Silenced voices: Families seek justice for missing fishermen in Lake Victoria's forbidden waters

For more than a decade, villagers along the southern banks of Lake Victoria have lived in quiet fear. In communities like Muganza, Bugwego, and Ibanda, fishermen have regularly vanished without explanation, their families say. The number of missing may be as high as 30 over 10 years, according to one record kept by a local activist.

Most of those who have disappeared are said to have crossed an invisible boundary into forbidden waters on Lake Victoria. The waters around Rubondo Island National Park, a protected wildlife sanctuary, are off limits to fishermen. The island is 26km long and covered in thick forest. It is known as “Tanzania’s Noah’s Ark” due to its rich biodiversity — it is home to chimps, giraffes, elephants and antelope. Its surrounding waters are also rich in fish stocks. 

The families of these disappeared men suspect that park rangers, who consider these fishermen to be poachers, may have had something to do with their loved ones’ disappearance. And some men who have survived encounters with park rangers while on illegal fishing sorties report being shot at with live ammunition. Some say they witnessed their compatriots being killed.

These accounts remain shrouded and murky. It appears that no official record exists of the deaths. No families interviewed for this report said that they had recovered a body. Approached for comment, the park management denied all insinuations that its employees would resort to killing fishermen. The police also denied knowledge of the alleged disappearances. 

Yet, during a field trip by this reporter to the region in March this year, testimonies from widows, survivors, and community leaders revealed a chilling pattern — men being shot at or killed while fishing illegally in Rubondo’s rich, forbidden waters.

On assignment at Lake Victoria

Arriving in Muganza, an area that is less than five kilometres across the waters of Lake Victoria from Rubondo Island, this reporter was met by Hassan Pankalasi.

Pankalasi, a community activist, said he had documented at least 30 cases of missing fishermen dating back to 2014. He began the list after losing his brother, Muganyizi Edward, who was allegedly shot by park rangers in 2015. Today, the list is but a tattered piece of paper with the names of those who supposedly disappeared scribbled on it.

This document cannot stand up as hard evidence of the alleged disappearances. Still, Pankalasi said that it was painstakingly produced by tracing families whose loved ones had disappeared, and men who said they had survived life-threatening encounters with armed men in military fatigues.

“It was a challenge to convince fearful villagers to speak… They were troubled and had no other place to take their concerns,” he said.

Over three days spent with Pankalasi in the region, this reporter met families who spoke with a mixture of trepidation and hope that some answer or justice would come from recounting their experiences. It has now been months since the last alleged disappearance, and these families felt that it might be a time to reflect, even though they had remained silent for much of the past few years.

Zefania Nkandala, village chairman of Bugwego, said that what happened on Rubondo, stayed on Rubondo. Because it was illegal to cross into the island’s waters, villagers rarely reported it if people went missing or drowned while trespassing there.

“Even if you go to ask the authorities, they might question you about what the person was going there to do,” he said.

Philipina Ruben, whose son-in-law Katubele Rubia vanished in 2020, agreed. 

“It is a protected area. Those who go to fish there are considered to be stealing. That’s why we didn’t follow up on it,” she said.

Her daughter, Neema Juma, is now raising four children alone. She still keeps a photo of Katubele taken just a month before he disappeared. 

“I heard the news that he was captured on Rubondo Island. At that time, if you got captured there it was a death sentence,” she said.

Grace James: the last call

One of the most harrowing accounts came from Grace James, 60, who said she had lost both her husband and brother-in-law in separate incidents in 2015.

Her husband, Maginya Mariatabu, called her from a mobile phone while hiding from rangers. 

“He said they were tracking him. I told him to find a hiding place. Then I heard a man’s voice saying ‘Whoever you’re speaking with, tell her she won’t see you again.’ The line went dead,” she recalled.

Maginya’s companions later told her they heard gunshots and saw his body being dragged away by men in military-style uniforms.

Her brother-in-law, Hebere Gideon, died later that same year, she said. She believes he was also killed by what is, according to the accounts of people interviewed, a mysterious unit of rangers or police operating around Rubondo and reportedly dressed in military fatigues.

