Don. His name wasn’t typically Burundian. His father named him after Don King the renowned American boxing promoter. When Don King brought the great Mohamed Ali to Congo in 1974, Don’s father was in his mid teens. After Ali won the rumble in the jungle, Don’s father fell in love with boxing hopelessly So when his first son was born nearly ten years later, he remembered to call him Don.

Don is now thirty and working as a fisherman in Lake Tanganyika. This was his father’s trade and it is now his.  Tragically, his father was one of the approximately 300,000 people who were killed during Burundi’s 1993 to 2005 civil war. After this tragic event, Lake Tanganyika became like Don’s father – it gave him the security of a livelihood.

Burundi’s share of the lake is only eight percent, which is more than Zambia’s share of 6 percent but a far cry from DRC’s 45 percent and Tanzania’s 41 percent. However, that eight percent constitutes at least 2,600 square kilometres in surface area, a size that is five times the size of Seychelles.

"Don't walk behind me; I may not lead. Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow. Just walk beside me and be my friend." Albert Camus

In 1971, this ‘fish garden’ gave Burundi 15,400 tonnes of fish.  The following year in 1972, fish production plummeted to 6,400 tonnes because of the genocide. It is estimated that 80,000 – 200,000 Burundians lost their lives in the genocide.

The increased conflict was accompanied by decreased fish production and less money.

Don’s father lived through that particular conflict and passed on the fishing trade to his son. During the years that they fished together, Don’s father always told him that, ‘fish can give you two very important things – good money and great peace.’

Like thousands of other Burundian fishers, Don’s father specialized in ndagala, the small sardine like fish that are popular with locals. Don later decided to cast his net wider by becoming a jack-of-all-fishes. He took whatever fish the lake gave him but prayed for the much beloved mukeke. If ever there was a fish that gave him good money, it was this one. But it was also very good in the hide and seek game and could be rather difficult to catch. When mukeke went missing, Don would still be happy with sangala, another fish common in Lake Tanganyika, the second deepest lake in the world.

The lake has also become like a surrogate husband to many war widows or ex combatants who now derive their livelihoods from fish. In order to further build on this phenomena, the Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO) supported ex-combatants in conserving and commercializing fish from Lake Tanganyika. Many of the people who received FAO’s support had already been using activities like collective drying of fish to enhance reconciliation and unity. The support gave them further impetus to earn more from fish.

FAO later partnered with the Burundian Ministry for Agriculture and Livestock in a project known as ‘Support to post-harvest fisheries technology.’

As fishermen like Don can attest, getting fish out of the water is just one part of the job. The other equally important part is selling this fish when it is still fresh or increasing its shelf life by conserving it. In 2004, nearly 15 percent of harvested fish was lost not to robbers but to post harvest challenges. As Burundi was losing 15 percent of its hard earned fish, $4.3 billion was earned from fish exports by other African countries.

According to FAO, whose first fishery project in Burundi was in 1970, post-harvest poor handling practices include, ‘using dirty canoes, equipment, fish boxes and baskets; not washing fish; washing fish in dirty water; placing fish on dirty surfaces; and physically damaging fish by throwing or standing on them.’ Such are the practices that handlers no longer engage in after receiving training and equipment like raised metallic racks for frying their fish and freezers. Apart from increasing fish revenues, this whole process solidifies the gains made by ex-combatants in rehabilitation, which is more of a marathon than a sprint. 

Some people consider spending a night in the middle of the lake to be extremely unsafe. But that is where Don feels most secure. The fact that he is literally harvesting from his ‘fish garden’ gives him hope that he can make money, take care of his young family and keep going.

However, his fish catch has been dwindling, leaving him deeply worried. There were times in the past when he would return in the morning with more than fifty kilos of fish. Now he would be lucky to get even thirty kilos.

In 1995, Burundi produced 21,000 tonnes of fish. Fifteen years later in 2010, the yield had dropped to 20,000 tonnes before dropping even further to 15,000 tonnes in 2013.

In 2010, fisheries contributed US$10 billion to African economies. Unfortunately, Burundi’s share of this scoop was negligible.

If Burundi gains a foothold in the fish export sector, fishers like Don will benefit even more as will the ex-combatants. Every morning when he docks in one of Lake Tanganyika’s 700 landing sites, Don needs reassurance that the fishery future is bright, not bleak. Longer shelf life of his fish has already given him a measure of reassurance. A wider market for this fish would translate to more competitive prices and give fishermen like him even much more reassurance.  

Back in 1974 when Mohamed Ali was rumbling in the boxing jungle, fishery contributed less than 1 percent to GDP. More than forty years later, the situation hasn’t changed drastically.

As far back as 1976, FAO/UNDP research estimated that, ‘a sustainable level of production of at least 25,000 tons per annum for Burundi is possible.’ Unfortunately, this estimated projection has remained largely unfulfilled. Many years of civil war definitely have something to do with this as it is impossible to realize sustainable productivity in a climate of conflict.

Although the civil war bullets and machetes didn’t kill fish, they killed people who were either consumers or fishers.

