Yesterday, I attended a mid‑month meeting with a women’s group in Kahangi, Kabarole District, where they had invited me to share insights on group conflict. The session was lively, filled with laughter, thoughtful exchanges, and constructive debate. Just as I was preparing to leave, one of the members posed a question, that was totally off the day’s topic, and it kept me there for more than an extra hour: “What is the difference between the new and improved seeds?” That single inquiry shifted our conversation toward agroecology. Curious to hear their perspectives, I turned the question back to them, and what followed was a spirited discussion. The women explained that indigenous seeds are the legacy of generations, saved and shared through rituals, storytelling, and community exchange. In Uganda, millet or sorghum seeds were often stored in calabashes, baskets, or clay pots, symbolizing continuity. They emphasized that such seeds are deeply rooted in culture and identity, “a tree without roots cannot stand.”… a member poined out. New seeds, they said, are born in sterile laboratories, disconnected from the soil and the stories that shaped traditional agriculture. Local seeds know the land like children raised in their mother’s home; they thrive in native soils and climates, adjusting naturally to seasonal changes, while new seeds are bred for specific conditions and often falter when exposed to unexpected weather or soil types. They noted that indigenous seeds have built natural resistance to local pests and diseases over centuries. Maize varieties existent in the whole country, for example, resist weevils better than imported hybrids. New seeds may be engineered for resistance but often require chemical reinforcement:“the one who knows the forest does not fear the thorns.” Indigenous seeds yield moderately but reliably, while new seeds promise bumper harvests only when pampered with fertilizers, irrigation, and pesticides. Without these, their performance drops sharply. Cost was another dividing line: they said that the indigenous seeds are often free, saved from previous harvests or exchanged among neighbors …“what is given freely feeds the village.” New seeds, they observed, come with a price tag, often, unaffordable for smallholder farmers. They reminded me that traditional seeds can be replanted season after season; farmers in Karamoja still dry and store sorghum in granaries for future use, while they have to buy new seed every season! New seeds, especially hybrids, are often sterile or legally restricted from reuse. Indigenous seeds reflect biodiversity, a single village may grow five types of beans, each with unique traits. New seeds are uniform, reducing genetic diversity and increasing vulnerability. Local varieties like finger millet and amaranth are rich in iron and calcium, while new seeds may prioritize appearance or shelf life over nutrition, “food is medicine when grown with wisdom”, they reminded me. Indigenous crops also carry robust flavors, with traditional maize for posho tasting richer than commercial hybrids. Seeds like groundnuts and simsim remain central to ceremonies and ancestral offerings, “a seed carries the memory of the people”, whereas new seeds lack cultural ties … “it is a visitor, and after a short while, it must leave“, one member went on to say with others nodding in unison. The women further explained that local markets favor indigenous crops for taste and tradition, while new seeds dominate commercial supply chains. Indigenous seeds require careful storage and renewal, while new seeds are bred for long shelf life, favoring industrial logistics. Traditional seeds grow well with compost and natural rainfall, whereas new seeds demand chemical fertilizers and irrigation, straining both costs and ecosystems. Indigenous seeds have weathered droughts, floods, and heatwaves, while new seeds may collapse under stress, “the old goat knows where the rain hits hardest.” Local seeds are found in homes, markets, and seed fairs, and they belong to the people. New seeds are sold by companies, patented, and often priced out of reach for smallholders. They concluded that indigenous seeds support agroecology, biodiversity, and community resilience. They are low‑risk, surviving under tough conditions, and embody centuries of farmer innovation. Farmers exchange them freely at weddings, funerals, and festivals, “a seed shared is a harvest multiplied.” New seeds, however, are sold under contracts, bred for speed, and often disrupt natural soil cycles. Indigenous seeds enrich the soil through deep roots and organic matter, survive on rain, and resist pests naturally. New seeds deplete nutrients quickly, require irrigation, and depend on chemical sprays and synthetic fertilizers, which pollute water sources. Economically, they said, indigenous seeds keep money in the community, while new seeds funnel profits to corporations. Knowledge of traditional seeds is passed through storytelling and mentorship, while new seeds require manuals and training sessions. Indigenous seeds last for years, empowering communities to feed themselves, while new seeds expire quickly, forcing repurchase and dependency. Traditional farming supports birds, insects, and microbes, while new seeds reduce biodiversity and increase emissions through transport and chemical use. Seed banks and cooperatives promote indigenous seeds, while new seeds are pushed by commercial policies. They described indigenous seeds as reflecting ecological innovation, farmer autonomy, and resilience. Farmers decide what to grow and when, storing seeds in gourds, baskets, or underground pits. New seeds come with conditions, contracts, and require refrigeration or sealed packaging. Traditional seeds vary in size, height, color, shape, and texture, adapting to local needs and cooking traditions. New seeds are standardized for machines, packaging, and shelf life. Indigenous seeds resist endemic diseases, allow flexible harvesting, and survive neglect, bouncing back when conditions improve. New seeds may resist one disease but be vulnerable to others, require synchronized harvesting, and fail without constant care. Finally, they emphasized that seeds like Kinyangw’ekulu, a type of maize that is treasured for its unique flavour, textures, and adaptability to local conditions, native to the batooro, is part of community identity, while new seeds symbolize modernization but erase tradition. Indigenous seeds adapt naturally to changing climates, exchanged through trust and kinship, and remain viable across generations, “what feeds the child today must feed the grandchild tomorrow.” New seeds, however, need constant redesign, are distributed through formal channels, and depend on fragile supply chains. Listening to them affirmed the enduring value of indigenous seeds, not just as agricultural inputs, but as vessels of culture, resilience, and ecological wisdom. Their preservation, they insisted, is not nostalgia; it is a strategy for survival. As one woman concluded, “a seed carries the memory of the people,” reminding us that safeguarding them is safeguarding our future.
