Nakasongola fisherwomen challenge tradition to survive

It is a cloudy day over Lake Kyoga. At midday, four women, oars slung over their shoulders, slowly walk through Zengebe Mayinja Landing Site, making their way to the lakeshore. The landing site is one of the six found in Lwampanga Town Council in Nakasongola District. 

The women are all slender, almost boyish in their build. One of them is wearing sweat pants. The rest are in long skirts. At the shore, they push two blue boats into the water and climb into them – two women per boat. 

Each boat has over 50 fishing nets in it. Taking turns at the oars, the women push out into the open, stormy lake. In the middle of the lake – between the shore and the horizon, the boats stop. Two women stand up and grab the nets and begin casting them into the water. 

The nets have plastic bottles tied at the ends to keep them afloat. Then, suddenly, it begins to rain – a heavy downpour. The women finish casting the nets in record speed and row back the boats. 

Any fisherwoman worth her salt would not want to be caught on a stormy lake – even in daytime. The chances of drowning are too high. These are the fisherwomen of Nakasongola District who are defying tradition and societal norms in the Buganda culture, that bar women from going into the lake to fish. For instance, it is a taboo for a woman to fish in Nalubaale (Lake Victoria).

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Nalubaale’s guardian spirit is female and she forbids women to fish because they menstruate. Women are, however, allowed to play a role in processing and trading in fish.

Tradition vs hunger

The four women, though, laugh in the face of such tradition, saying adherence to this practice is a luxury of those who have never looked hunger in the face. 

At 56, Safiya Kwerunga is the oldest fisherwoman in Zengebe, having begun fishing in 1988, when she was 27.

“I was unlucky in that my parents married me off to an old invalid. He could not walk. He only crawled. And then, God punished me by giving me only daughters. My husband was wealthy, but by the time I had my third child, the money was gone. We were so poor that when my baby made four months, I decided to learn how to fish,” says the mother of three. 

Thirty-six years ago, very few people living at the landing site. However, she discussed her dilemma with her husband’s uncle, who used to fish with all his children. That man took her under his wing and taught her how to fish. One of those children was Jamila Nakiyimba, who was 17 at the time.

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Today, she is the deputy mayor of Lwampanga Town Council, and she is still a fisherwoman, although now, she employees others to fish for her. 

“We were using kokota (monofilament fishing nets), which are now considered dangerous. We would walk into the lake until the water was at the level of our chests and then, begin pulling in the nets. The catch was always big and it would fill up many basins,” she reminisces.

Nakiyimba adds that it was the perennial hunger that has plagued Nakasongola district for years that forced her father to introduce all his children to fishing.

“People used to talk about my father, saying he has taken children into the lake, but we had nothing to eat at home. Before we started fishing, we would harvest bigooli (lake weeds) and cook them as a meal,” she says.

Fishermen laughed at the two young women – Nakiyimba and Kwerunga – asking the latter who had advised her to marry an invalid. They prophesied that Nakiyimba would not get married. Despite the obstacles, the two shouldered on. 

Kwerunga would dry the fish she caught and keep it in a box in her kitchen. When the box got full, she would take it Luweero town and sell the fish.

“I would tie my baby on my back and ride my husband’s bicycle, with the box of fish on the carrier. My mother criticised me for jeopadising the child’s life and ordered me to stop vending fish. A fisherman I met at the lake introduced me to a female trader who agreed to buy my fish off the boat,” she says. 

Unlike Kwerunga, Jane Nakiwala has a husband, who is a fisherman. However, he does not know that she is a fisherwoman because he does not return home for months at a time. Nakiwala had her first child when she was 14.

“I started fishing in 2014, when I was 20. My husband had abandoned us in a rented room. I did not have money, and my children were going hungry. One day, I went to fetch water and when I saw men throwing nets into the lake, I approached them and asked them to teach me how to fish,” says the mother of two. 

Nakiwala says it took her a short time to learn how to fish, although casting nets was a challenge. 

“Once I mastered the art of standing in a boat, I had to remove my blouse and fish in a skirt and bra. The men told me the nets can get caught in the buttons on my blouse and if that happened, I would upset the boat and drown. So, I stripped and began fishing in a bra,” she adds. 

In the early days, she would catch one or two fish, which she would cook quickly so that her husband would not suspect anything. “I did not want him to surprise me while I was cooking the fish. He would suspect that I have another man providing for me. So, after catching the fish, I would cook it quickly and eat it with my children, and then, wash the utensils,” she says.

The quest to own boats

The 2017 presidential directive ordering the Uganda People’s Defence Forces (UPDF) to deploy on Uganda’s lakes to combat illegal fishing practices so as to protect the fish resource, which was under threat of depletion, had a huge effect on the fisherwomen. 

“When the soldiers stopped us from fishing, life was hard. We had to find work digging on people’s farms for very little pay. One time, army men found me on the lake, stealthily trying to catch some fish. I was beaten to within an inch of my life. Those soldiers are brutal,” Kweruga says.

When the women were allowed back on the lake, they found that they had to either buy the right kind of boats or wait for the government to donate them. Although their names were put on a list of beneficiaries, only Nakiyimba got a boat.

