The Ocean Creeps In: Tanzanian Coastal Communities Fight a Losing Battle

A Toyota Cresta sits immobile in the compound of a small home, surrounded by gushing seawater. Credit: Kizito Makoye/IPS - The Ocean Creeps In: Tanzanian Coastal Communities Fight a Losing Battle
A Toyota Cresta sits immobile in the compound of a small home, surrounded by gushing seawater. Credit: Kizito Makoye/IPS
  • by Kizito Makoye (dar es salaam)
  • Inter Press Service

DAR ES SALAAM, Mar 25 (IPS) - What started with a ‘salty’ cup of tea ended with one couple losing their home to climate-change-induced rising sea levels. Solutions, like sea walls, restoration of mangroves, and water management, are too slow to stop the ruin of once-thriving coastal communities.The first time Jumanne Waziri tasted salt in his morning tea, he thought his wife had made a mistake.

“Why did you put salt instead of sugar?” he asked, setting his cup down in their home in Ununio, a quiet suburb north of Dar es Salaam.

His wife, Fatuma, frowned. “I didn’t.” She took a sip from her own cup, and her face twisted in shock.

That was the moment they understood—the ocean had reached them, not in crashing waves, but silently, creeping into their well, seeping through the ground, rising inside their home.

Outside, the Indian Ocean glistened under the morning sun, deceptively calm. But beneath the surface, it had been advancing, poisoning the soil, toppling trees, destroying homes, and tainting underground water. The Waziri family had poured their life savings into their dream home—a house with polished tiles and a breathtaking view of the sea. Now, salt crusted the walls, their backyard had turned into a swamp, and their well water was undrinkable.

“Every morning, I wake up and see the salty water creeping closer. We've spent everything on this home, and now the ocean is taking it away. It’s heartbreaking,” Waziri said.

A Disappearing Coastline

From Ununio to Kunduchi, from Mbezi Beach in Dar es Salaam to Pangani in northern Tanga, families tell the same story. Saltwater intrusion—the silent disaster—is transforming once-thriving neighborhoods into ghost towns.

Beachfront homes, once prized for their views, now stand abandoned, half-submerged in water. Those who remain fight a battle they cannot win.

"When I bought this land 25 years ago, I thought I was building a future," said Rozalia Masawe, 66, pointing at her flooded yard. "Now, the sea is swallowing everything."

Dar es Salaam’s mangroves—nature’s first defense against the ocean—are disappearing fast. Concrete barriers crumble. The shoreline has receded by meters.

"Back then, I’d walk ten minutes to the shore with my fishing net," said Heri Mwinyi, a fisherman in Kunduchi. "Now, I barely step outside before the water reaches my ankles."

A Slow, Deadly Invasion

Saltwater intrusion occurs when seawater seeps into underground freshwater reserves, contaminating drinking water and ruining soil. Unlike hurricanes or tidal waves, it happens slowly, unnoticed—until homes flood, crops fail, or a family realizes their drinking water tastes of salt.

As climate change pushes sea levels higher, ocean water creeps further inland. Meanwhile, excessive groundwater extraction in Dar es Salaam—driven by urban demand and worsening droughts—lowers the water table, allowing seawater to push in even faster.

The crisis is not unique to Tanzania. From Miami to Jakarta, Dhaka to Lagos, coastal communities are watching their land vanish.

"The ocean is gradually encroaching, causing a severe crisis for coastal residents," said Philip Mzava, a hydrologist at the Dar es Salaam Institute of Technology. "We need long-term solutions—better water management, coastal barriers, and mangrove restoration—to protect people’s homes."

The Rich Also Cry

Mariam Suleiman, a wealthy businesswoman, remembers the day she first tasted salt in her tap water.

"I thought something was wrong with the pipes. The truth was much worse," she said.

That was three years ago. Today, her once-pristine mansion is falling apart. The salty breeze that once felt refreshing now carries the smell of decay. When the tide is high, seawater seeps through cracks in her floor, weakening the foundations.

"Every time I step inside, my feet stick to the damp floor. The walls are crumbling. How do you fix a house that’s drowning?" she said.

Once a retreat, her swimming pool is now a stagnant pit.

"I used to sit there with my friends, drinking wine," she said, shaking her head. "Now, I wouldn’t dare put my foot in it."

For years, Ununio and Mbezi Beach were symbols of affluence—exclusive enclaves of luxury. Now, the sea is turning them into wastelands.

"I spent millions on this house," Suleiman said, glancing at her collapsing perimeter wall. "Now, I don’t know if it will even stand in ten years."

Real estate prices have plummeted.

"I used to sell beachfront land like hotcakes," said Amani Mhando, a property developer. "Now, buyers take one look at the flooding and walk away. Even banks won’t finance properties here anymore."

Dar es Salaam at Risk

Home to six million people, Dar es Salaam has always depended on the sea. But the same ocean that built the city is now tearing it down.

Saltwater has reached as far as Mbezi Beach, forcing luxury hotels to shut down.

"This place used to be paradise," said Faiza Khalid, who runs a guesthouse in Ununio. "Now, when visitors arrive, the first thing they ask is, ‘What’s that smell?’ It’s the saltwater, the rot—it’s driving people away."

Businesses are struggling to cope.

"Visitors don’t want to stay here anymore," she said.

A Future Underwater?

The Tanzanian government has launched projects to slow the ocean’s advance—seawalls, mangrove replanting, and groundwater recharge systems. But the problem is growing faster than the solutions.

"Sea levels are rising," said Christina Mndeme, Permanent Secretary in the Vice President’s Office for Environment. "Climate change is melting glaciers, pushing more water into the ocean, and threatening our coastal communities."

In Pangani, once-thriving coconut farms are now wastelands.

"We used to grow everything here," said farmer Said Rashid. "Now, the land is too salty."

For Jumanne Waziri, the future feels bleak.

"They hold meetings, talk about policies, make promises—but while they talk, the ocean keeps coming," he said.

Waziri sighed, running his fingers over the bark of a fallen coconut tree. "Another one gone," he whispered—unsure if he meant the tree, his home, or his hope.

Outside, the ocean kept creeping in.

IPS UN Bureau Report


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