What if abandoned clay pits could become sources of life?
My name is Syliah Kagiiga, and I come from Mutara Village in Western Uganda, a place where the land tells a story of both abundance and loss. I grew up watching my grandmother harvest papyrus reeds and my father catch fish in waters so clear you could see your reflection. Those wetlands fed us, protected us from floods and connected us to nature’s rhythms.
But alongside that beauty, I watched clay mining shape everything about our community. People dug clay to make bricks, and brickmaking wasn’t just an industry; it was our identity, our economy and our way of life. When the deposits ran out, everything collapsed. The pits that once fueled our economic progress became vast, barren craters collecting stagnant water, breeding mosquitoes and symbolizing lost hope.
Abandoned clay mining pit, Mutara Village. Photo: Eric Paul Matovu
By the time I left for university to study petroleum geoscience, over 10 hectares of our wetlands had been carved into hazardous craters. The papyrus was gone. These water-filled pits had become drowning hazards, claiming five lives, mostly children, in just ten years.
At university, I learned what mining does to ecosystems, how the earth holds together and how it falls apart. Every lecture reflected what was happening back home. But watching my community struggle taught me something universities don’t teach: knowledge without action is just educated helplessness. I began wondering, could the knowledge used to extract resources be used to restore them?
Previous attempts at healing the scars of our landscape, such as tree planting and backfilling proved unsustainable and costly. We needed a solution that was both ecological and economical, restoring land while restoring livelihoods.
Syliah Kagiiga stands at the edge of an abandoned clay pit. Photo: Eric Paul Matovu
Standing at the edge of an abandoned pit in 2023, I saw two futures. One where these scars remained open wounds. Another where we could prove that even devastated land can regenerate if someone is willing to do the work. I began asking, what if these pits could become fishponds? What if restoration could feed families and heal ecosystems simultaneously?
Building SBE Aquafarm
In 2023, my friends and I co-founded SBE Aquafarm with a radical idea: what if these scars could become sources of life? We started with abandoned pits that everyone else had given up on.
A fishpond from the former pits now serves as a source of fish for families. Photo: Simon Peter Walugyo
We began transforming barren craters into productive fishponds, planting native trees along their edges, and training community members in sustainable aquaculture. In two years, we’ve converted 20 hazardous pits into one functioning aquatic ecosystem. We’ve planted native trees, creating corridors for returning bird species. We’ve established fishponds producing protein for 150 families who previously traveled 15 kilometers to access fish.
The work is hard. However, we are restoring belief in our community’s ability to rebuild. We no longer see this collapse as permanent.
Local women entrepreneurs select fish from the harvest. Photo: Simon Peter Walugyo
Our team includes local women, youth and men previously employed in brick-making alongside district fisheries officers and village leaders. Many come from vulnerable households. This isn’t a project happening to our community; it’s a transformation led by our community.
Here’s what I want you to know about our landscape: it’s not dead. Degraded wetlands hold memory. With support, they can become life-giving again. Our fishponds produce food for local markets. Our restored sites grant community members dignity and a source of income. Our tree corridors are rebuilding biodiversity that mining destroyed.
Our partnership with the local government fisheries department helps us get bigger catches. Photo: Simon Peter Walugyo
We’re proving environmental restoration isn’t separate from economic empowerment. When we heal land, we create livelihoods. When we restore ecosystems, we restore hope. This story isn’t unique. Across the world, young people are inheriting degraded lands from extractive industries. But we’re also inheriting the knowledge, technology and determination to heal what’s been broken.
Why youth-Led restoration matters
Youth-led restoration today is critical because we didn’t create these crises, but we’re inheriting their consequences. That gives us urgency because the climate crisis is accelerating and we are not bound by the mentality that “this is just how things are.”
Young people bring creativity born from necessity. We’re comfortable with technology, connected across borders and willing to experiment with approaches that combine traditional knowledge with innovation. We understand restoration must address food security, employment, climate resilience and social justice simultaneously as these aren’t separate challenges; they’re interconnected realities.
Most importantly, youth-led restoration is about reclaiming agency. We’re not waiting for distant experts. We’re starting where we are, with what we have, proving communities can lead their own transformation.
If you’re thinking about your own landscape, whether it’s an abandoned mining site, degraded farmland, depleted forest or polluted waterway, you don’t need perfect conditions to start. You only need the belief that transformation is possible and the willingness to begin. Look at what others have written off. Ask different questions. Build with your community, not for them. Combine technical knowledge with deep respect for local wisdom. Start small, but start.
A clear illustration of post‑mining landscape damage, with eroded pits now filled with muddy water. Photo: Eric Paul Matovu
Our fishponds began as a question: What if these scars could become sources of life? That question is transforming our landscape, our livelihoods and our sense of what’s possible.
What question might transform yours?