At dawn, as the sun rises across the Indian Ocean, Venance Shayo perches on the edge of his boat, hauling in a net. The sea gently ripples under the breeze and the sound of revving engines.
At Mazimbu village, not far from Tanzania’s Sokoine University of Agriculture (SUA), Stephano Jaka still remembers the night he trapped and killed a rat that had been feasting on his maize cobs – stored in a meticulously woven basket designed to protect grains from rodents.
Environmental activists and farmer groups opposed to the construction of the East African Crude Oil Pipeline (EACOP), the world's longest heated oil pipeline, are mounting a last-ditch legal effort meant to stop its construction in a suit they plan to have filed in London, UK, believing that it stands a chance to stop the controversial project despite being at the 78 percent completion stage.
By the time the auction begins at Nangurukuru fish market in Tanzania’s southern Lindi region, the crisis is already visible. Wooden canoes that once returned from the Rufiji River with heavy catches now bring only a fraction of what they used to. Traders scan for the long-whiskered catfish that once defined the market but find none.
At dawn, the Ruvuma River moves quietly through a vast wetland along the border between Tanzania and Mozambique. Its muddy waters appear calm, disturbed only by drifting logs and the occasional ripple.
A cloud of steam rises from a giant aluminium pot as Maria Joseph, a middle-aged cook in a toque blanche and faded apron, plants her feet firmly on the tiled kitchen floor. With both hands clasped around a wooden paddle, she plunges deep into the mound of rice, threatening to burn at the bottom.
On a rainy Wednesday morning, in Dodoma, the capital of Tanzania, the Standard Gauge Railway (SGR) terminal bustled with a steady flow of passengers. Women ushered toddlers along. Snack bags dangling on their hands. Tourists dragged wheeled suitcases across the floor. Students scrolled through smartphones as they returned to campus. Each had been attracted by the speed, reliability and comfort of the electric train.
At dawn in the mangrove-choked Rufiji estuary, paddles from wooden canoes slice through still waters as a soft voice drifts across the tide.
At dawn in Manzese, a dusty township on the outskirts of Dar es Salaam, silence hangs where the sounds of commerce once roared. The township, usually crowded with street cooks, vegetable vendors, mechanics, and motorcycle taxis snaking through the morning rush, stood eerily empty. Shutters are pulled down, wooden stalls abandoned, and the air is heavy with the smell of burnt rubber. For five days, the township’s bustling economic life has been paralyzed—leaving residents unable to buy food or access basic services.
On a hot afternoon in Kariakoo, Dar es Salaam’s bustling commercial hub, the air is a swirling mix of diesel exhaust, charcoal smoke and dust kicked up by the shuffle of feet. Traders tie handkerchiefs over their noses to deter haze from drifting into their throats and lungs.
Sarah Namukisa nearly missed her final year exams earlier this year. She was subjected to a mandatory pregnancy test—the 25-year-old student at the Medical Laboratory Training School in Jinja was then expelled because she was pregnant.
When the rains pounded through the night, 44-year-old Teresia Katimba clutched her rosary and prayed silently, her fingers trembling with each whispered Hail Mary. A devout Catholic and mother of four, she stayed awake, huddling her children, hoping the floodwaters wouldn’t engulf them.
On the vast plains of Tanzania’s Ngorongoro Conservation Area (NCA), the sight of young Maasai men in bright shawls, wielding sticks as they herd cattle, has long symbolized peaceful coexistence with nature. These herders, moving in harmony with zebras and wildebeests, are inseparable from the landscape. But today, that very identity—nurtured for generations—is under siege.
In East Africa's Tanzania and Uganda, political tensions are rising as they prepare for the next elections. Tanzania goes to the polls in October 2025, while Uganda’s presidential and general elections will take place early in 2026.
With less than six harvest seasons left to meet the Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs), the urgency to find transformative solutions to end hunger, protect the oceans, and build climate resilience dominated the ninth panel session at the 2025 United Nations Ocean Conference in Nice, France.
Just before dawn, the worn wooden dhows begin gliding toward the shore at Magogoni fish market in Tanzania’s port city of Dar es Salaam. Their tattered sails flutter against the orange sky. Exhausted fishers step out onto the muddy sand, hauling frayed nets and plastic crates, their sun-creased faces tight with fatigue.
As global demand for carbon credits rises, Tanzania has become a magnet for carbon offset projects. From Loliondo in Arusha to Kiteto in Manyara, foreign firms and conservation groups are looking for land to capture carbon and sell credits to polluting industries in the Global North. The growing interest in carbon trading has sparked hope, confusion, and concern— putting millions of hectares of village land and the livelihoods of people who depend on it at risk.
The night after her husband was laid to rest, 24-year-old Vivian Magesa sat in the dimly lit brick-walled house, surrounded by women from her late husband’s family. She had spent the past few days in mourning, wrapped in a white shroud, her head shaved as custom dictated. But as the hushed voices of her in-laws filled the room, Magesa realized her grief was far from over.
The first time Jumanne Waziri tasted salt in his morning tea, he thought his wife had made a mistake.
“Why did you put salt instead of sugar?” he asked, setting his cup down in their home in Ununio, a quiet suburb north of Dar es Salaam.
Speaker of the Tanzanian Parliament and President of the Inter-Parliamentary Union (IPU), Tulia Akson, has called for bold and immediate investments in young people to unlock the demographic dividend and accelerate sustainable development across Africa and Asia.
A hush had fallen over Mbarali District, but it was not the quiet of peace—it was the silence of uncertainty.
Just months ago, the rolling plains were gripped by fear as government-backed rangers, dressed in olive green fatigues, roamed through villages, seizing cattle, torching homes, and forcing entire communities to the wobbly edge of survival. The REGROW project, a USD 150 million initiative funded by the World Bank to expand Ruaha National Park (RUNAPA), had promised tourism growth and environmental conservation. What it delivered was a brutal campaign of state-sanctioned land grabbing under the guise of protecting nature.