Meet the ‘Seaweed Mamas’ holding up Zanzibar’s coastal economy

At nine on a bright morning in Paje, a coastal village towards the southeast of the Zanzibar archipelago, the day begins in sync with the sea’s rhythm. “The tide is low,” Ramzan, my guide, tells me as we make our way to the powdery white beach where the ocean reveals a glistening stretch of shallow water. Far away, women wade waist-deep into the sea; their laughter echoes, mingling with the swish of wet skirts in the wind. Ramzan calls out to one of them.

Probably in her late forties, Mwanaidi looks up, smiles, and motions for my friend and me to join her farther out. “Karibu,” she says—Swahili for welcome—as she greets us with a wide smile. Without missing a beat, she begins to show us the craft and care behind her livelihood—seaweed farming—as she threads a piece of red seaweed onto a nylon rope.

When I ask if I can take her picture, she laughs shyly, while others nearby giggle at the request. But once we get to work, she’s focused on teaching us the technique properly. Every time we get it right, she nods approvingly, her smile wide and encouraging. “Too close, and it won’t grow well,” she says in Swahili through the guide, gently nudging my clumsy knots into place.

Affectionately known as the ‘Seaweed Mamas’ of Zanzibar, Mwanaidi and her tribe of women spend most of their days harvesting seaweed and running cooperatives; some of the largest are located in Paje and the nearby village of Jambiani. But their work goes far beyond the shore. They transform raw seaweed into handmade skincare products: balms, lemongrass-scented soaps, bottled oils, and more. These are sold to tourists and increasingly being exported through partnerships with luxury hotels. Not just harvesting, these mamas really know how to brand these products too. Rather than simply exporting raw seaweed abroad, they craft and market these products locally. It’s a shift that not only keeps jobs in Africa but also brings them closer to every step of the process.

The Seaweed Mamas are innovating within tradition. Thanks to these thriving cooperatives, many women now co-own land and contribute significantly to household incomes—something almost unheard of in Zanzibar. This shift is transforming social dynamics: daughters today envision futures that stretch far beyond marriage. What began in the 1980s as a niche, male-dominated export venture has grown into the lifeblood of over 25,000 women across the island. Now, it’s their bridge to a better life.

The matriarchs of the blue economy

Roughly 15 miles off the coast of mainland Tanzania, Zanzibar is a stunning beach destination known for its white-sand shores and laid-back atmosphere. For centuries, long before British colonisation, Zanzibar maintained close ties with Oman and India, a relationship that earned it the nickname ‘Spice Island’ in history books for its rich harvest of cloves, nutmeg, pepper, and cinnamon. Today, while spices are still cultivated and exported, their value has been eclipsed by a new star—seaweed.

Zanzibar is known for cultivating mainly two types of seaweed: Eucheuma cottonii and Eucheuma spinosum—both red algae known for their high carrageenan content, used widely in the food, cosmetic, and pharmaceutical industries. Seaweed farming is now a major economic driver in Tanzania. According to the Bank of Tanzania, the country’s seaweed exports grew by 123 per cent year over year, reaching $2.4 million for the 12 months ending September 2023, up from $1.1 million the previous year. Remarkably, around 90 per cent of the island’s seaweed farmers are women.

It was in the late 1980s that seaweed from the Philippines made its way to Unguja, Zanzibar’s main island. Seaweed farming arrived with the promise of global demand, but it wasn’t until men gradually shifted to more ‘masculine’ trades like fishing that women began stepping into the shallow waters. They didn’t need boats or extra swimming lessons, and they could quickly excel.

Just after dawn on low-tide days, groups of six or seven women make their way into the sea. Their heads are wrapped in brightly patterned kangas and caps to guard against the blistering sun. They tend to their seaweed farms by carefully combing through tangled clusters and harvesting mature strands. Knee-deep in the water, some women drive wooden stakes into the ocean floor and tie fresh seaweed saplings to nylon ropes stretched between them. In just over six weeks, these seedlings grow nearly tenfold and are ready for harvest. The freshly gathered seaweed is carried to the factories in woven baskets.

Some of the seaweed is used locally as food, but most of it is laid out to dry under the sun for further processing. Once dried, it’s ground into a fine powder—used to make organic soaps or sold for export, where it serves as a natural binder in food, cosmetics, and pharmaceuticals worldwide. In a good year, farmers can harvest up to eight to 10 times. According to a 2018 UN report, Zanzibar’s seaweed farmers produced 15,000 metric tonnes, making up 90 per cent of the archipelago’s marine exports and generating $8 million annually.

The mamas lead the way

Ramzan leads us to a small warehouse tucked away in the village. Inside, older women, young mothers with babies strapped to their backs, and middle-aged women work in sync. Some are spreading seaweed out to dry, others are carefully packaging freshly made soaps. At the front, a young woman tends to a modest boutique, its shelves lined with an array of seaweed-based cosmetic products, including soaps, oils, balms, and more. Crafting these products is a meticulous process that the women have spent years perfecting. It involves precise measurements, careful blending of oils, temperature checks, and hand-cutting each soap bar.

“Come, try this,” signals Mwanaidi as she guides us to a wooden table where the soap-making begins. At this workstation, they measure and blend the local oils and stir the mixture to the right consistency.

In a culture that once confined women to the rhythms of the domestic sphere, Zanzibar’s Seaweed Mamas are now rewriting the social script. In the village of Paje, the pulse of this quiet revolution is palpable. Beyond the sea, women are weaving textiles, cultivating crops, running modest home cafés, and opening up family-run hostels for curious travellers. “These mamas represent the first generation of women in Zanzibar to taste true financial independence. These co-operatives offer maternity and sick leave, flexible hours that help these women balance work and the demands of their home,” Ramzan adds.

Earning between $200 to $300 a month, they are no longer reliant on male breadwinners. They have become the primary earners in their households. With their earnings, the women take care of their families—putting food on the table, sending their children to school in shoes and uniforms, paying for their children’s school fees, medical bills, and other daily needs. Many have improved their homes, replacing leafy roofs with cooler gypsum boards.

In many cases, they can purchase homes in their own names—a once unimaginable act of autonomy. In Zanzibar, a predominantly Muslim island, polygamy remains a common practice—many men have multiple wives. In this landscape, the homes these women have purchased with their income represent more than shelter. These homes, modest yet full of character, offer something no dollar figure can define: mental peace. Their financial contributions have elevated their status in the community, giving them a stronger voice in decision-making and local leadership.

An uncertain future

Yet, the changes wrought by climate change don’t spare them either. In recent years, rising ocean temperatures have posed significant challenges to seaweed cultivation. The phenomenon known as ‘ice-ice’ disease causes seaweed to whiten and disintegrate, threatening yields. To combat this, initiatives like Sea PoWer have introduced innovative farming techniques where the women work with local marine scientists, who help explain the climate-driven changes and provide resources to mitigate these environmental stressors. Although the future remains uncertain, these seaweed farmers continue to adapt and push forward.

There’s a Swahili phrase heard often in Zanzibar—pole pole—which means ‘slowly, slowly’. After spending a week there, I began to understand it as a quiet philosophy: to let things unfold in their own time. Much like the way seaweed farming has gently reshaped the lives of women here.