BY INNOCENT KIIZA
It was a bright morning when I journeyed through the sweeping plains of Queen Elizabeth National Park, heading toward the ancient salt lake of Katwe, nestled in Katwe-Kabatooro Town Council, Busongora South, in Kasese District.
The air was thick with the unmistakable scent of rotten eggs, the sulfuric signature that greets every visitor long before they reach the legendary Lake Katwe.
As the road sloped toward the lake, the view opened to a startling sight: the once-glittering salt pans now submerged under murky floodwaters.
The hum of generators filled the air, echoing across the flooded plains as about 50 women waded through mud, carrying soil sucks on their back in dirty skirts and tops , bare footed and papyrus reeds to rebuild the boundaries of their salt pans.
Lake Katwe produces approximately 15,000 tons of crystalline salt annually; the lake is surrounded by more than 10,000 salt pans from three grades of salt.
The salt pans which are hereditary, host more than 300,000 salt miners. It would cost one Shs7Million or Shs10Million to buy a pan, depending on the location and amount of salt that can be harvested from it in a day.
The scene at Lake Katwe was raw and unsettling muddy water creeping into salt pans, collapsed fences scattered like broken ribs, and men and women wading knee-deep in brown floodwater as they tried to salvage buckets, basins and tools, and whatever remained of their day’s work.
It was a landscape of struggle and resilience, a community fighting to protect a heritage that has endured for more than five centuries.
Among the scattered figures moving slowly through the flooded salt fields was Emmanuel Mucunguzi, his body framed against the pale horizon. Emmanuel’s face carried the map of a life spent under punishing sun deep creases carved by years of heat, wind, and brine.
His hands, calloused and salt-burned, gripped a broken wooden paddle as he stared at what used to be his productive salt pan. The disappointment on his face was unmistakable, it was the look of a man watching both his livelihood and history wash away.
Just a few decades ago, Lake Katwe’s outskirts were covered in thick green vegetation, shrubs, grasses, and tall acacia trees that formed a natural buffer around the lake. Today, that green edge is gone.
The trees have been felled, the land cleared, and the slopes aggressively cultivated by people planting crops like beans and maize. Without vegetation, the bare, loosened soil now channels runoff directly into the lake, overwhelming the fragile salt pans.
What was once a protective shield has become a funnel for destruction.
“We used to have two reliable seasons for salt from February to April and August to November but now seasons have changed completely. The rains come when we don’t expect them and cause floods,” Emmanuel told me, shaking his head slowly.
The changing weather, he explained, “We used to extract salt rocks directly from the lake, but the floods have made that impossible” Mucunguzi said.
The water level has risen so high that now we can only use the salt pans. In doing so, we are encroaching on the lake’s natural breeding areas, slowly destroying what nature gave us.”
In the Rain season, we miss out on pink salt from the direct lake due to high water volume and extract tinny ones from the salt pans, which is not marketable, so we pray to God to give us enough sunshine.
This means from the two seasons February to November, we lose income. 70% of the population in this area depends on salt mining, while 30% are fishermen.
According to Trading Economic report In 2022, Uganda exported $7.4 million worth of salt to other countries; However, the country still imports about 90 percent of the salt it consumes from Kenya. In 2019, Uganda imported Shs 94.7 billion worth of salt.
He pointed toward a generator sputtering beside a flooded pan. “Without these, we can’t work,” he said. “We use them to pump out the rainwater so that the sun can heat the salt water and evaporate it to form crystals.”
But this lifeline is costly. “Fuel alone costs 30,000 shillings a day,” Mucunguzi explained. “Hiring the generator is another thirty thousand. Women who carry soil to rebuild the pans earn 9,000 Shillings a day. Each pole for demarcation costs 4,000 shillings. By the time you’re done, the expenses eat deep into your pocket.”
A single salt pan, when well-managed, can yield about 179 bags of salt. “If you invest wisely,” he said, “you can get up to 300 bags, each selling at 8,000 shillings now. Before the floods, a bag went for 20,000 shillings. Prices have risen, but so have our costs.”
The economic shift has divided the community. “Only those with capital can stay in business,” Mucunguzi said.
He added that those who can’t afford fuel and labor have abandoned salt mining and turned to fishing.
