Tag: africa

In December 2025 Ghana reversed a law that, in Daryl Bosu’s view, should never have been passed. The Environmental Protection (Mining in Forest Reserves) Regulations of 2022 had opened nearly 90% of the country’s forest reserves to mining, including areas of global ecological importance. Bosu argues that the repeal marked a rare moment when public pressure forced a decisive course correction.

Ghana’s forests, he notes, cover more than 9 million hectares and underpin water supplies, local climates, and rural livelihoods. Yet the country has become one of the world’s leading hotspots for mining-related deforestation. Industrial mining is the main driver, and the 2022 regulations accelerated the damage by allowing permits at scale while illegal mining continued largely unchecked.

Much of the harm, Bosu says, comes from galamsey, illegal small-scale mining that has long operated at the margins of forest reserves. Before 2022, companies were kept out by law, even if enforcement was weak. The surge in global gold prices changed that balance. With deposits lying beneath protected forests, the government argued that extraction would boost revenues. What followed, according to Bosu, was an “unprecedented attack” on forests, including incursions by politically connected firms.

Opposition to the law spread well beyond environmental groups. Trade unions, faith institutions, civil-society organizations, and public figures joined protests, petitions, and strikes. In October 2024 dozens of demonstrators were detained. Bosu describes it as the first time he had seen collective action in Ghana coalesce around such a specific environmental demand.

The repeal, passed swiftly after a change of government, is only a starting point, he argues. New proposals, including a gold-traceability system and a national forest-protection strategy, will test whether Ghana can curb mining damage while ensuring benefits reach local communities. The victory, in his telling, has opened a narrow but real path forward.

Uganda’s decision to elevate Echuya Forest to national-park status have given one of Africa’s most elusive predators a better chance at survival, reports Sean Mowbray.

The African golden cat survives by staying unseen. That strategy has failed it. In forest reserves, snares set for bushmeat and steady habitat degradation have taken a significant toll. Camera traps tell the story. In nearby Bwindi Impenetrable National Park, a golden cat appears within days. In Echuya, it took months.

“Having Echuya elevated to that level of protection is massive,” says Badru Mugerwa, founder and director of Embaka, who has spent years documenting the decline. “Protected areas, especially national parks, remain the strongholds.”

The upgrade matters beyond one species. Echuya’s montane forest shelters endemic birds and primates, and it sits in a region where ecological margins are thin. Uganda’s broader decision to add six national parks signals a bet that protection still works.

It also raises familiar tensions. Communities depend on the forest for livelihoods, and some worry about new restrictions or relocated wildlife. Uganda’s answer has been to pair protection with revenue sharing and negotiated access, borrowing lessons from elsewhere.

National-park status is not a cure. Enforcement, trust, and time will decide the outcome. But for a cat being pushed toward extinction by invisibility, attention is a start—and sometimes that is enough to change the trajectory.

Last month Congo Basin governments used the COP30 summit in Belém to unveil a payments-for-environmental-services scheme meant to shift incentives for communities that rely on forests. The plan, backed by the Central African Forest Initiative, sends money directly to farmers and other participants through a mobile app. Payments are tied to verified tasks such as agroforestry, reforestation, forest regeneration, conservation work, and deforestation-free agriculture, reports Anne Nzouankeu.

Officials say the system has moved beyond the experimental stage. “Hundreds of farmers are already under contract and the first direct mobile payments based on performance were successfully made this month, confirming the efficiency and fairness of the system,” Kirsten Schuijt, director-general of WWF International, told Nzouankeu. Pilot efforts in the Democratic Republic of Congo and the Republic of the Congo now cover nearly 3,000 hectares and involve about 10,000 people. In Gabon, 15 villages are slated to sign conservation contracts next year that will apply to roughly 50,000 hectares.

To expand the model, CAFI has pledged another $100 million, in addition to the $25 million already committed. Whether that funding translates into durable results will depend on execution. Roger Pholo Mvumbi, who leads a DRC civil-society platform focused on food security, argues that precision matters. “The deployment of Payments for Environmental Services is a fine initiative, on the sole condition that the real producer is formally identified,” he said. Without that, benefits could drift away from those doing the work.

