At low tide on the beaches of Zanzibar, dozens of women wade knee-deep in the turquoise shallows, their skirts billowing like sails. Their hands are calloused, their backs bent, and yet their faces carry something rare quiet determination mixed with pride. For these women, seaweed isn’t just a crop; it’s independence, empowerment, and a lifeline against the waves of poverty.
Seaweed farming in Zanzibar has existed for decades, introduced in the 1980s as an alternative income source for fishing communities. But what began as a small-scale livelihood has, in recent years, evolved into something much bigger and largely female-led. With global demand for seaweed-based products rising, from cosmetics and pharmaceuticals to vegan food stabilizers, the humble algae has become an unexpected export star. More importantly, it has given thousands of women a way to earn, learn, and lead in ways that once seemed unthinkable.
“I started with just two ropes,” says 42-year-old Fatma Suleiman, a mother of four from Paje village. “Now I have ten. I send my children to school. I even fixed our roof.” Her voice carries both pride and exhaustion. The work is grueling: planting seaweed lines in the morning, harvesting in the heat, then drying the slippery fronds under the sun. Yet Fatma wouldn’t trade it for anything else. “This,” she says, holding a handful of glistening kelp, “is our gold.”
And she’s not exaggerating. According to Zanzibar’s Ministry of Blue Economy and Fisheries, seaweed is now one of the island’s top exports, bringing in over $10 million annually. Roughly 80 percent of the workforce behind that number are women. It’s a quiet revolution unfolding in ankle-deep water one that blends traditional coastal knowledge with modern enterprise.
But the tide has not always been kind. Climate change has dealt a heavy blow to seaweed cultivation. Rising ocean temperatures and shifting salinity have caused major declines in production, forcing many farmers to relocate their plots to deeper, cooler waters. That’s where innovation and sisterhood stepped in. With support from local cooperatives and international NGOs, groups of women began experimenting with more resilient seaweed species and better cultivation techniques. They also formed savings and credit associations informal banks by the sea allowing them to invest in gear, transport, and education.
One such group, the Zanzibar Seaweed Cluster Initiative (ZaSCI), has transformed the industry’s trajectory. By linking female farmers to researchers and international buyers, the initiative helped turn raw seaweed into finished products like soaps, body scrubs, and food supplements multiplying income by up to five times. “We don’t just grow it now; we brand it,” laughs Mariam Omar, one of ZaSCI’s coordinators. “The world used to see us as poor women farming the ocean. Now they see us as businesswomen.”
This shift is more than economic. In a conservative society where women’s roles have long been confined to the domestic sphere, seaweed farming has subtly redrawn social boundaries. Many of these women are now the primary earners in their households. They manage money, negotiate with exporters, and attend government workshops. “Before, men decided everything,” says 29-year-old Halima, another farmer from Jambiani. “Now they ask us what we think.” Her grin says the rest.
Still, challenges remain as stubborn as barnacles. Global market prices fluctuate wildly, squeezing farmers’ profits. Middlemen often take the lion’s share, leaving producers with the scraps. Infrastructure is fragile drying racks collapse in storms, and transportation to processing centers is costly. Then there’s the issue of visibility: while seaweed exports enrich national accounts, the women who cultivate them rarely appear in glossy development reports or boardroom conversations about the “blue economy.”
Yet, slowly, that’s changing. Zanzibar’s government has begun to formally recognize women’s cooperatives as key stakeholders in maritime planning. Some universities are offering training in seaweed biotechnology and sustainable aquaculture. There’s even talk of developing eco-tourism experiences where visitors can learn about seaweed cultivation a fusion of culture, conservation, and commerce.
What makes this story compelling isn’t just the economic turnaround, but the symbolism it carries. Across Africa, women are often at the frontlines of both poverty and resilience. The seaweed farmers of Zanzibar prove that empowerment doesn’t always need to come from factories, boardrooms, or foreign aid sometimes it comes from the ocean floor, nurtured by hands that refuse to give up.
As the sun sets over the Indian Ocean, the women haul in their final harvest for the day, laughing and teasing one another. The air smells of salt and seaweed, thick with the promise of tomorrow. Fatma looks out at the water, her silhouette framed by a sky ablaze with gold. “The sea gives us everything,” she says. “You just have to learn to listen to it.”
Maybe the world should start listening too not just to the sea, but to the women who’ve learned to make it speak.
