By Innocent Kiiza
In the fading light of a dusky savannah, the once-familiar echo of a lion’s roar now sounds like a memory — a vanishing whisper swallowed by time and encroaching silence. A groundbreaking new study has confirmed what conservationists have feared for years: a dramatic decline is threatening the future of Uganda’s lions.
In a country known for its rich biodiversity and majestic wildlife, the findings are jarring. Researchers led by Dr. Alex Braczkowski of Griffith University in Australia recently published the first comprehensive carnivore census in two decades.
According to an earlier study, lion populations have declined by nearly 50% in some of Uganda’s most iconic national parks. Queen Elizabeth National Park, once famed for its rare tree-climbing lions, now hosts barely 40 individuals. Kidepo Valley National Park counts just 22.
“It’s an ecological emergency,” Braczkowski noted. “Queen Elizabeth was once a stronghold for lions, particularly the tree-climbers. But now, the decline signals deeper issues: human-wildlife conflict, habitat loss, and unchecked poaching.”
Just as the ink dried on the report, on March 18, 2021, six of Queen Elizabeth’s famed tree-climbing lions were found dead, poisoned in the Ishasha sector. It wasn’t just a blow to conservation — it was a gut-wrenching loss for tourism, for local communities, and for Uganda’s ecological balance.
Five days later, a joint operation by the Uganda Wildlife Authority (UWA), the army, and police arrested four suspects: Miliango Davi, Tumuhire Vincent, Aliyo Robert, and Ampurura Brian. They were found with bottles of Furadan — a potent pesticide often used in wildlife poisoning — and a two-litre jerrican filled with lion fat oil. The message was chilling: lions are not just at risk; they are being deliberately hunted.
A Complex Crisis Rooted in Poverty
Travel 20 kilometers east from the park’s edge and you’ll find Kitabu village, an unassuming settlement nestled in the Kasese hills. Here, the scars of conservation conflict run deep. In 2013, seven men from this village died while poaching inside the park. Their widows still speak of them with grief and defiance.
Twenty-four-year-old Alice Mbambu, wife to a known poacher, says the decision to kill wildlife wasn’t born of malice, but survival. “We had nothing. Cotton prices dropped. My husband couldn’t feed us,” she says. “Poaching elephants and lions gave us a way out. We could earn something.”
A kilogram of elephant meat, she explains, sells for around 5,000 shillings ($1.39)—far less than beef, but more accessible for villagers like her.
Community leader Pio Mahembe, 63, nods solemnly. “The government keeps telling us to protect wildlife. But they don’t feed our families. They don’t replace our lost crops or compensate us when elephants destroy our gardens.”
His words echo a sentiment prevalent in many communities bordering protected areas: wildlife conservation has become a burden they’re forced to bear, with little to show for it.
Poachers’ Dens and Political Deadlocks
Nyakiyumbu and Kitabu in Kasese District, and Ishasha in Kanungu District in southwestern Uganda, have quietly become hotspots for poaching operations. Their location just outside the boundaries of Queen Elizabeth National Park makes them ideal launching pads for illegal activities.
Over the years, poaching has evolved from rudimentary traps to organized networks trafficking game meat, ivory, and even lion body parts used in traditional medicine.
Despite increasing enforcement efforts — including the introduction of a UWA canine unit and intelligence surveillance at Entebbe Airport — incidents like the March 18, 2021 poisoning suggest that enforcement alone isn’t enough.
Between 2023 and early 2024, UWA reported over 16,700 land patrols and arrested more than 1,600 suspects. They recovered 1.3 tons of ivory, 88 kilograms of pangolin scales, and hundreds of poaching tools. Yet the poachers keep coming.
The Imbalance of the Wild
While lions vanish, other carnivores like hyenas thrive. The study found that spotted hyenas now outnumber lions by as much as 40 to one in some areas.
“This could lead to a trophic imbalance,” Braczkowski warns. “Without lions, hyenas dominate. They scavenge more, hunt differently, and disrupt natural food chains.”
Murchison Falls National Park, Uganda’s last lion stronghold with around 240 individuals, still offers hope. But even there, the pressure is mounting — bushmeat snaring, habitat encroachment, and illegal logging gnaw at the edges of the park’s ecological stability.
Ministry Response and a Path Forward
Hangi Bashir, spokesperson for the Uganda Wildlife Authority (UWA), acknowledges that this region continues to suffer some of the worst cases of wildlife killings in the country.
“We are witnessing rampant cases of animal poisoning, snaring, and illegal hunting here,” he said, highlighting a grim reality that threatens not just lions, but the entire ecological balance.
The death of six lions in 2021, found mutilated and suspected to have been poisoned in Queen Elizabeth National Park, sent shockwaves across conservation circles — but it was not an isolated incident. It marked just one chapter in a broader tragedy that continues to unfold across Uganda’s savannahs.
Martin Mugarra Bahinduka, Uganda’s State Minister for Tourism, insists the government isn’t turning a blind eye.
“We’ve invested in patrols, intelligence, and canine units,” he says. “Over 3,000 cases of human-wildlife conflict were responded to last year. New elephant deterrent trenches were dug. Thorn hedges planted. We’re trying to bridge the gap between people and wildlife.”
But critics argue that conservation efforts still fail to address the root cause: poverty.
Growcott Jonathan, a PhD researcher at the University of Exeter, believes technology — especially AI — could be a game-changer. “With AI, we can accelerate monitoring. From classifying species in camera traps to identifying individual lions by whisker spots, we can respond faster and more effectively.”
Even so, he cautions that technology alone won’t save Uganda’s lions.
“Conservation is about people. You have to involve communities, understand their needs, and ensure they benefit from the wildlife they live alongside.”
Eyes on the Horizon
Back in Ishasha, the trees stand empty. The branches that once cradled lazy lionesses now sway gently in the breeze — ghostly reminders of what has been lost.
For the villagers of Kitabu and Nyakiyumbu, for researchers like Braczkowski, for the patrol rangers and poachers alike, the path forward is riddled with complexity. But one thing is clear: if Uganda’s lions are to roar again, it will take more than fences, arrests, and patrol dogs.
It will take empathy, economic alternatives, and a radical rethinking of conservation that places people — especially the poorest — at its center.
