Very little investment is made because waste doesn't make money
In the Oshikoto region of Namibia, a quiet daily act — a mother burying her child's used nappy in the earth — has multiplied across thousands of households into an environmental crisis that now threatens the water, soil, and health of an already water-scarce people. What was invented in 1948 as a convenience has become, in places without the infrastructure to absorb it, a burden that outlasts generations: disposable nappies take more than 500 years to decompose, leaching microplastics and chemical contaminants into the very groundwater communities depend on. A Strategic Environmental Assessment has named this crisis explicitly, yet the gap between what authorities believe is happening and what residents live each day remains wide. The story of Oshikoto's nappies is, at its core, the story of what happens when modern consumption reaches places that modernity's infrastructure has not.
- Disposable nappies are accumulating in open spaces, streams, and rivers across Oshikoto — not through negligence, but because thousands of households have no formal alternative.
- Each buried nappy is a slow-release capsule of microplastics and human waste, quietly poisoning groundwater that communities and livestock cannot afford to lose.
- The regional council insists bins exist and are emptied monthly, while residents dig holes in village soil — a disconnect that reveals how invisible this crisis remains to those with the power to address it.
- Environmental activists argue the root cause is political: waste management generates no revenue, so it receives no investment, turning an aesthetic nuisance into a compounding public health emergency.
- A Strategic Environmental Assessment has now named nappy waste a 'high' environmental concern and is calling for dedicated disposal infrastructure, private-sector partnerships, and urgent public education campaigns.
- Without intervention, the pressure on Oshikoto's already strained water resources and sanitation systems will deepen — one buried nappy at a time, across a region that cannot afford to wait 500 years.
A mother in rural Namibia digs a hole, buries her child's used nappy, and walks away. It is a practical solution — and, multiplied across thousands of households in the Oshikoto region, an environmental crisis.
The disposable nappy was invented in 1948 by an English mother exhausted by cloth washing. The convenience it promised has, in places without the infrastructure to manage it, become a burden. Ester Sheekeni, mother of a one-year-old, has access to municipal bins in town. In her home village of Okakoko, she digs. Her workaround is emblematic of a larger failure: Oshikoto lacks the formal waste disposal systems to handle what a Strategic Environmental Assessment has now named a major crisis, concentrated in the Onyaanya, Oniipa, and Onayena constituencies.
The consequences are measurable. Nappies cluster near streams and rivers, contaminating surface water and groundwater with human waste, synthetic fibres, and polyurethane that takes more than 500 years to decompose. As they break down, they release microplastics into soil and water systems. In a region already facing water shortages and inadequate sanitation, contaminated sources create an immediate public health emergency — particularly for vulnerable populations exposed to hazardous materials mixed into unmanaged waste.
The regional council, through spokesperson Petrus Nehale, says it has received no complaints and that bins are emptied monthly. The statement reveals a stark disconnect from what residents experience. Environmental activist Freddy Koujo offers a sharper diagnosis: waste management is neglected because it generates no revenue. Investment has not followed need, and the result is both an aesthetic and environmental failure.
The assessment calls for strengthened collection systems, community and private-sector partnerships, dedicated disposal solutions for non-recyclable products, and public awareness campaigns. The warning is clear: without action, Oshikoto's water resources and public health will face mounting pressure. Globally, more than 300,000 disposable nappies are incinerated every minute. In Oshikoto, they are being buried in the ground — one village, one hole, one generation at a time.
A mother in rural Namibia digs a hole in the ground, buries her child's used disposable nappy, and covers it over before returning to town. It is a practical solution to an invisible problem—one that plays out across the Oshikoto region in small acts of disposal that, multiplied across thousands of households, has become an environmental crisis.
The irony runs deep. In 1948, an English mother named Valerie Hunter-Gordon, exhausted by washing cloth nappies, invented the disposable version using cotton wool and old parachute fabric. The Paddi, as it was called, promised convenience. Seventy years later, that same convenience has become a burden the Oshikoto region cannot bear.