“We have to hire a boat or work for a boat owner. You can rent a boat at Shs20,000 or Shs30,000 a day, but you have to pay the owner beforehand to avoid misunderstandings in case you have a bad day and fail to catch any fish,” Nakiwala explains.

Although Kwerunga finds it easier to work for a boat owner, the transaction is not fair. On most days, she goes fishing at 5.30pm and leaves the lake at 8pm. On a windy day, she spends the entire night and half of the next day, on the lake, guarding the fishing nets.

“On average, I get 50-70 kilograms of tilapia (ngege) a day. On a bad day, I get between 30 and 40 kilograms. Out of that, I have to pay the owner of the boat and nets and the other fisherwoman because we always travel two or three in a boat,” she says.

Kwerunga adds that the boat owner sells a kilogram of Nile perch (emputa) to a fish processing company at Shs10,000, while a kilogram of tilapia goes for Shs8,000.

“However, when I take my catch to him, the boat owner gives me Shs2,500 per kilogram. One fish can weigh two kilograms. That means if I have 70 tilapia, I will only make Shs350,000, while he makes Shs1,050,000. Of the Shs350,000 I have to pay him the fee for hiring the boat and nets. How can you spend the entire night fishing and get only Shs2,500 per kilo of fish?” she asks.

The risks on the lake

Not every fisherman is out to fish. Some are thieves who will use any opportunity to cut the fishing nets of those who have returned to land and take their catch.

“If you encounter those thieves when you are alone, you have two choices. Either you kill them or they kill you. All the thieves are men. Now, if you are a woman, how can you fight such thieves who are ready to kill? You just have to watch as they steal your catch,” Nakiyimba says, grimly.

Nakiyimba, who abandoned her marriage to return to fishing, was lucky to get a boat from the government because she had a chronic illness. With full blown diabetes, she does not have the energy to row a boat using oars. Now, she employs both men and women on another landing site.

The strong winds, and resultant waves, that hit Uganda’s waterbodies between June and October, have been known to claim a number of lives, especially when over-loaded boats capsize. These gusts of wind are a fisherwoman’s worst nightmare.

Kweruga says she has been in situations where turning to God is the only option left. She has survived two incidents in which the boats overturned due to strong waves. In both cases, one of her peers drowned.

“If the rain finds me on the lake, I give my life to God because at that point, there is nothing that can stop you from drowning. Also, there are huge mosquitos on the lake and whenever I return home, I send my grandchildren to buy me a tablet from the drug shop,” she says.

Nakiwala concurs, adding, “Sometimes, when the lake is wild, oars are worthless. They break. We have to hold on to the boat tightly because we do not have lifejackets, and neither do we use engines. While one hand is holding tightly to the boat, the other is using a container to scoop water out of the boat.” 

The women say they lack the money to hire life jackets and boat engines on a daily basis. While praising their entrepreneurial spirit, the fishermen at Zengebe Mayinja Landing Site, insist that women are fearful and lack courage. 

“Unlike a man, a fisherwoman can never risk fishing on a windy day. In case the boat capsizes, these women do not know how to swim. They put on too many clothes. A man will easily strip and dive into the water, naked, to swim to land. But, not a woman,” says Wilberforce Mayanja, a fisherman.

Mayanja adds that tradition dictates that women should hide most parts of their bodies.

“The few seconds she spends deciding whether to undress or not, can mean life or death to her. Women are also shorter than men, so even if the lakeshore is in sight, they cannot stand up in the water and walk towards it, because the water will cover their heads,” he says.

The floating islands (kisamba) that haunt Lake Kyoga, pulling along fishing nets, are another risk the women face.

“Sometimes, after casting the nets, fishermen and women fall asleep in the boats, especially when the lake is calm. A floating island can knock over the boat and push it underneath it, causing the drowning of those sleeping in it,” Nakiyimba says.

The benefits

For Nakiwala and Kwerunga, the dividends earned from fishing have been worth the hustle.

“People still laugh at me whenever I walk through the landing site with my oars. They say I behave like I do not have a husband. But I
don’t mind them because I am now able to feed my children, pay their school fees, and rent a decent room to live in,” Nakiwala says.

Kweruga says she has grown old in fishing but she has never gone hungry since the day she stepped into a boat. 

“I paid my daughters’ school fees and now I am educating my five grandchildren. We do not go hungry, even when there is hunger is Nakasongola like now. I have built a home and I have some savings set aside for a rainy day. I do not have to put myself at the mercy of a man,” she says.

The fisherwomen appeal to the government and well-wishers to help them acquire their own boats, fishing nets, life jackets, and engines. An average boat costs about Shs2 million, while a small engine goes for Shs4 million. 

In Uganda, fishermen have a reputation of living recklessly partying and having multiple sexual partners, and having families on different landing sites and islands. This is partly because, they claim, they can die anytime.

However, fisherwomen, who are often single mothers or abandoned wives, are changing the narrative. By working so hard to fend for their children, they are giving fishermen a run for their money.

“These women’s businesses need to be boosted with capital because fishing nets are expensive yet they tear quickly. They also need engines
instead of using oars. Sometimes, fish is only found in deep waters, yet a woman does not have the strength to row a boat that far,” Abdul
Noor Bihemaiso, a fisherman says. 

There are 15 fisherwomen working at Zengebe Mayinja Landing Site. For safety, they work in groups of fours.

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