A land of stark contrasts, Botswana grapples with the increasingly erratic whims of a climate in flux. Just months after the government declared an “extreme agricultural drought year” for 2023-2024, the parched earth has been transformed by torrential rains, bringing floods where once there was only dust. This whipsaw effect, a hallmark of climate change, lays bare the nation’s struggle to adapt, leaving communities reeling and livelihoods hanging in the balance.
The recent drought, a cruel trilogy marking the country’s third consecutive year of agricultural despair, decimated crop yields and plunged over a tenth of the population into food insecurity. El Niño, the immediate culprit, served as a grim reminder of the broader trend: a world where droughts are becoming more frequent and brutal, a consequence of humanity’s relentless carbon footprint.
Yet, as quickly as the drought gripped the land, it released its hold. The heavens opened, unleashing floods that, while welcome in their quenching of the thirst, brought a new wave of devastation. Crops were destroyed, fields waterlogged, and the delicate dance of planting and harvesting was disrupted.
“More unpredictable and unreliable rainfall,” is how Leslie Olesitse, head of environment at Ecosurv, a Botswana environmental consultancy, describes the nation’s new reality. “Longer dry spells and more intense rainfall when it does occur.”
Driving through the Central district, the scars of the drought were still visible: scorched grazing lands, a landscape devoid of green. In villages like Majwaneng and Ratholo, the despair was palpable. “There are no signs of rain; we have even given up on ploughing our fields this year,” lamented Gadimang Arabang, a farmer from Majwaneng. “Crops seem not to adapt in this heat and lack of rain.”
The reliance on rain-fed agriculture, a cornerstone of life in Central Botswana, has become a perilous gamble. “The rains are gone,” said Phetogo Bonang, another Majwaneng farmer. “Hope is lost such that even the Department of Meteorological Services does not know what is happening. We can’t grow anything, because we no longer receive regular rains like when I was younger.”
The economic and social toll is immense. Staple foods like sorghum meal, once readily available, are now confined to urban centres, exacerbating malnutrition and economic instability. Livestock, too, has suffered, with thousands succumbing to drought.
As the seasons shift, so do the narratives. While scientists point to climate change, many in rural communities cling to traditional beliefs, attributing the drought to a decline in cultural values. “The only thing that has changed is the fact that people no longer observe cultural beliefs,” argued Arabang. “Those are the things that lead to all this climate change.”
The challenge lies in bridging this divide, integrating traditional knowledge with scientific understanding to foster effective adaptation strategies. The government, alongside NGOs, is attempting to mitigate the damage, providing subsidies for animal feed and food relief. Longer-term solutions, such as promoting drought-resistant crops and livestock breeds, are also being explored.
President Duma Boko, in his recent address, spoke of a future reliant on “precision farming, smart water management systems, soil enhancement technologies and regenerative agriculture.” He also pledged investment in renewable energy.
Yet, the urgency is clear. The story of Botswana is a microcosm of a global crisis, a stark reminder that climate change is not a distant threat, but a present reality. The nation’s ability to adapt, to bridge cultural divides and embrace sustainable practices, will determine its fate in a world increasingly defined by climatic extremes.
