In the fertile village of Kyarwagonya in Fort Portal, farmer William Katanga has become something of a local legend. His towering papyrus reed baskets, their lower halves smeared with cow dung, stand proudly in his granary, cradling beans, millet, cassava, and other staples. To the untrained eye, they may appear rustic, even curious. But to Katanga, they are lifelines, guardians against insects, mold, rats, and the slow decay that robs many farmers of their hard-earned produce.
The story begins in the wetlands, where papyrus reeds grow tall and thick. Katanga harvests them with care, drying them under the sun until they become pliable. Then, with practiced hands and a heart full of song, he weaves them into baskets. “Baskets must be made with joy,” he says, “otherwise they won’t serve you well.” His fingers move in rhythm as he hums a traditional tune, a melody passed down from his parents, just like the weaving itself. The basket’s form is generous, its walls porous enough to allow air to pass through. But those same pores invite trouble: insects, rats, moisture, and rot.
Picture: William stands proudly beside his basket, just before the dung treatment stage.
Katanga’s solution is both simple and ingenious. He smears cow dung across the lower half of the basket, filling the gaps and sealing the weave. Once dried, the dung hardens into a protective shell that repels pests and regulates moisture. More importantly, it blocks the tiny openings that would otherwise allow small seeds like millet and sorghum to slip through. “Without the dung,” he explains, “you lose the smallest grains. With it, nothing escapes.”
But his wisdom doesn’t stop at the basket’s surface. Katanga insists that the finished basket must never sit directly on the ground. Instead, he places it atop three cooking stones, the same kind used to support a pot over fire. This elevation prevents dampness from creeping in and allows air to circulate beneath. It also makes it harder for crawling insects to reach the basket. “Food must breathe,” he says, “but it must also be guarded.” And if rats become a nuisance, he sprinkles pepper powder around the stones, a natural repellent that sends them scurrying away. It’s a farmer’s version of a fortress moat: simple, natural, and effective.
With quiet pride, Katanga shares that his beans and millet “do not get attacked by insects, rats, and they won’t go bad.” His words echo the wisdom of generations. In Africa, it is often said, “When the roots are deep, there is no reason to fear the wind.” Katanga’s roots run deep, into the soil, into the songs, and into the traditions of his ancestors. And it is this rooted knowledge that shields his harvest from the winds of hunger and loss.
Cow dung, often dismissed as waste, is in fact a resource. Its pungent odour repels insects. Its alkaline nature creates an unfriendly environment for pests. Its antimicrobial compounds suppress mold and bacteria. What outsiders might overlook, Katanga embraces as a gift from nature. His baskets, lined with this humble material, become guardians of food security. In a region where post-harvest losses can devastate families, his method is not just practical, it is revolutionary in its simplicity.
This practice is a shining example of indigenous knowledge, the wisdom born from long interaction between communities and their environment. It is local, experiential, and passed down through practice rather than textbooks. It teaches farmers which plants heal, which soils yield, and which methods preserve. As the proverb goes, “Wisdom is like a baobab tree; no one individual can embrace it.” Katanga’s wisdom is not his alone but part of a collective heritage, nurtured by generations who learned to live in harmony with the land.
The benefits of such knowledge are profound. It is sustainable, relying on resources that are locally available rather than expensive chemicals. It is resilient, offering solutions that have stood the test of time. It strengthens cultural identity, reminding communities of who they are and how they have survived. And it sparks innovation, inspiring modern scientists to look again at traditional practices for answers to today’s challenges. Katanga’s baskets are not relics of the past; they are living proof that tradition and innovation can walk hand in hand.
Across Uganda and beyond, farmers are increasingly turning to modern storage solutions, hermetic bags, metal silos, chemical preservatives. These promise airtight protection, reduced pest infestation, and longer shelf life. Yet they often come at a cost: financially, environmentally, and culturally. Hermetic bags must be purchased and replaced regularly. Silos require significant investment and maintenance. Chemical treatments, though effective, can leave residues that raise health concerns.
By contrast, Katanga’s method relies on what is freely available: papyrus reeds, cow dung, cooking stones, and pepper powder. His approach is low-cost, environmentally friendly, and culturally rooted. It achieves the same goals as modern technology, food safety, reduced losses, and resilience, without excluding farmers who cannot afford expensive inputs. As the proverb reminds us, “The one who learns, teaches.” Katanga’s practice teaches that innovation does not always mean abandoning tradition; sometimes it means rediscovering it.
In Kyarwagonya, his story spreads from household to household. Younger farmers, often tempted by pesticides and plastic bags, are reminded that sometimes the old ways are the most effective. Katanga’s baskets stand as symbols of resilience, echoing another proverb: “A child who is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth.” By embracing the wisdom of their elders, the community finds warmth and security in practices that protect their harvests and their future. And as Katanga adds with a smile, “Even if you buy an ordinary basket from the market, smear it with cow dung and it will work just the same.”
As the sun sets over Fort Portal, the papyrus baskets in Katanga’s granary glow with quiet dignity. They are more than containers; they are vessels of culture, guardians of food, and monuments to indigenous knowledge. In their woven reeds and hardened dung lies a lesson for all of us: that survival, sustainability, and wisdom often come from the simplest of practices, rooted in the deepest traditions.
