These are women processing dagaa, a local name for (Rastrineobola argentea), a small pelagic silver fish that feeds millions across East Africa. Dagaa is affordable, nutrient-dense, and deeply woven into regional diets and livelihoods. But its value depends almost entirely on what happens after it is caught. And that responsibility, far more than simply drying fish, rests with women.
In Murutanga village, Muleba District, in Tanzania’s Kagera Region, women who process dagaa are organised into a group called Wanawake na Maendeleo. As they start their day, they do not speak but use the power of observation as they gather quietly near the shoreline. They watch the direction of the wind as it moves across the water. They feel the weight of humidity on their skin. They study the sky, how clouds sit, how fast they travel, how dark they are at the edges. These early-morning rituals serve as quiet forms of assessment.
For generations, the success of dagaa processing depended on precise environmental judgement. A wind shift from the south meant the fish needed to be turned sooner. Heavy midday air demanded wider spacing on the racks. Clouds forming over the Lake signalled urgency; fish had to be gathered before the rain arrived.
These decisions were immediate and collective, shaped by experience rather than instruction manuals. Knowledge passed from mothers to daughters, from seasoned processors to young women just entering the trade. This was ecological intelligence, gendered, embodied, and refined through daily contact with water.
As climate patterns began to shift, the women felt it first. Rainfall became unpredictable. Heat intensified suddenly. Humidity lingered longer into the afternoon. The traditional wooden drying racks, constructed from tree branches and used for decades, started to fail. Termites weakened the structures during prolonged rainy seasons. Fish dried unevenly. Spoilage increased. Buyers rejected entire batches. Climate change was right here, showing up on the racks.
Women were forced to sell dagaa at reduced prices or absorb total losses. For households dependent on this income, the consequences were immediate: less food, fewer school fees paid, diminished autonomy.
But there was a solution, one that didn’t require abandoning tradition. With support from the Environmental Management and Economic Development Organization (EMEDO), an organization that supports small-scale fisheries in Tanzania, in partnership with WorldFish, modern steel drying racks were introduced at the women’s dagaa processing site in Murutanga Village. Elevated above the ground, framed in durable metal, and fitted with mesh that allows consistent airflow, the racks resist termites and reduce contamination from dust, animals, and moisture. To further safeguard both the fish and the women’s labour, the processing area was fenced, minimizing interference from animals, reducing theft, and creating a more secure and dignified workspace.
Capacity increased. Where women once dried five or six buckets per session, around 80 kilograms, they can now process up to eight buckets, or 160 kilograms, at a time. Quality improved. Rejection rates dropped. Income rose.
But the most important element remained unchanged. Despite the introduction of steel frames and improved designs, fish processing continued to depend on women’s ability to interpret wind patterns, assess humidity, and respond to the lake’s daily conditions. In this context, technology functioned to amplify rather than replace their embodied knowledge.
At the drying site, another quiet system sustains the work. Access to the racks is managed collectively, through agreed rosters. Each woman contributes a small fee per bucket into a shared savings fund, locally known as “chanja akaunti”, the drying-rack account. The funds cover maintenance, repairs, and future improvements. Visitors who come to learn from the system also contribute. It’s a shared structure of care and decision‑making.
Shared infrastructure reinforces shared responsibility, and economic resilience grows from cooperation. The drying space has become a social space shaped by trust, accountability, and collective care.
Ocean and Lake literacy is often framed as scientific knowledge, focusing on ecosystems, currents, biodiversity, and climate models. But in Murutanga village, in Muleba, Lake Victoria literacy is lived.
It is knowing when moisture will compromise quality.It is understanding how wind alters drying time.It is navigating governance systems that determine access to fish.It is adapting daily practice in response to environmental uncertainty.
This knowledge is cultivated at the shoreline. Women fish processors occupy a critical yet often overlooked position in aquatic food systems. While men dominate capture fisheries, women safeguard value, nutrition, and safety. Their labour determines whether dagaa reaches distant markets in a condition that sustains both health and livelihoods.
Too often, discussions of climate resilience focus solely on infrastructure and policy. What gets missed is the intelligence of those who engage with water every day. The women of Murutanga village in Muleba hold the knowledge vital for long-term resilience and success of development interventions.
In their hands, dagaa becomes more than fish.It becomes livelihood, memory, and dignity.
Each bucket dried under careful supervision carries generations of experience. Each decision made in response to the sky reflects adaptive capacity rooted in culture. As Lake Victoria continues to change, the women continue to read it, standing at the intersection of climate uncertainty and community survival.
If we want to understand the future of sustainable aquatic food systems, we must start here:at the shoreline, with the women who read the water.
