Before sunrise, Akello Miriam, a mother of five, hauls her yellow jerrycan along the dusty path toward the Aswa River. The old borehole near her home broke three months ago, and clean water is now a three-hour walk away. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” she mutters, dust clinging to her sandals. “We used to have wells providing clean water even in the dry season, but now it’s all contaminated.”
Down at the riverbank, the scene is chaotic yet strangely rhythmic. Mothers, fathers, and even children wade into the murky water armed with hoes, spades, and basins. They dig, wash, and heap sand, preparing it for sale to construction buyers. Women cook local bread and small meals, selling them to the miners. What once was a clean river, vital to both life and farming, has become a hub of business, survival, and silent danger.
For Acak Hellen, a former farmer from Bolnyapo-piny village, sand mining replaced a farming income that never reliably fed her family. Today, she earns between UGX 60,000 and 110,000 per trip. “When it started raining heavily, the running water carried sediments we would collect and sell as sand,” she explains. “We stopped ploughing on loan because it didn’t pay, and turned to sand mining to support our children.”
Yet the work comes at a cost. Miners face chronic skin infections and the constant danger of being buried by shifting sand. Flavia Angom, a mother of three, continues despite recurrent candidiasis, citing the need to provide for her family. “Even if farming yields more, my children have to eat and go to school,” she says.
Local leaders warn of severe ecological damage. Ambrose Okare, an environmental officer in Lira District, says wetlands and rivers have become degraded and silted. “This sand is good for building, that’s why people use it. But it brings soil erosion, contaminates water, and affects aquatic life,” he explains.
Siltation—the deposit of fine particles in the river—has intensified due to human activity. The river, once navigable and teeming with life, now runs slower, shallower, and murkier, affecting ecosystems that have supported communities for generations.
Extreme weather worsens the crisis. Flash floods, recurring droughts, and unpredictable rainfall increasingly compromise water security. Only 57% of residents in the Aswa II sub-catchment have access to improved water sources, while 18% have access to proper sanitation. Akello Miriam, a mother of five, now walks three hours to reach water after the local borehole broke down.
A Lucrative Yet Unregulated Business
Globally, sand mining is a massive business, with 50 billion tons used annually, according to the UN Environment Program. In Uganda, the informal sand sector generates income for local families but yields no government revenue. Naomi Karekaho, communications manager at NEMA, says the agency is working to regulate the sector and penalize illegal mining, but challenges persist.
A study by Join for Water and the Water Resources Institute, with support from the Conrad N. Hilton Foundation, highlights the need for combined environmental and community-focused interventions. Recommendations include rehabilitating degraded ecosystems, promoting sustainable sand alternatives, improving water resource governance, and using data-driven decision-making.
The story of the Aswa River is a microcosm of Uganda’s struggle to balance economic opportunity, environmental conservation, and public health. Sand mining provides critical income, yet jeopardizes water quality, human health, and biodiversity. Climate change compounds the risks, threatening access to clean water and livelihoods. Without coordinated action, the river—and the communities depending on it—may face irreversible damage.