He paused, gazing over the shimmering water, his reflection trembling on its surface. “Salt mining is my life. It feeds my family. When the floods come, it’s like watching my life wash away,” Mucunguzi said quietly.
“If I ever meet the president, I will ask for soft loans and training to protect this lake. Right now, we’re destroying it in desperation using a generator for extraction.”
His words cut into a deeper truth, one that hangs heavily over Lake Katwe.
The destruction he speaks of is not just from the floods or the unpredictable rains; it is also from the human pressure bearing down on the lake’s ecosystem.
With no clear enforcement of environmental guidelines, people have been allowed to cultivate right up to the lake’s edge, clearing the vegetation that once acted as a natural barrier.
Soil erosion now slides freely into the salt pans during rainy season storms, choking them with silt and accelerating flooding. Yet, even as the ecosystem collapses, no agency seems firmly in charge.
District officials blame limited resources. The lake management points to government silence. The Uganda Wildlife Authority manages the wider Queen Elizabeth landscape but has little direct power over land-use around the lake.
The Ministry of water Environment says they are still working on the management plan for implementation which is rarely followed up.
A few meters away, Kansiime Juliet, a mother of three, was at the hill counting women and youth who carried soil sucks down wards the lake for proper accountability as she pays them after work , the soil is used in salt pan separation.
She has worked at Katwe for fifteen years and remembers when salt was clearly visible on the lake, glistened under the sun unlike today where the pans are submerged by water due to the floods.
“Everything changed about two years ago,” Kansiime said, recalling the moment things began to unravel. The August to November season brought unusually heavy rains far more than the community had seen in years.
What worried us most was not just the downpour itself, but the way it kept returning. Week after week, month after month, the rains persisted, flooding the lake repeatedly and ruining the salt pans before they could recover.
We have been forced to use generators to pump out the water and try to extract whatever little salt we can since then, she explained.
She added that most of the time we’re just working to clear our debts, not to earn.”
Kansiime had invested 50 million in her salt business before the floods. “All of it was washed away,” she said, her voice trembling. “The lake used to support more than 5,000 people. Now, families are suffering. Many have abandoned their plans and fled because they couldn’t repay loans.”
The price of salt has soared. “A bag of human salt now costs up to 150,000n shillings and animal salt is about 70,000 shillings. Adding that before, it was much cheaper, but with less sunshine and more rain, production is low.”
Despite reporting their challenges to local leaders, Kansiime said, “No one helps us. They just come for taxes. We need soft loans and real support if Katwe is to survive.”
Nearby, Rose Makamba, another artisanal miner, watched as her flooded pans reflected the sky. “When it floods, we can’t go into the lake,” she said. “The water levels are too high. Even the salt crystals that form are small because rainwater interferes with the crystallization process.”
She believes the government should identify land where floodwater could be pumped to save the lake. “If water levels keep rising,” she warned, “salt mining here will vanish. And if Katwe dies, we die with it. This lake gives us everything starting from school fees, medicine, and food.”
At the market nearby, Halima Nasaka, the chairperson of Top Hill Salt Market Vendors, was counting her losses. “Rainfall has crippled the business,” she said. “Before, vendors could earn daily income, but now there’s no salt to sell. Most of us took loans to operate but now we can’t afford to repay them due to floodwater into salt lake. We need government support.”Nasaka added.
She explained the tedious process miners go through: pumping out the fresh floodwater so that only the brine remains, which can then crystallize under the sun. “The generators are keeping the business alive,” she said, “but not everyone can afford them.”
Peter Twimamatsoiko, chairperson of the Mahonda Extractors and Traders Cooperative Society, believes human activity has worsened the problem.
“People have started cultivating along the lake’s catchment,” he said. “Vegetation that used to slow runoff is gone, so when it rains, water flows directly into the lake. Others have opened salt pans even in the lake’s breeding space.
We have tried to educate people, but without political will, enforcing the laws is impossible.”Twimamatsoiko added.
He stressed that Lake Katwe is the lifeblood of the town. “More than 5,000 people depend on it. We need leaders who can protect it for future generations.”
Asiimwe Massylne, the economic planner for Katwe-Kabatooro, unfolded a report showing the stark decline in revenue from 2022/2023 to 2024/2025. “Before the flooding, we collected around fifty million shillings a month from salt activities. Now, it’s barely three million,” she said.