The urgency is clear. The Congo Basin lost more than 35 million hectares of forest between 1990 and 2020, with clearing driven by farming, fuelwood demand, logging and mining. Pholo sees the new approach as one way to slow the trend.

“The payment system can precisely offer communities alternative incomes by remunerating them for practices that preserve the forest rather than destroy it,” he told Nzouankeu.

In northern Kenya’s Samburu National Reserve, elephants once starved and parched by drought now graze in knee-high grass. The rains that began in late 2023 transformed the landscape into a lush plain of acacia and tangled vegetation.

“These were salad days for the Samburu elephants,” writes journalist Hillary Rosner in ROAM: Wild Animals and the Race to Repair Our Fractured World, published by Patagonia. Her visit to the reserve early in 2024 captures both the beauty of recovery and the fragility of coexistence in a country racing toward modernity.

From a field camp beside the Ewaso Ng’iro River, researchers with Save the Elephants have tracked hundreds of individuals since 1997, fitting them with GPS collars that reveal “elephant highways” across northern Kenya. The data show how herds migrate in search of water and acacia seed pods, crossing communal grazing lands and private plots in intricate seasonal patterns. But those ancient corridors are fast disappearing. As Rosner observes, “by building roads and rail lines, putting towns and cities in the midst of elephant roads, and erecting fences that make it impossible for the animals to cross, humans are cutting off the elephants’ ability to move across the landscape.”

Kenya’s push to achieve middle-income status by 2030 hinges on vast infrastructure projects: railways, highways, and new towns springing up along transport routes. The Standard Gauge Railway—funded by China’s Belt and Road Initiative—has already bisected two national parks. The next wave of expressways and private land conversions threatens to wall off the remaining migration routes entirely.

Rosner’s account centers on one such bottleneck near the settlement of Oldonyiro, where GPS maps show the animals’ meandering tracks condensing into a single line—a narrow, perilous passage through encroaching development. Conservationist Benjamin Loloju, a local Samburu who earned an “elephant scholarship” from Save the Elephants, works with communities to mark and preserve corridors before they vanish. Yet even he admits, “We already think maybe we have been late for Oldonyiro.”

The elephants adapt, forging new routes where they can, but each fence and erosion gully narrows their options. Rosner’s narrative makes plain what data alone cannot: that Kenya’s test of progress is not only economic. The country’s future—and that of its elephants—depends on whether it can build prosperity without severing the ancient paths that bind the wild to the human world.

An excerpt from ROAM.

In the forests of Maniema province, fifty African gray parrots soared back into the wild this October, marking a small victory against one of Central Africa’s most persistent wildlife crimes. The birds had spent a year recovering at a sanctuary run by the Lukuru Foundation after being rescued from traffickers. Since its creation, the foundation has rehabilitated nearly 400 parrots, but much work remains, reports Didier Makal.

A new decree issued in July 2025 bans the capture, trade, and possession of African gray parrots in the Democratic Republic of Congo. Yet poaching continues. “It is good to have a ministerial decree banning poaching, but there needs to be action on the ground,” said conservationist Corneille Kalume.

The trade is brutal: only a third of captured birds survive the journey from forest to buyer. 

The Lukuru Foundation and the Congolese conservation agency have established rehabilitation centers across the country, including a new one at Kisangani Zoo. Caring for the birds is costly—feeding 100 parrots can exceed $2,000 a month—but the greater challenge lies beyond the cages. Conservationists fear that once released, the same parrots could be caught again, unless enforcement and community engagement take flight alongside them.

From the slopes of a volcano on Bioko Island in Equatorial Guinea comes the 1,500th bat species known to science, reports Shreya Dasgupta.

