Category: Africa

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?

Source link

November 13, 2025
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?

Source link

November 5, 2025
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.

Source link

September 12, 2025
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?

Source link

July 16, 2025
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?

Source link

July 14, 2025
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.

Source link

June 13, 2025
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?

Source link

June 12, 2025
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?

Source link

May 15, 2025
From the ground in Kenya to the gold stud in the ear

Artisanal gold mining in Kenya’s Western region is raising environmental and public health concerns as mercury contamination threatens both the miners and local water sources.

At sunrise in western Kenya’s Migori County, small groups of men and women gather at makeshift gold pits, sifting through soil in search of a precious livelihood. Across Kenya’s western counties, tens of thousands of people have turned to artisanal gold mining — small-scale, informal mining operations, often characterized by manual labor and the use of basic tools and low-tech equipment — as global gold prices rise and traditional farming incomes decline.

But while mining offers a vital economic lifeline, it brings a toxic legacy: mercury contamination that threatens health, water and livelihoods far beyond the mines.

A growing Industry in Western Kenya, small-scale gold mining has expanded rapidly in counties such as Migori, Kakamega and Vihiga. Recent estimates suggest that Kenya is home to more than 250,000 artisanal miners, with more than one million people depending on gold-mining for their livelihoods. In Migori alone, gold mining injects an estimated US$37 million into the local economy each year.

Despite the dangers, mining remains the most viable source of income for many. Surveys in Migori found that a significant majority of miners would not leave the industry, citing a lack of alternatives.

Extracting gold

Women make up an estimated 38% of Kenya’s small-scale gold mining workforce, often involved in ore processing — where mercury exposure is highest — yet receive just 11% of the sector’s revenue.

Nashon Adero, a lecturer at Taita Taveta University and a Kenyan mining policy expert, said that women’s roles and vulnerabilities are often overlooked in policy discussions.

Herman Gibb, a lecturer at George Washington University and managing partner and president of Gibb & O’Leary Epidemiology Consulting said that mercury is widely used by artisanal miners because it is cheap, accessible and effective at extracting gold from ore.

“It’s the easiest way for miners with limited resources to extract gold,” said Gibb, who used to work for the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency.

The process, known as amalgamation, involves mixing crushed ore with liquid mercury. Mercury binds to gold, creating an amalgam, which is then heated to vaporize and remove the mercury, leaving behind pure gold. But Gibb said that this heating releases toxic mercury vapour, endangering miners and nearby communities.

Mercury poisons

Researchers, including Gibb, have warned that mercury vapour can settle in households, exposing families, particularly children and pregnant women. Biomonitoring studies, including hair sampling, have shown high levels of exposure among women in small-scale gold mining regions.

However, research shows that testing capacity in rural Kenya is limited, and the logistics of sampling, storage and analysis pose additional barriers to effective surveillance. Mercury poses a variety of risks, depending on the form of exposure and who is exposed.

Elemental mercury, the liquid form used in gold extraction, poses serious risks when inhaled as vapour, which can cause neurological symptoms such as tremors, memory loss and cognitive impairment. Prolonged exposure can also cause kidney damage.

“Mercury vapour can damage the brain, especially in children whose nervous systems are still developing,” Gibb said.

Methylmercury, on the other hand, is an organic form of mercury created when elemental mercury enters water bodies and undergoes microbial transformation. It accumulates in fish and other aquatic organisms, entering the food chain. Methylmercury is particularly harmful to pregnant women and children, as exposure can lead to severe developmental disorders, intellectual disabilities and long-term neurological damage.

Chemicals in the food stream

Gibb said that when methylmercury enters the food chain, the risks become even more serious. “This is a toxin that affects the most vulnerable in invisible but lasting ways,” he said.

Although Kenya’s Mining Act of 2016 bans mercury use in mining, enforcement remains weak, and mercury is still widely available in local markets. News reports from the Kenya Chamber of Mines, the main mining industry organization in Kenya, state that many miners lack awareness of its dangers or access to protective equipment.

