This story was written by CuratEast as part of their engagement with IUCN through the BRIDGE Gender Grants Programme.
Our journey through Tanzania began in Kirumi Village, a small community in Butiama District, Mara Region. Here, we visited two very different water sources: the Kirumi Dispensary Borehole and Nyanghubha Spring. Together, they tell a story of water scarcity, cultural heritage, environmental change, and the women working to conserve what remains.
Coming from Uganda, where many of the stories along the Sio-Malaba Basin were tied directly to landing sites, fishing communities, and life on the water, Kirumi presented a different reality. Here, the conversation was not about living alongside water, but rather about inhabiting a landscape defined by its distance from it, and shaping daily life around its limited availability.
Beside Kituo Cha Afya Kirumi (Kirumi Health Centre), a single borehole stands as one of the community’s most important lifelines.
Women and children collecting water at the Kirumi Dispensary Borehole.
All images are courtesy of CuratEast.
Throughout the day, women and children arrive carrying jerrycans and buckets, patiently collecting water for drinking, cooking, washing, and other household needs. Some stop to drink directly from the tap before continuing their journey home, a simple but powerful indication of the trust people place in this source and the role it plays in everyday life.
For many households, this borehole is the most reliable source of clean water available, they walk a distance of 1-3 kilometres to access the borehole.
Community members spoke of a time when accessing water was far more difficult. Before the borehole was established by the Lake Victoria Water Basin Board, families often had to travel long distances in search of water for daily use. The burden of these journeys fell most heavily on women and children, whose days were shaped around the search for water.
The establishment of the borehole transformed daily life. Clean water was brought closer to homes, reducing the time spent collecting it and allowing families to focus on other aspects of their lives.
The fenced borehole infrastructure and water storage facilities that support the community.
The borehole is carefully protected through fencing and storage infrastructure, reflecting the community’s recognition that safeguarding water is essential to their wellbeing. Women and children, who are primarily responsible for collecting and managing household water, play a central role in this stewardship.
Despite its benefits, the borehole must serve multiple demands. It supplies both the surrounding community and Kirumi Health Centre, meaning access can occasionally be limited when water is being pumped into the facility’s storage tanks. The situation highlights the pressures placed on a single source in a water-scarce environment. Beyond its practical function, the borehole has also become an important social space within the community. Throughout the day, women and children gather here not only to fetch water but also to exchange news, share stories, and catch up on daily happenings. What began as a vital piece of infrastructure has evolved into a vibrant meeting point, woven into the rhythm of everyday life and strengthening social connections within the village.
A short distance away, Nyanghubha Spring tells a different story – one not of limited access, but of environmental decline and the gradual loss of a once valued community resource.
The spring’s name is believed to originate from the word Nghubha, referring to traditional shields once crafted by local communities. For generations, the spring was not only a source of water but also a place deeply intertwined with cultural identity, craftsmanship, and community life.
Here we met Ms. Jeniroza, a resident who has lived in the community for more than fifty-two years.
Ms. Jeniroza standing near Nyanghubha Spring.
Standing beside the spring, she recalled a very different landscape.
“The water was clean and cold. People would come here to drink directly from the spring. We fetched water for our homes, and there was always water flowing throughout the year.”
According to Ms. Jeniroza, the spring once supported both people and nature. Livestock had designated grazing areas separate from those used by community members, while vegetation flourished around the spring, helping to protect the water source and maintain its flow.
Today, however, the scene tells a different story.
The spring has become heavily polluted and overgrown with weeds, with a dense mat of floating vegetation now covering much of its surface. According to community members, this change has been driven by a combination of human activities and changing seasonal patterns that have altered the spring’s ecological balance.
During periods of heavy rainfall, runoff from nearby farms washes into the spring, often carrying fertilisers and other pollutants. Livestock also have direct access to the water, and their waste contributes to increased nutrient levels. In some cases, household wastewater is discharged into the surrounding environment and eventually finds its way back into the spring. At the same time, the clearing of vegetation around the spring has left the area more vulnerable to soil erosion, allowing sediments to flow into the water during rains.
Prolonged dry seasons create additional challenges. As water levels decline, the spring becomes shallower and water movement slows. These stagnant conditions provide an ideal environment for floating aquatic weeds to establish, flourish and spread rapidly.
The water is no longer suitable for drinking or most household activities and is now primarily used by livestock. During the rainy season, water from the spring flows directly into Lake Victoria, carrying sediments and pollutants that affect the wider ecosystem.
The contrast between past and present is striking.
Ms. Jeniroza recalls a time when the spring was treated with deep respect. People approached it barefoot, and dirty utensils, particularly those stained with charcoal or used for milking cattle, were not permitted. Dense vegetation surrounded the spring and access was controlled through a single entrance, helping to keep the area clean. While these practices were rooted in tradition, they also served as effective forms of conservation, protecting both water quality and the surrounding ecosystem.
The spring also played an important role during periods of conflict between clans. Elders would gather here to prepare shields and smooth spear shafts before battle. Water from the spring was woven into both practical and symbolic rituals of protection, linking the resource directly to the community’s history and identity.
Today, women in the community are actively exploring ways to restore and protect Nyanghubha Spring. Proposed interventions include replanting indigenous trees and practising afforestation, removing invasive weeds, improving waste management, and constructing protective fencing to reduce pollution and uncontrolled access. Other measures include establishing a vegetated buffer zone around the spring, organising regular community clean-up campaigns, monitoring water quality, and creating designated access points for water collection. Environmental education for local schools and community members would help promote stewardship and pass conservation values to future generations. Partnerships with local authorities and environmental organisations could also provide technical support and resources for these efforts.
Together, these measures would help restore the spring’s ecosystem while preserving an important part of the community’s cultural heritage.
For many women, restoring Nyanghubha is about more than improving access to water. It is about preserving cultural memory, protecting biodiversity, and ensuring that future generations inherit a healthier environment than the one they see today.
This vision of restoration is being strengthened through the efforts of organizations such as Blue Victoria, supported by IUCN through the Swiss-funded Building River Dialogue and Governance (BRIDGE) Programme.
Through training, awareness campaigns, and community engagement initiatives, women are gaining practical knowledge in water resource management, ecosystem conservation, biodiversity protection, and sustainable land-use practices. They are also building a stronger understanding of how activities such as deforestation, poor waste disposal, and encroachment affect the long-term health of rivers, springs, and wetlands. Equipped with this knowledge, many are becoming advocates for environmental stewardship within their communities, encouraging collective action to protect local water resources.
As these conversations continue, water is increasingly being viewed not simply as a resource to be used, but as a shared responsibility to be protected.
The stories of Kirumi Borehole and Nyanghubha Spring reveal two sides of the same reality. One demonstrates how improved access to clean water can transform daily life, creating not only convenience and opportunity but also new spaces for community connection. The other illustrates the consequences of environmental degradation and the gradual erosion of traditional conservation practices that once safeguarded both water and culture.
Together, they highlight the critical role women play in the relationship between communities and water. Whether ensuring access to safe water, preserving cultural knowledge, or leading restoration efforts, women show a continued desire to be at the forefront of protecting the resources that sustain both people and ecosystems.