Back to the words of Don’s father, ‘fish will give you good money and great peace.’

It’s time to heed his advice.

Note: Don is a composite character reflecting the experiences of different real-life fishermen.

With a crucifix dangling around her neck and a big smile on her chocolate face, the middle-aged lady from Abrha Weatsbha community in northern Ethiopia clasped a big green mango that she had just plucked from a mango tree in her farm. Her brown eyes gazed across her farm as she shook her head in disbelief. The farm was part of 224,000 acres that had once been barren and unproductive but was now awash with fruit trees, indigenous trees, crops and vegetables. Less than two decades earlier, a dry carpet covered the landscape, stifling agricultural growth and providing a perfect terrain for flash floods. Ironically, these floods implied an overabundance of water yet ground water reserves were failing to refill, thanks to the dry, dry, dry land. Adding insult to injury, the floods often left giant gullies in their trail and destabilized farmlands even more. This spelt doom for the little children playing catch-me-if-you-can in the land. Because their parents’ livelihoods were severely compromised, the future was bleak. Hunger often caught up with them, robbing them of their human right to healthy food. "Happiness can only be found if you can free yourself of all other distractions." Saul Bellow How can you plant anything in such dry land? Any crops that they dared to plant withered, as did their thirsty livestock. As a result, the community became perennial recipients of relief food for many years. By the time those playing children reached their mid and late teens, relief was still the order of the day. Beneath the dry land, there was no oil to attract a stampede of investors. Even the relief efforts were just a trickle since relief is ultimately unsustainable in the long run. After living in this vulnerable state for years, the local community gradually began to turn the tide. They wanted to reclaim their land, their dignity, brighter futures for their children, a beautiful landscape, guaranteed food and agricultural revenue. Though many of them may never have heard of her, they began to heed the words of the Nobel laureate Wangari Maathai that, ‘it’s the little things citizens do. That’s what will make a difference. My little thing is planting trees.’ The Abrha Weatsbha community planted tree after tree on acre after acre. They turned disaster into a blessing when they transformed the vast gullies into natural storage tanks for water. The gullies became dams that could power irrigation and drive agriculture forward. Priests from a historic ancient church in the area became enthusiasts of the conservation and reclamation work that was going on. They knew that humans are God-appointed stewards of nature; hence what the people were doing was also spiritual. Such widespread local support ensured full ownership of the greening efforts. A restored and vibrant ecosystem often has rich rewards. It is like a dormant, penniless account finally becoming active with regular, reliable and incremental revenue. ‘I am even planting coffee on my farm!’ exclaims a middle-aged man happily. Although Ethiopian coffee is traditionally planted in the western region, some Abrha Weatsbha farmers have joined the coffee party and are now planting coffee, albeit at a much smaller scale. Irrigated land under vegetable production doubled within three years from 32 to 68 hectares. This resulted in more vegetables on the family table and in the market stalls. By 2010, farmers were making $93,750 from the sale of vegetables and spices. Just four years earlier in 2007, similar farm products were earning them $32,500. This exponential growth was a direct result of the dramatic transition from grey to green. Green has also resulted in sweet – literally, with honey production gradually taking root. Just like vegetables, honey production grew threefold within three years, from 13 to 31 tons. This growth of apiculture was a deliberate strategy of revenue diversification. The idea was for local people to earn from vegetables, fruits, coffee, honey and many other products that could thrive in the newly green and fertile land. However, this change of fortune has not come easy. The resilient people of Abrha Weatsbha have had to sweat it out and toil long hours in the hot sun. Women have been at the centre of it all, working long hours and reaping handsome dividends. Abrha Weatsbha is relatively close to the Eritrean border, a proximity that hurt it dearly during the Ethiopian-Eritrean war of 1998 to 2000. Thousands lost their lives, amongst them husbands of many women in Abrha Weatsbha. For these women, reclaiming farmland and multiplying its productivity through environmentally sound technologies has changed their lives. They are finally controlling the size and frequency of their revenue. The women proved that they may be victims of war and climate change fuelled land degradation, but they are also victors in their own right. They have faced great adversities and emerged victorious. The wider Tigray region that Abrha Weatsbha is part of is known for its rich cuisine. Women are the custodians and propagators of this cuisine. Their power and influence in the cuisine arena now goes beyond the kitchen stove to the market place. They are already making culinary products like sugar free biscuits from sorghum. The incredible efforts of the resilient community won it the prestigious Equator prize in 2012. Such global recognition reminds the world what is possible when people, however disadvantaged, team up with strategic partners to better their lives. At the heart of these partnerships is a replenished environment that can constantly refuel a green economy. The never-say-die men and women of Abrha Weatsbha have essentially birthed and nurtured their green miracle. With their resilient spirit, the ‘miracle’ can only get stronger with each passing day. In the words of Bachmann-Turner Overdrive, the Canadian Rock Group, ‘you ain’t seen nothing yet!’ The people of Abrha Weatsbha have more green surprises and products in store.