A 2023 study found that groundwater within six kilometers of mine sites in Migori contained mercury levels exceeding Kenya’s safe drinking water limit of 0.001 mg/L during the dry season. Soil samples from mine tailings (waste materials left over after valuable minerals have been extracted) showed mercury concentrations above 9.6 mg/kg, surpassing the National Environment Management Authority discharge limits.

Kenya’s mercury crisis is part of a wider global problem. Gibb said that the World Health Organization estimates prenatal exposure to methylmercury causes more than 227,000 new cases of intellectual disability each year, contributing to nearly two million “disability-adjusted life years” — a measure of years lost to ill-health or disability.

Mercury ranks among the top chemical threats to global health. Gibb said that its burden is compounded by the fact that most harm is invisible and long-term, making it difficult to prioritize in health budgets.

Science diplomacy

In 2017, Kenya ratified the Minamata Convention, an international treaty designed to protect human health and the environment from releases of mercury, committing to reduce mercury use and emissions. Yet implementation lags. A 2022 Auditor General’s report found that the Ministry of Petroleum and Mining had not mapped or formally designated artisanal mining zones in key counties.

Adero, the Kenyan mining expert emphasized the need for “science diplomacy” — the use of geospatial technologies (mapping tools and location data) and data-driven reports to influence local and national policymakers. Recent GIS-based research (Geographic Information System, or mapping software that shows roads, rivers, houses etc.) show mercury levels remain high in soil and water near mines.

“This highlights enforcement gaps and spatial risks [risks due to location] that many policymakers overlook,” he said.

Monitoring mercury exposure in rural areas is especially challenging due to limited laboratory facilities, transportation and technical capacity.

“We cannot manage what we do not measure,” Adero said. “Without proper exposure tracking, policies are just words on paper. We need data that is local, current and trusted by both governments and communities.”

Enforcing regulations

Gibb said that constraints around sample collection, storage and analysis hinder the ability to track exposure and enforce regulations.

The Migori county government has signed an agreement with the State Department for Environment and Climate Change to establish demonstration sites for mercury-free processing. But while these techniques can be effective, Gibb said, they require up-front investment, training and new equipment and that some alternatives such as cyanide also pose environmental risks.

Adero said that early adoption in countries such as Tanzania and Ghana shows promise but similar scale-up in Kenya remains limited.

Gender and social dimensions organizations such as the Association of Women in Energy and Extractives in Kenya address gender disparities by organizing cooperatives, providing training and advocating for gender-sensitive safety policies.

In his research, Adero found that significant gender gaps remain, with women overrepresented in the most dangerous roles but undercompensated. This research underscores that these disparities are rooted in systemic deprivation and limited access to education and financial literacy, he said.

Bureaucracy and fees

While formalizing small-scale gold mining through Kenya’s Mining Act of 2016 could improve safety and access to technical assistance, progress is slow, hindered by bureaucracy and high fees. Adero advocates simplifying the permitting processes, reducing costs and exempting small-scale miners from fees — learning from successful models such as Ghana’s community mining schemes.

Yet until real changes happen on the ground, artisanal miners remain caught between economic necessity and the invisible dangers of mercury poisoning.

“It’s what we know, and it works — you can see the gold right away,” said a miner from Migori.

But Dr. Adero warns that real progress requires concrete actions, not just policy declarations. Reliable, on-the-ground data to measure mercury exposure and inform decisions is key.

As Kenyan miners struggle with mercury poisoning, consumers around the world unknowingly wear and invest in gold that carries hidden human and environmental costs. Ultimately, addressing mercury contamination is not just a local challenge, it’s a call to action for global accountability, connecting distant luxury markets directly to the miners who risk their health and lives for precious metals.

