Cameroon fishers plant mangroves to bring back their catches

Henry Belle Ekam has been fishing the Wouri Estuary near Douala for most of his life, but lately the water has been keeping its secrets. On a recent morning, hours of paddling yielded just one small catfish. "A few years back, you didn't need to go far to have a good harvest," he says, coiling his empty net. "Everything has changed."

The change is real. Fish catches have collapsed across the estuary, and the culprit is visible from shore: the mangrove forests that once lined these waters have been steadily disappearing. Mangroves aren't just scenery—they're a nursery. Fish larvae shelter in their tangled roots, growing strong enough to venture into open water. Without them, there's nowhere for the next generation to hide.

But Ekam and his neighbors aren't waiting for someone else to fix this. In November 2022, the Cameroon Mangrove Ecosystem Restoration and Resilience (CAMERR) project launched with an ambitious target: restore 1,000 hectares of mangrove forest over the next 30 years across the Wouri River estuary. It's a partnership between the Cameroonian government, international NGOs, and local organizations—the kind of coalition that rarely gets off the ground, let alone stays committed.

The Work Is Already Underway

The Watershed Task Group, a local nonprofit, is leading much of the restoration effort. They've already planted more than 100 hectares of mangroves in the Cameroon and Ntem river estuaries. In Bojongo, the neighborhood where Ekam fishes, the local administrative council is running a parallel restoration initiative funded by the United Nations Environment Programme.

These aren't small garden projects. Replanting a mangrove forest means understanding soil conditions, tidal patterns, and which species will actually take root in a given spot. It means training local people to do the work, which also means creating jobs in a community where fishing alone no longer sustains everyone. The restoration sites become living classrooms—residents learn why mangroves matter, and they become invested in protecting what they've planted.

The timeline is honest about the scale of the challenge. Thirty years is a long commitment, and it reflects the reality that mangrove forests don't bounce back overnight. But it also signals something else: these communities aren't treating this as a crisis to panic about. They're treating it as a problem with a solution, and they're building the infrastructure to see it through.

For Ekam and other fishers, the payoff is years away. But the work has already started, and for the first time in a while, the water is being given a reason to be generous again.