The number of functional operational salt pans has dropped from 800 to just 200 salt pans. “Many miners left after their pans were destroyed. The cost of revamping them is too high, especially for those working on loans.”Asiimwe said.
The floods didn’t just drown the salt pans, they pushed straight into the community. Water swept through footpaths, homesteads, and small gardens, leaving families with fewer options for survival. With salt mining collapsing, the economic shock was immediate.
“When salt mining collapsed, families couldn’t pay school fees. Children dropped out, and child labor increased as they started working at the pans to help their parents survive,” Asiimwe explained.
With no income from salt, many turned to Lake Edward to fish, often without licenses or proper gear. Doing it in desperate, unregulated fishing has brought its own consequences.
Fish stocks, already under strain, have declined sharply, forcing people to use smaller nets and risky night fishing to catch anything at all.
The overcrowded lake has also increased the number of accidents and wildlife encounters.
“People go in at night because that’s when they think they’ll get something before patrols catch them,” Asiimwe said. “But that’s also when crocodiles hunt. We’ve already had several attacks, and some fishermen haven’t returned.”
Before the floods, trucks from across Uganda and neighboring countries would line up daily to buy salt, like up to 40 trucks a day. “Now, we barely see 10,” Asiimwe said.
The council tried to act. “We budgeted 20 million shillings to buy a large generator to help pump out water in the next financial year ,” she said, “but enforcement is our biggest problem. Politicians often protect those who break environmental rules because they are voters.”
She added that salt pans have been illegally extended into the lake’s breeding zones, blocking drainage channels that once prevented flooding. “If the government doesn’t intervene soon,” she warned, “salt extraction on Lake Katwe could disappear and with it, our town’s glory.”
Nicholas Kagongo, Environmentalist Katwe eco-Tourism information Central said that Lake Katwe could disappear in 30 years if degradation activities around it are not curbed. Kagongo adds that the lake is facing extinction due to increasing human activities on its steep slopes, where people have set up yams and maize gardens.
These activities have given a soft landing of rain water flooding into the lake and gradually weakening the lake’s shoreline. Lake Katwe and its salt pans are indeed renewable resources, but the current rate of degradation has fueled the flooding. The vegetation cover is all gone due to continued cultivation. “We urgently need government intervention to stop these activities if we are to save the lake” Kagongo said.
Kagongo mentioned that the main part of the lake encroached heavily is Kabatoro village on the eastern part of the lake , where farmers have established gardens , as well as Kanyamiyoba village. An increasing number of people are extracting salt from lake, surpassing its sustainable capacity .we need regulation to a manageable level” he advised.
He said that the town council had restricted miners from the lake every day. Instead, they access it every Tuesday and Thursday to extract grade three Rock salt. This is extracted manually by men from the centre of the lake, beneath its surface.
The Science behind the Disaster
According to Dr. Bob Alex Ogwang, the Commissioner for Meteorology, the flooding in Katwe is more than a local problem adding that it is a warning sign of deeper climatic shifts across the region.
He added that Western Uganda is warming faster than any other part of the country, a trend that is neither accidental nor isolated.
Ogwang explained that several factors are driving this rapid warming adding that some are global where the rise in greenhouse gases causes the warming of the atmosphere.
However he mentioned that others are local and human-driven, amplifying the problem around Lake Katwe citing land clearing, Deforestation of trees in protected area reserves and loss of natural vegetation increase heat on the surface, Dr. Ogwang said
He added that when human beings clear and remove trees for fire wood, the land absorbs more heat, dries out faster, and temperatures rise.”
He cited Satellite data adding that it shows that the Rwenzori region is losing vegetation cover faster than it is being restored, creating pockets of intense heat around communities like Katwe and Kasese district at large.
“Our data shows a warming rate of 0.6°C per decade since 1950,” he noted. “Rainfall patterns have become more erratic, and extreme events like floods are increasing and this might force the lake to react to changes in both the atmosphere and the land around it.”
Dr Brian Guma Emmanuel , team leader Albert water Management Zone in the ministry of water and Environment says this warming disrupts delicate ecological balances in crater lakes like Katwe.
“When rainfall increases, it dilutes the salinity and salt formation depends on evaporation, but constant rain and runoff reduce concentration. The clearing of vegetation around the lake by humans looking for sunny soil and firewood has made the problem worse.”Dr Guma said.
