’t compete with me again on weight loss — I always win.” 

    Expanding treatment for all

    Kidney disease still looms in Uganda, but progress is undeniable. Over 300 dialysis machines now serve patients in multiple districts. Transplants are possible — though limited to close relatives — and awareness is growing.

    Dr. Kalyesubula doesn’t mince words when it comes to the kidney’s role in the body. “If it’s not working well, you die,” he said. “Its importance is in making blood. Its importance is in removing toxins. Its importance is in controlling your blood pressure, regulating electrolytes, maintaining your internal environment — so that everything else can function at all.” 

    Think of it as the body’s meticulous custodian — part janitor, part electrician, part life support, he said. It scrubs the blood clean, balances the chemistry of survival and even directs traffic, ensuring oxygen-rich blood reaches the brain, the heart, the muscles. Without it, the delicate machinery of the body grinds to a halt.  

    But here’s the twist: Since only 7% of the country is living with kidney disease, he said, what are the rest doing that they’re not? Is it luck? Genetics? Or something more mundane?

    The best treatment, it seems, is prevention. “Drink enough water, avoid excessive salt and alcohol, eat fruits and fresh foods, move your body — exercise — don’t take over-the-counter drugs carelessly,” he said. “And once you click 30 — at least do a body check-up once a year.” 

    Raising awareness

    Prevention is simple and inexpensive advice, but ignoring it carries a steep price, especially in Uganda, where a kidney disease diagnosis can unravel the life of an ordinary working person faster than the disease itself.  

    That’s why Atim has become a leader in the silent, underserved world of kidney patients in Uganda, sharing her story when asked, opening up her pain so others might find their way out of theirs.

    She’s become a relentless advocate for affordable medication, creating and distributing kidney disease awareness, chasing down funding and forging hospital partnerships, all in the name of accessibility. It’s a fight born of necessity. She knows too well the scramble for kidney drugs, the way they vanish from pharmacy shelves, the maddening logistics of imports when the local supply runs dry.  

    She still sees Dr. Kalyesubula quarterly. She still worries about infections and relapses. But she is alive and raising her son. She is living. 

    “The transplant gave me a second chance,” she said. “I think that’s what many people don’t realize — it’s not about being whole again. It’s about having time. A support system, and never losing hope. Saying to death, ‘not today’. And for me, that’s everything.”

     

    Questions to consider:

    1. Why do fewer people in the United States die from kidney disease per capita than in the Uganda?

    2. What are some ways to prevent kidney disease?

    3. Do you think young people need to worry about diabetes? 

     

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