Another villager, Juliana Rushondante, recalled the last phone call from her son Denis Juliana in January 2020. 

“He told me rangers were chasing them. They hid on a mountain,” she said. She never heard from him again.

A survivor of the encounter returned, and told her that Denis had been shot dead.

Survivors speak, but fishers still risk their lives

A handful of fishermen have indeed lived to tell the tale.

Mugambi Saidi, a fisherman from Muganza, said that he was shot in the hand during a November 2019 encounter. 

“They opened fire. We thought they were just scaring us, but they kept coming. I dove into the water. While swimming, I found a body,” he said.

He described the attackers as masked and in military uniforms — not regular park rangers. 

“They were shouting, calling us poachers, bandits. They shot at me while I was in the water,” Saidi said, showing his injury: a missing finger.

Another survivor, who asked not to be named, was shot in the chest while surrendering in October 2018. He showed a scar but refused to be photographed. 

“Since then, I’ve never gone back to fishing,” he said.

Despite the risks, for some, the draw of Rubondo’s waters remains. 

Fish stocks in legal areas are too low, said Saidi. 

“In Rubondo, you can make 70,000 to 100,000 shillings in a day,” he said. 

The boundary of Rubondo Island’s waters was the margin he had to cross  — again and again — to feed his family and to stave off hunger, he said.

Rumours of a secret kill squad could not be corroborated

Many villagers believe the killings are not random but systematic, conducted by a covert paramilitary unit tasked with “protecting” Rubondo Island.

“We heard rumours that there was a certain unit specifically assigned to those operations. But the problem is we have no evidence,” said Nkandala, the village leader interviewed for this report.

And this problem cannot be understated. While this reporting uncovered anecdotes and allegations of extrajudicial killings, it was not able to find any corroborating evidence or even other references that such a “unit” existed, or that the disappearances or killings of fishermen even occurred. By the families’ and the survivors’ own account, no bodies have been recovered to confirm shootings or violence as the cause of death. The disappearances themselves have not been reported to the police because, villagers say, they fear speaking out due to their status as “poachers” in the eyes of government officials.

Denial and deflection from the authorities

Without further evidence, this reporter could only present the accounts of villagers he interviewed to the authorities for comment.

Approached for comment, the Tanzanian Parks Authority denied all insinuation or allegations that its rangers could have been involved in such killings. 

“I personally have never heard of what you're talking about,” said Dr Imani Kikoti, Chief Warden at Rubondo Island, when approached for comment.

His predecessor, Fredrick Mofuru, who served as chief warden during the years when killings allegedly peaked (2015 to 2021), was equally dismissive.

“If fishermen were killed, why didn’t you ask me back then? So, how can you ask me today about Rubondo when I’m no longer there?”

Law enforcement in the area also pleaded ignorance. 

“There are so many fishermen, and many of them can’t swim, so when their boats encounter even slight turbulence or storms, they often die — and there are crocodiles in the lake,” said Fredy Mpandula, the officer in charge of Chato District’s police station. 

In contrast, villagers say earlier attempts to report the disappearances were met with intimidation. In 2016, community members who submitted a list of victims were summoned by the District Commissioner and told to stop asking questions. 

“They were interrogated, threatened,” said Marco Maduka, secretary of the opposition party Chadema in Chato District. It was made clear this topic was off limits, he said. 

A broader pattern of abuse

The Rubondo fishermen’s stories could not be corroborated by this investigation. However, they fit a pattern in Tanzania. Around the country, other rural communities have faced violence, disappearances, and forced evictions in the name of conservation or resource control.

This against the backdrop of a hardline rhetoric adopted by government officials in the administration of president John Magufuli, who served from 2015 until his death in 2021.

“You’re going into the park to hunt, and then you hunt a giraffe, the National symbol… people like this — if I were to meet them in the park, I would kill them right there,” declared the then Tanzanian Minister of Tourism and Natural Resources, Dr Hamisi Kigwangalla