Guma’s say the ministry of water and environment has developed a catchment management plan for the Nyamugasangi basin which includes Katwe but implementation has stalled.
“We can’t begin major interventions until the plan is finalized,” he explains. “The ministry intends to use community-based adaptation, integrating indigenous knowledge with modern drainage systems. But for now, the Artisanal salt miners are using temporary measures like generators.”
Heritage on the Brink
Lake Katwe’s crisis is not just economic; it is cultural. For centuries, this saline crater has been a symbol of survival and ingenuity. It once anchored a trade network linking Uganda, Congo, and Rwanda, with salt serving as currency long before the modern economy.
Bashir Hangi , Assistant Commissioner for Communications at the Uganda Wildlife Authority (UWA), calls Katwe a living heritage site. He warns that its collapse would rob Uganda of more than a trade.
“The lake tells a story of resilience and traditional knowledge. Losing it would mean erasing part of our identity and weakening the tourism value of Queen Elizabeth National Park.” Hangi said
Tourists who once visited Katwe to watch traditional salt harvesting now find flooded plains instead of the glittering mosaic of pans. “The flooding has disrupted cultural tourism,” Hangi explains. “When communities lose this heritage, the entire tourism circuit suffers.”
At the national level, Uganda’s Ministry of Water and Environment has developed an impressive catalogue of climate policies, Nationally Determined Contributions (NDCs) under the UN Framework Convention on Climate Change, the Climate Change Act, district adaptation plans, and guidelines for protecting wetlands and fragile ecosystems.
On paper, the country is aligned with global climate ambition. But in Katwe, those commitments feel like distant promises carried by wind.
Here, the policies that speak of resilience, early warning systems, ecosystem protection, and community adaptation are barely visible. There is no functioning drainage plan around the lake. No vegetation restoration projects. No regulation of the cultivation creeping right to the water’s edge. No financial support for artisanal miners trying to protect their salt pans.
Instead, the community faces climate change with nothing but their bodies, borrowed tools like generators and luck.
This disconnect between polished national commitments and a collapsing local reality is the core of the crisis at Lake Katwe. It is not a failure of policy design; it is a failure of policy delivery. And every time the rains return, the consequences fall squarely on the miners, the children, and the fragile centuries-old salt heritage that the government claims to protect.
This situation has made artisanal miners feel like the government has forgotten them but Dr Guma says artisanal salt miners shouldn’t feel forgotten adding that It’s not that policymakers don’t care it’s a communication gap.
The ministry is working on systemic solutions, not quick fixes. But the people need immediate relief.”
Dr. Guma notes that long-term adaptation around Lake Katwe will depend on controlling surface runoff, something that can only happen if vegetation is restored and the catchment is properly managed, much like the rehabilitation done along River Nyamwamba. But unlike Nyamwamba, the landscape around Katwe has been steadily stripped of its natural cover.
Over the past decade, the vegetation disappeared through a slow combination of human pressures: farmers clearing land right up to the water’s edge, charcoal burning, and years of unregulated harvesting of shrubs and trees for fuel.
These practices continued largely unchecked because the district lacked a clear management plan, and enforcement agencies rarely visited the lake. Even when local leaders tried to stop cultivation within the buffer zone, the measures collapsed under political interference, community resistance, and the absence of alternatives for people who depend on the lake for survival.
“The biggest challenge is that rainfall now runs straight into the lake. Without vegetation to hold the soil, everything goes directly into the salt pans.” Dr. Guma said,
He explained that some progress is being made through the Nyamugasangi Catchment Management Plan which is under way, which includes reforestation and improved drainage, but the work is still limited and far behind the scale of the problem.
About Lake Katwe
Lake Katwe is known throughout Uganda and the East Africa region for its substantial salt production and has been producing high quality salt for many years. Geographically, lake Katwe is found within an explosion crater in formerly active volcanic areas north-east of Lake Edward and south-east of Lake George.
The lake is found in the small run-down town of Katwe on the outskirts of queen Elizabeth National Park in the Kasese district and covers an area of approximately eight square miles. Its shores are lined with small ponds or pans of water from which salt is extracted from the bottom in a process called salt panning.
Salt content of lake waters is approximately 13.5 percent. The lake bed is 0.8 meters thick and contains approximately over 12 million tones of salt.