Questions to consider:

1. Why do some people in Kenya risk their health to mine for gold?

2. What are some things the Kenyan government is doing to improve the lives of gold miners?

3. Why do you think gold is considered so valuable?

Source link

May 9, 2025
A pipeline of prosperity or plunder

In the sticky heat of an April afternoon in Kampala, Uganda nine university students stood outside the headquarters of Stanbic Bank, their voices raised in protest. It is a sound that has echoed for more than half a decade.

Their signs called for an end to the East African Crude Oil Pipeline (EACOP), a $5 billion project: 1,443 kilometers of 24-inch wide, heated and buried steel ambition, snaking from Uganda’s oil-rich Lake Albert basin to the Tanzanian port of Tanga on the Indian Ocean. Before the hour was out, they were in police custody.

The government has hailed the project as a pillar of economic transformation. But critics — students, activists, and environmental groups — argue it will displace communities, threaten biodiversity and entrench a model of development that sidelines democratic participation. Dissent has been met with arrests, surveillance and a steadily shrinking civic space. The protests, though often silenced, persist, challenging a narrative that equates oil with progress.

Five days after the arrests, in the same city, a different kind of statement was made. At the Eleventh Africa Regional Forum on Sustainable Development, held from April 7th to 11th, delegates issued a call that seemed — if only for a moment — to resonate with those voices on the street.

The route of the East Africa Crude Oil Pipeline. Wikimedia Commons

Members of the UN Economic Commission for Africa urged a shift away from exporting raw materials and toward value addition through manufacturing and industrialisation. Mining, they said, and the export of cash crops like cocoa, tea and coffee must no longer be the end of the story, but the beginning of something built to last.

Shouting into the void

For the students arrested, whose protests have long been dismissed as anti-developmental by a government intent on progress-by-pipeline, this sudden harmony of rhetoric might feel like vindication — if only the delegates meant what they propose.

The students may have been shouting into a void, but the echoes resonate with a wider pattern etched deep into the continent’s political and economic architecture. Back in 2016, journalist Tom Burgis, author of “The Looting Machine”, put it in a 2016 interview with CNN: “There is a pretty straight line from colonial exploitation to modern exploitation.”

Burgis has long documented the mechanisms of resource extraction in Africa and pointed to the lingering dominance of oil and mining multinationals — entities that, decades after independence, still wield economic and political influence akin to that once held by colonial administrations.

Zaki Mamdoo, a South African climate justice activist and campaigner with the Stop EACOP coalition, agrees with Burgis’s notion of modern resource imperialism — only now, the governors wear suits and operate through shareholder meetings.

“How come TotalEnergies owns 62% shareholding power, while Uganda and Tanzania hold just 15% each?” he said.

Partnership or plunder?

The numbers speak for themselves. The French oil giant TotalEnergies, with Chinese partner CNOOC in tow, controls the lion’s share of the project. Uganda, the country from which the oil originates, has been cast in the role of host, not owner. Tanzania, whose land will bear the pipeline’s longest stretch, fares no better. For Mamdoo and many others, this is not a partnership; it’s a palatable version of plunder.

“This is not African-led development,” Mamdoo said. “It’s an extractive model dressed up in nationalist rhetoric.”

To critics, EACOP is a 21st-century replay of old patterns — resources extracted with little local benefit, profits flowing abroad and environmental costs left with the people. What’s different now is the packaging: marketed as part of an energy transition and a driver of economic empowerment. But on the ground, the reality is displacement, disrupted livelihoods and fragile ecosystems in the pipeline’s path.

According to EACOP’s official figures, more than 13,600 people have been affected, with 99.4% of compensation agreements signed and paid. But activists argue the numbers mask deeper issues — slow and uneven compensation, uprooted communities and long-term uncertainty.

“The real number is far higher,” said Mamdoo. “We’re talking well over 100,000 directly impacted — and many more indirectly. But of course, Total reports a few tens of thousands.”

