This story was written by CuratEast as part of their engagement with IUCN through the BRIDGE Gender Grants Programme.
Madam Anyango Betty says it casually, but the longer you sit with her in Maduwa Landing Site, the more those words begin to feel heavy with memory.
Today, Betty is part of the Beach Management Unit of Maduwa and one of the community’s Water Champions, working alongside other women to protect the lake and its biodiversity. But long before that, in 1986, she became the first woman around Maduwa to trade fish in a business dominated almost entirely by men.
With just 3,000 shillings, she bought her first batch of fish and transported it to Lumiino in Busia for sale.
“That money changed my life,” she says.
All images are courtesy of CuratEast.
Back then, Maduwa was one of the busiest fishing communities along this part of Lake Victoria. Traders, fishermen, and transporters moved constantly through the landing site. Baganda, Basoga, Wasamia, Luo, and Swahili-speaking traders all passed through Maduwa through fishing and trade. Over time, people interacted so frequently that a mixed way of speaking slowly emerged around the landing site, carrying pieces of different languages and dialects shaped by life around the lake.
Fish was abundant then. So abundant, Betty says, that fishermen rarely sold it in kilograms. They simply looked at the catch and bargained directly.
“You could never imagine the lake running out of fish.”
Betty remembers balancing more than 300 kilograms of fish on her bicycle and transporting it to nearby markets. At the time, there were many fishermen around Maduwa, but only four wholesale traders buying directly from them.
Three were men.
She was the only woman.
But over time, the rhythms around the lake slowly began to change.
Betty says one of the major turning points came when fish factories like Tidal Wave entered the fishing economy around Lake Victoria. Fishing stopped being only a community trade and slowly became part of a much larger commercial export system.
Factories created growing demand for fish, especially Nile Perch. Fish now moved faster, in larger quantities, and under stricter commercial systems. As fishermen tried to meet the increasing demand, pressure on the lake intensified.
And with that pressure came change.
Illegal fishing practices became more common. Some fishermen began using undersized nets that caught immature fish before they could reproduce. Others started fishing in breeding areas.
Slowly, the abundance people once believed would never end began thinning out.
Today, fishing seasons are far more unpredictable and sometimes only last a few months throughout the year. During peak seasons, communities experience some stability. But once the fish reduces again, survival becomes difficult.
Many women around Maduwa now run small restaurants along the landing site. They buy the little fish available, cook for fishermen and traders, and try to sustain their households through those small businesses.
But even that has become harder.
When fish supply is low, business slows down completely. Some women survive by selling tea and basic food because there is simply not enough fish to cook or sell.
“There are days the fishermen go to the lake and return with empty nets,” Betty says. “Sometimes the water even turns green and thick almost like porridge.”
And alongside the decline in fish, many older community members believe something else also disappeared from the lake.
Its rituals. Its discipline. Its relationship with people.
Nabwire Goretti, another Water Champion in Maduwa, has lived beside the lake since 1976 after getting married at the age of 14.
Today, she is a fish trader and restaurant owner. But she is also one of the few people still carrying memories and traditions many younger people around the landing site no longer know or practice.
“The children these days no longer follow the traditions of the lake,” she says softly. “Most of them are Christians now.”
Before every major fishing season usually around February before the rains communities performed rituals believed to bless the lake and prepare it for abundance.
When fishermen returned home with their catch, the eldest woman in the household would carefully select two of the best fish from the day’s catch. The fish would then be sun-dried and secretly preserved until the rains began in March.
As the new fishing season approached, the husband and wife would carve a small wooden boat-like structure. Inside it, they would place the dried fish together with sacred herbs knowledge protected and passed quietly between elder women in the community.
Children were never allowed to participate in these rituals or learn the secrets behind them.
The couple would then carry the small wooden offering to the lake. A chicken would be slaughtered and its blood poured onto the wooden vessel before it was released gently into the water.
“The dry fish would go and return with living fish,” Goretti explains.
And according to the elders, the lake would answer.
The next morning, fishermen would wake to astonishing quantities of fish floating across the shoreline sometimes so many that people rushed with baskets before sunrise to gather them from the water. To the community, this marked the beginning of a blessed fishing season, proof that the lake had accepted the offering and returned life back to the people.
Each season carried its own rhythm of fish and biodiversity.
March and April often brought Mputa (Nile Perch), Enkolongo, Enungu (catfish species), Esiire, and Amakanga.
May and June became known for large Enkeje (Haplochromines), Mputa (Nile Perch), Esiire, and Amakanga.
Between July and September, fishermen anticipated Milende, Mamba (lungfish), Engege (tilapia), and Enkolongo.
People understood the lake through these cycles. They knew when certain species would arrive, when breeding seasons had begun, and when the waters were healthy.
And perhaps most importantly, they believed the lake demanded respect.
But today, many of those cycles feel broken.
The species that once arrived in abundance no longer appear the same way they used to. Some have become rare. Others are hardly seen at all.
Goretti speaks about the use of chemicals as one of the reasons behind the decline. Species like Mamba (lungfish) and Milende were heavily affected, with large quantities dying at once. Over time, some species that were once common across the lake became increasingly rare, while others almost disappeared completely from certain fishing seasons.
Today, many fishermen return with far smaller catches than before.
Through sensitization efforts supported by the IUCN‘s Swiss funded Building River Dialogue and Governance Programme, and implemented through Uganda National Women’s Fish Organization (UNWFO), communities around Maduwa are being encouraged to rethink how they relate to the lake and its biodiversity. Conversations around illegal fishing, environmental protection, breeding zones, and sustainable fishing practices are slowly becoming part of daily life around the landing site.
