ZANZIBAR, Tanzania

It was barely dawn when the tide began to crawl back into the Indian Ocean, leaving behind rows of sparkly seaweed.

In the small village of Paje, along Zanzibar’s southeastern coast, 38-year-old Asha Musa stood waist-deep in the salty water, a coil of nylon rope slung over her shoulder and a determined look on her face.

She moved with graceful precision, with her feet navigating the soft seabed and her hands looping strands of red seaweed around the line.

She was cultivating marine crops, and with them, a future for women who, like her, had once been confined to the margins of the fishing world.

“The sea raised me,” she said, her eyes fixed on the turquoise horizon. “And now, I must protect it.”

Musa is the founding chairperson of Umoja wa Wanawake wa Mwani Zanzibar – a thriving cooperative of nearly 50 seaweed farmers, all women, who are using the ocean not just to earn a living but to fight climate change.

Once limited to sorting fish or drying sardines under the scorching sun, these women are stepping into the heart of marine conservation.

“At first, they said this was not work for women,” she recalled, hoisting a bucket of harvested seaweed. “But we didn’t listen. Now, the government listens to us.”

Power from the periphery

In 2017, Musa and a group of 11 women started the cooperative with nothing but shared frustration and a few leftover ropes.

Today, their seaweed plots stretch across the shallow waters like a green underwater quilt. They now employ solar-powered dryers, experiment with temperature-resilient seaweed varieties, and run workshops on sustainable harvesting.

“Climate change nearly destroyed our work,” she explained. “Rising temperatures were bleaching the seaweed. But with training from marine scientists and the support of TAWFA, we’ve adapted.”

TAWFA, the Tanzania Women Fish Workers Association, has been instrumental in backing women fishers like Musa. Founded in 2019, it now operates in all major water bodies across Tanzania and has grown into a powerful advocacy platform for female fishers, processors, and traders. With help from the UN Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO), the group is transforming livelihoods and policies alike.

“We’re no longer invisible. Our members understand their rights, speak up in local councils and are beginning to access the same support long reserved for men,” said Beatrice Mbaga, TAWFA’s national chair.

Sisterhood across oceans

Thousands of miles away in the sticky, silt-heavy swamps of Davao Gulf in southern Philippines, Rosalie Calderon, 47, is knee-deep in brackish water, balancing a basket of mangrove seedlings on her head.

Calderon leads the Mangrove Mothers – a tight-knit group of 30 women who have restored over 30 hectares (74 acres) of coastal mangrove forest since 2018. Every Saturday, without fail, they trudge through the sludge to plant native saplings that serve as natural barriers against typhoons.

“These roots saved our homes,” she said, pointing to the thick mangrove trunks nearby. “They hold the soil, stop the waves. Without them, we would have nothing.”

Their work has earned recognition from local government, international NGOs, and most recently, the UN.

Last month, Musa and Calderon crossed paths for the first time at the United Nations Ocean Conference in Nice, France. Among more than 7,000 delegates from 120 nations, their panel, hosted by UN Women and FAO, was the most packed room of the morning.

When Musa stood up and declared, “Women are not just victims of climate change. We are frontline responders,” the crowd erupted into applause.

“It was surreal,” Calderon said afterward. “To find someone halfway across the world facing the same battles – and winning.”

At a side event called Coastal Women Rising, the two sketched plans for a new exchange program – a transoceanic sisterhood between women seaweed farmers in East Africa and mangrove restorers in Southeast Asia. They want to share techniques, build solidarity, and create a joint voice strong enough to influence global climate policy.

Fighting a system stacked against them

Despite their achievements, both Musa and Calderon face enormous odds.

According to FAO, women make up nearly half of the global small-scale fishing workforce, but receive less than 15% of the support, training and financing allocated to the sector. In many countries, women are not allowed to own boats or attend decision-making meetings without male permission.

“Policy is blind to us,” said Leticia Uy, a gender expert from the Southeast Asian Fisheries Development Center. “They still design programs assuming the fisher is a man.”

But cracks are forming in that old system.

At the Nice conference, FAO launched a new Blue Gender Index, measuring how well countries include women in ocean governance. The event’s final declaration also called for “gender-responsive ocean policies” and direct funding for community-led marine initiatives.

Maria Helena Semedo of FAO summed it up bluntly: “Women must be seen not as passive beneficiaries, but as architects of change.”

Policy meets practice

Back in Tanzania, the government is beginning to catch up.

In 2021, the Ministry of Livestock and Fisheries signed the National Plan of Action for Small-Scale Fisheries, which for the first time recognized women’s leadership as essential to sustainable fisheries. A year earlier, the ministry established a dedicated gender desk, although many say support still needs to reach local levels.

During TAWFA’s General Assembly in Kigoma last November, government officials, bankers and NGO leaders gathered with women fishers from Lake Victoria, Lake Tanganyika, and the Indian Ocean.

“We recognize the economic force these women represent. This sector cannot thrive without them,” Edwin Mhede, deputy secretary of Tanzania’s Livestock and Fisheries Ministry, told the crowd.

In Paje, Musa’s group is already looking ahead.

They have drafted a proposal to register Zanzibar’s first women-run seaweed export company. Younger members are training in seaweed biology, GPS mapping, and bookkeeping. One of them, 19-year-old Salma Omar, never imagined a future in marine science until she met Musa.

“She gave me gloves and told me, ‘Try.’ Now I want to be a marine biologist,” Omar said with a grin.

In Mindanao, Calderon’s group is taking similar steps. They have worked with village councils to pass bylaws protecting mangrove zones from illegal logging. High school girls now help run nurseries and monitor regrowth using simple drone footage.

“We plant trees, but we’re also planting confidence,” Calderon said. “Our daughters must inherit not just roots, but a voice.”