Differing views on sustainability

From Uganda’s farmlands to Tanzania’s reserves, the pipeline cuts through forests, wetlands and biodiversity hotspots — what critics see as a trail of ecological and human disruption beneath a polished PR campaign.

By underreporting those impacted, critics argue, multinationals shrink their obligations — and their compensation budgets. The payments, when they come, have been slow, sporadic and, in some cases, still absent. Yet the construction rolls forward.

To Morris Nyombi, a Ugandan activist now living in exile for his work opposing EACOP, the narrative of compensation is as hollow as it is dangerous.

He watches from afar as national television and international media spotlight a few smiling beneficiaries — residents celebrating a new house, a fresh coat of paint, a sense of reward.

Nyombi sees what isn’t shown. “Let’s state facts, when minerals are found somewhere, just know that’s lost land — it becomes government property,” Nyombi said. “And to the select few given houses, what then? You’re an agriculturist. Giving you a house somewhere else doesn’t mean giving you land to till. You’re killing a way of life.”

A pipeline of displacement

Without farmland, families are forced to sell off whatever land remains and move to towns and cities in search of new beginnings.

“They end up in Kampala renting, looking for what to do,” Nyombi said. “It’s displacement without a plan. Progress for someone else.”

Farmers who were near the pipeline’s path are now scattered across the Uganda-Congo border, Nyombi said. “They were duped into compensation. When they resisted, they started receiving threats. Husbands arrested. The women and children forced to run, to hide. That’s the reality.”

These, Nyombi said, are the people the government never talks about. They don’t show up in speeches or glossy brochures about development. But their lives tell the story better than any pipeline prospectus ever could.

But speaking out against EACOP is dangerous. “It’s a gamble with one’s life,” Nyombi said. Being an activist, he adds, is a kind of social exile. Most organizations won’t hire you — won’t even stand next to you. In much of Africa, governments don’t hesitate to hit below the belt.

A lake that sustains life

Nyombi has been on the government’s radar since 2020. He has been threatened and surveilled and been the subject of smear campaigns. As a result, he stepped back from frontline organizing.

But what if the project were perfectly managed with strict environmental safeguards, zero corruption and full compensation? Would that make EACOP justifiable?

Mamdoo said that isn’t what is happening, citing reports of oil slicks on Lake Albert and elephants rampaging villages. The very question betrays a fundamental misunderstanding, Mamdoo said. Environmental damage isn’t a hypothetical risk, it’s already unfolding.

“If oil spills hit Lake Victoria—the region’s largest freshwater body—over 40 million people would be poisoned,” he said.

Lake Victoria sustains agriculture, fishing, drinking water, and transport across Uganda, Tanzania and Kenya. It’s East Africa’s largest inland water body — and the source of the Nile. Yet while project backers point to EACOP’s technical safeguards, critics like Mamdoo argue that no pipeline cutting through seismically active zones, protected ecosystems and critical watersheds can ever be truly safe.

“You can’t just contain a pipeline,” Mamdoo adds. “You can’t plug all the holes when the system is built to leak — money, justice, land, people.”

Keeping oil where it is extracted

Supporters of the pipeline argue that projects like EACOP could open the door for substantial donations to tourism development and wildlife protection, especially in ecologically sensitive zones where the pipeline runs near or through national parks. The idea is that the extractive industry might fund preservation as part of its footprint.

But to Mamdoo, that premise is flawed from the start.

“What’s that compared to the 62% they’re taking?” Mamdoo asks. “You shouldn’t settle for peanuts when you own a resource.”

Being a funder, he adds, doesn’t make you the owner. Mamdoo would like to see the oil stay in Uganda. “We’d be having an entirely different conversation if the plan was to have our own refineries, process it locally, then sell the products to them,” he said.

Nyombi isn’t surprised that the government supports EACOP. Historically, leaders who stand up to corporations and the Global North haven’t lasted. “These multinationals don’t want an Africa that sees clearly,” Nyombi continues. “They want us manageable. If you open your eyes and demand real sovereignty, you become a threat to global stability.”