Researchers have named it Pipistrellus etula—“etula” meaning “island” or “nation” in the Bubi language. The tiny insect-eating pipistrelle marks a symbolic milestone for mammalogy and a reminder of how much remains undiscovered. “It reminds us how much biodiversity remains undocumented, particularly in under-surveyed regions like Central Africa,” said Laura Torrent, lead author of the study.

The discovery traces back to 1989, when a handful of specimens were first caught near Bioko’s Biao Peak. Decades later, genetic analyses confirmed they represented a new species adapted to montane environments where no other vesper bats are known.

Scientists warn that logging, construction, and rising temperatures could threaten its fragile volcanic habitat—a microcosm of broader conservation challenges.

In the damp undergrowth of Cameroon’s Lobéké National Park, where forest elephants slip through the forest unheard and gorillas emerge with the dusk, one woman charts a course both personal and profound.

Marlyse Bebeguewa was once just a name on the roster of porters, hauling gear for others. Today, she is at the forefront of conservation in one of Central Africa’s richest but least accessible protected areas, report David Akana and Yannick Kenné.

Born in 1987 into a Bantu family, Bebeguewa was raised by her mother after her father died assisting scientists in the forest. Financial hardship forced her to leave school early. But rather than succumb to circumstance, she followed a trail—both literal and metaphorical—blazed by her father. At 18, she took a job as a porter. A year later, she trained as a guide. By 2014, when Lobéké’s management sought ecological monitoring assistants, she was the only woman selected—and promptly made team leader.

Her rise, achieved without formal education beyond secondary school, reflects the latent capacity often overlooked in local communities. It is also an implicit rebuke to a conservation model that has historically marginalized Indigenous and local actors, especially women.

Now a consultant with WWF, Bebeguewa uses acoustic sensors and camera traps to track endangered species and detect threats, merging new technology with on-the-ground knowledge. She mentors other women and works to bridge divides between Bantu and Baka communities—relationships that remain fraught in a region marked by deep inequities.

Yet the barriers she confronts are not just cultural or gendered. Lobéké remains chronically underfunded, difficult to reach, and underutilized as a tourism asset.
“We need more communication tools,” she says, referring to the basic radios shared among teams.

Still, Bebeguewa endures. Her work is both an act of remembrance and an investment in the future. She has built a home, educated her children, and dreams of a day when her descendants might take up the same cause.
“Even if I’m no longer working there someday, I hope my children or grandchildren will continue in this field.”

Conservation, for her, is not an abstract endeavor. It is daily, physical, communal.

And it begins, as hers did, with the simple act of showing up.

In the quest to restore Africa’s threatened forests, seed collectors are learning to ascend towering trees, sometimes over 50 meters tall, to gather the perfect seeds, reports Ruth Kamnitzer. This method is not only an art but a necessity in a world where many native tree species face extinction.

Sebastian walaita javan, curator at Tooro Botanical Gardens in Uganda, has spent over 25 years perfecting the technique of high tree climbing to collect seeds, teaching others to follow in his footsteps. In a team of three, climbers use ropes, harnesses, and spurs to scale massive trees, collecting mature seeds from the canopy before returning to the ground. The practice is integral to the African Forest Landscape Restoration Initiative (AFR100), which aims to restore 100 million hectares of land by 2030.

Native species are critical to maintaining biodiversity, but collecting their seeds is not without challenges. Walaita explains that seeds found on the ground are often too old, contaminated, or too immature to germinate. Climbing the trees is the only way to access the healthiest seeds at the right time—seeds that could hold the key to preserving endangered species. Yet, many local botanists struggle to reach high branches without proper training or equipment.

In September 2024, Walaita took his skills to Côte d’Ivoire, where he trained Ivorian botanists on how to safely harvest seeds from tall trees for reforestation efforts, focusing on native species. This is part of a wider movement to shift from planting non-native species like teak to those that are indigenous, more suited to the local ecosystem, and crucial for long-term restoration.

As reforestation efforts grow, so does the need for safe, sustainable ways to collect seeds and promote biodiversity. With the right training the next generation of tree climbers may have the tools to restore the forests that sustain Africa’s wildlife and people.