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.
The discovery of Pestalotiopsis microspora, a fungus that digests polyurethane, marks a significant breakthrough in environmental science. This rare fungus, found in the Amazon rainforest, has the extraordinary ability to break down polyurethane, a common plastic used in various applications, into organic matter. Notably, it can thrive in environments without oxygen, such as landfills, making it a promising solution for plastic waste management. This natural recycler has the potential to revolutionize plastic waste management and mitigate the environmental impact of plastic pollution. However, possible challenges include scaling up the process, ensuring the fungus’s stability and efficiency in various environments, and assessing potential unintended consequences. Benefits could include reduced plastic waste, decreased environmental harm, and the development of sustainable waste management practices. If successfully implemented, this technology could contribute significantly to a more circular economy and a cleaner environment. Read the Article from Linkedin below: Scientists have discovered a fungus that digests plastic – offering a living solution to one of the planet’s worst pollution problems.Deep in the Amazon rainforest, researchers discovered Pestalotiopsis microspora, a rare fungus with an extraordinary appetite: it can eat polyurethane, a common plastic used in everything from insulation to footwear.Even more astonishing, it does this without oxygen – thriving in environments like landfills where most life struggles.Now studied in environmental labs worldwide, this fungus breaks down plastic by secreting enzymes that dismantle long polymer chains. Unlike many biodegradation processes, this doesn’t just shred the plastic – it metabolizes it completely, turning it into organic matter.Scientists are exploring ways to scale this process into bioreactors or even sprayable enzyme solutions.In the lab, petri dishes show the fungus spreading over plastic fragments, leaving behind soft, earthy residue. It’s a natural recycler evolved in one of Earth’s most biodiverse regions – and it might become a key ally in cleaning our planet.This isn’t science fiction. It’s nature fighting back – with fungus.What breakthrough in environmental science has impressed you most recently?
Plastic pollution has become a pressing global issue, affecting not only the environment but also human health. The production, use, and disposal of plastics contribute to climate change, contaminate soil, and pose serious health risks to humans. Plastics and Climate Change The lifecycle of plastics, from production to disposal, contributes to greenhouse gas emissions, exacerbating climate change. Plastic production relies heavily on fossil fuels, which release emissions during extraction and processing. As plastics break down, they release methane and ethylene, potent greenhouse gases that accelerate global warming. In fact, plastic production generates significant greenhouse gas emissions, contributing to global warming. Impact on Soil Health Microplastics, tiny plastic particles resulting from the breakdown of larger plastics, have emerged as a significant threat to soil ecology. These microplastics disrupt soil structural integrity, alter its physico-chemical properties, and impact soil microbial diversity. This, in turn, affects plant growth, agricultural productivity, and ecosystem balance. Modern farming practices, such as using mulching films and irrigating with wastewater, also contribute to microplastic contamination in agricultural soils. Effects on Human Health The toxic effects of microplastics extend beyond soil and plants to human health. When plants take up microplastics from contaminated soil, these particles can be transported to edible parts, posing serious health risks to humans. Research has revealed the presence of microplastics in various human specimens, including blood, saliva, stool, placenta, and breast milk. Exposure to microplastics has been linked to metabolic disorders, endocrine disruption, immunological abnormalities, neurotoxicity, and organ dysfunction. Health Risks Associated with Microplastics Some potential health risks associated with microplastic exposure include: Microplastics have been found in human tissues and organs, raising concerns about their potential to cause cancer. Microplastics can contaminate food and water, leading to gastrointestinal problems. Microplastics have been linked to cardiovascular diseases, including heart failure. Exposure to microplastics has been found to change reproductive behavior and interfere with normal growth and development in animals. What Can We Do? To mitigate the impacts of plastic pollution on climate change, soil, and human health, we need to adopt a multi-faceted approach ⁴: Promote responsible consumption habits and minimize single-use plastics. Enhance recycling infrastructure and implement effective waste management systems. Encourage the development of eco-friendly materials and innovative solutions to address plastic pollution. Collaborate globally to tackle plastic pollution comprehensively and implement effective policies. By understanding the far-reaching consequences of plastic pollution and working together to address this crisis, we can safeguard our planet for future generations.
partnerships power progress: together we build resilience, protect ecosystems, and unlock opportunities in the green economy