Taking on global establishment isn’t easy.

Some critics point to the case of Muammar Gaddafi, the Libyan leader who championed a gold-backed African currency and pan-African resource control before being toppled in a NATO-backed intervention. His fall, they argue, wasn’t just about domestic tyranny — it was about challenging the global status quo.

Yet among younger Ugandans, particularly students, the legacy of figures like Gaddafi is often blurred or reduced to villainy — taught more as a cautionary tale than a case study in resistance. The narratives they inherit are tightly curated. But still, a shift is happening.

Especially among those studying environmental science, Nyombi sees a growing restlessness.

“These students, they want to act,” Nyombi said. “They’re interested in ground action. But more than that — they’re asking deeper questions. They wonder, why keep planting trees that won’t grow?”

There’s a frustration with symbolic gestures — school-organized clean-ups, ceremonial tree-plantings — that often sidestep the policies creating the very destruction they’re meant to remedy.

“They’re starting to say, no, the problem isn’t the seedling. It’s the system. So why not challenge policy instead?” Nyombi said. “But to challenge policy, you have to get out there.”

That’s how the students who were arrested on 2 April while approaching Uganda’s Stanbic Bank came to act.

Taking protests to the front line

Mamdoo said that the protest was not just symbolic — it was strategic. Stanbic is one of the banks linked to funding the East African Crude Oil Pipeline. For the students, it was the front line.

“They’re trying to secure their future,” Mamdoo said.

But the bank saw it differently. Kenneth Agutamba, Stanbic Uganda’s country manager for corporate communications, defended the institution’s involvement.

“Our participation aligns with our commitment to a just transition that balances economic development with environmental sustainability,” Agutamba said. “The project has met all necessary compliance requirements under the Equator Principles and our Climate Policy.”

For the students, though, no statement or principle outweighs what they see as the theft of their future. Their protest, they insist, is not rooted in mere outrage. It’s anchored in a growing global reckoning: at least 43 banks and 29 insurance companies have declined to support EACOP, citing its environmental threats and human rights risks.

But despite the pressure from abroad, the pipeline — and the crackdowns — continue to move forward.

“That’s why we’re targeting the funders,” Mamdoo said. “If the money dries up, the project can’t survive.”

Dissent and disappearance

The students arrested will likely be released — this time. They’re lucky. Local papers spoke of them. Many others vanish into cells for months, even years, without trial — especially those without lawyers, or whose names never make it into the headlines.

If there’s a single line that captures the price of resistance, it might be Braczkowski’s blunt warning: “Any oil activist in Uganda will be sniffed out before Total.” Oil, he adds, has become Uganda’s gold — a lifeline that may help service the country’s mounting debt.

“That’s exactly the problem,” Mamdoo counters. “If all it does is pay off debt, what’s left for the people? There won’t be money for schools, for hospitals — just enough to keep the lights on in their offices.”

It’s been nearly a decade since EACOP was first proposed. Only now, as shovels hit soil and risks become real, has public scrutiny begun to catch up. And that, Mamdoo and Nyombi agree, is because of activism.

“Without it,” Nyombi said, “this would’ve gone quietly. Smoothly. Just another deal signed behind closed doors.”

But things aren’t moving as fast as they once were.

“Activism has slowed them down,” Nyombi adds. “It’s not moving at the pace they wanted.”

So what’s the real equation here? A pipeline backed by billions. A government banking on oil. A continent still clawing for control of its wealth. And in the middle — students, farmers, mothers, exiles — bearing the cost of asking the most dangerous question of all:

What if we said no?

Three questions to consider:

1. What is EACOP?

2. Why are many people in East Africa opposed to a pipeline that promises to bring money to the region?

3. If you were in charge of natural resources for Uganda, what policies would you put in place?

Source link

April 25, 2025