Ester Sheekeni, a mother of a one-year-old, experiences this tension directly. In town, she has access to municipal bins. In her home village of Okakoko, she has no such option. She digs. She buries. She leaves. Her workaround is emblematic of a larger failure: the region lacks the formal waste disposal infrastructure to handle what has become one of its most pressing environmental challenges. A Strategic Environmental Assessment of Oshikoto's integrated regional land-use plan names disposable nappies explicitly as a major waste management crisis, with the problem concentrated in the Onyaanya, Oniipa, and Onayena constituencies.
The consequences are measurable and alarming. Nappies litter open spaces, cluster near streams and rivers, and accumulate at unmanaged dumping sites. Because they are often discarded close to water sources—sometimes containing human waste—they contaminate both surface water and groundwater that communities and livestock depend on. The synthetic fibres and polyurethane in disposable nappies take more than 500 years to decompose. As they break down, they fragment into microplastics that infiltrate soil and water systems. The assessment describes solid waste management in Oshikoto as a "high" environmental concern, driven by population growth and increasing waste generation. The timing compounds the crisis: several constituencies already face water shortages and inadequate sanitation infrastructure. Adding contaminated water sources to that equation creates a public health emergency.
Unmanaged waste creates unhygienic conditions that expose people to hazardous materials—broken glass, medical waste, and other dangerous objects mixed into household refuse. The health risks are not theoretical. They are immediate and concentrated among vulnerable populations already struggling with limited access to clean water and sanitation.
The regional council has offered a different narrative. Petrus Nehale, the Oshikoto Regional Council spokesperson, says the council has received no complaints about bin shortages or nappy disposal challenges. Public dustbins exist in the area and are emptied monthly. The statement suggests a disconnect between what the council believes is happening and what residents experience on the ground.
Environmental activist Freddy Koujo from Aminius frames the problem differently: as a failure of investment and political will. Waste management is overlooked because it generates no revenue. Municipalities and authorities have not invested adequately in waste collection, transportation, and containment. "Very little investment is made in environmental protection because waste is often seen as something that does not make money," Koujo said. "As a result, it becomes both an aesthetic and environmental problem." The solution requires public education, infrastructure investment, and a shift in how authorities value environmental protection.
The assessment recommends strengthened waste management systems, improved collection and disposal services developed in partnership with communities and the private sector, and dedicated disposal solutions for non-recyclable products like nappies and female hygiene products. It calls for public awareness campaigns to reduce the amount of nappy waste entering the environment. The warning is stark: if the problem is not addressed, the accumulating nappies will place further pressure on water resources, public health, and the environment across the region. Globally, more than 300,000 disposable nappies are incinerated every minute. In Oshikoto, they are being buried in holes in the ground, one village at a time.
Citações Notáveis
At the village, I dig a hole where I bury the nappies. When I leave to return to town, I close the hole.— Ester Sheekeni, mother in Okakoko village
Very little investment is made in environmental protection because waste is often seen as something that does not make money. As a result, it becomes both an aesthetic and environmental problem.— Freddy Koujo, environmental activist from Aminius
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why does a region with water shortages allow nappies to be dumped near water sources? Doesn't that seem like a choice someone made?
It's not really a choice—it's the absence of alternatives. When there are no formal disposal facilities, people do what's available to them. Ester Sheekeni isn't choosing to contaminate groundwater. She's choosing between burying waste on her property or leaving it in the open.
But the council says bins are available and emptied monthly. So which is it?
The council's statement and the environmental assessment describe different realities. Bins may exist in town centres, but rural constituencies like Onayena don't have the same access. The assessment specifically identifies those three constituencies as problem areas. The council's response sounds like it's answering a different question.
What makes nappies worse than other plastic waste?
They're worse because of where they end up and what they contain. A nappy isn't just plastic—it's plastic mixed with human waste, buried near water sources. The microplastics take 500 years to break down. And unlike a bottle, there's no recycling pathway. It's designed to be thrown away, and the region has nowhere to throw it.
Koujo says this is about money. Is he right?
He's identifying the real constraint. Waste management doesn't generate revenue, so it doesn't attract investment. But that's a choice too—a choice about what authorities prioritize. The assessment shows the problem is solvable with dedicated infrastructure and public education. It just requires treating it as important.
What happens if nothing changes?
The assessment warns that nappy accumulation will place further pressure on water resources and public health. In a region already facing water shortages, that's not a distant threat. It's a collision course.