• Maasai International Solidarity Alliance says the community is being pushed off their ancestral lands through complex financial contracts
•  ‘We are not against conservation, but these projects must be built on informed consent, not deception,’ MISA official Ndia Marikoi tells Anadolu

LONGIDO, Tanzania

Last December, 68-year-old Lepilal Ole Saitoti sat outside his traditional mud-walled boma in Tanzania’s Longido region, gazing quietly across the rolling plains that had sustained generations of his family.

His cattle, weakened by prolonged drought, wandered the sparse landscape in search of nourishment, oblivious to the emerging threats tied to the land beneath their hooves.

“I have seen many things in my life, but I have never seen anyone try to sell ‘hewa ukaa,’” Saitoti reflected, using the Swahili word for carbon.

Saitoti’s village, nestled within northern Tanzania’s expansive rangelands, finds itself at the epicenter of a raging debate surrounding carbon credit initiatives.

These carbon schemes, championed by international corporations and conservation groups, are meant to allow global polluters to offset their carbon emissions by investing in conservation projects.

Their actual impact on local communities, however, has been far from the offered promises of ecological rejuvenation and financial gains.

For the Maasai people, in particular, these schemes have transformed their ancestral land from a foundation of pastoral life into a tradable asset within global markets, completely at odds with their deeply held traditions.

Many Maasai perceive them as a new wave of land dispossession, forcing them to abandon their way of life for agreements they barely understand.

Deals without choice

Over the past year, two significant carbon credit projects have gained momentum across northern Tanzania.

These are the Longido and Monduli Rangelands Carbon Project, backed by Volkswagen ClimatePartners, and the Resilient Tarangire Ecosystem Project, led by The Nature Conservancy, a global environment group headquartered in the US.

Together, these projects cover nearly 2 million hectares, requiring local Maasai communities to adopt unfamiliar grazing practices in exchange for revenue from carbon credits.

To the Maasai, who have sustainably managed these lands through nomadic pastoralism for centuries, the concept of carbon trading is both perplexing and deeply unsettling. Agreements spanning as long as 40 years fundamentally threaten the core of their cultural identity and economic survival.

On paper, these agreements appear simple: communities alter grazing patterns to increase vegetation cover, which absorbs carbon, then sell the credits to offset emissions.

In practice, however, many Maasai feel deceived, pressured into signing contracts that jeopardize their very existence.

“They came with promises – money, schools, hospitals,” said Naramat Kilepo, a mother of six from Monduli. “They never explained what we were giving up.”

The rangelands of northern Tanzania have long witnessed struggles over land rights, from colonial-era wildlife reserves to modern conservation efforts that limit Maasai mobility.

Carbon credit initiatives have added yet another layer to these complexities, introducing agreements that restrict grazing, impose pasture fees, and enforce external monitoring of livestock movements.

Critics say these arrangements are pushing the Maasai off their land, not through overt coercion, but through complex financial contracts supported by global capital.

A primary concern among Maasai activists and experts is the opaque nature of these carbon credit contracts.

Frequently drafted in English or complicated legal Swahili, they contain clauses restricting community rights and limiting their ability to withdraw once signed.

Some agreements entice communities with signing bonuses – so-called “dowry money” – of up to $50,000 per village.

Although substantial in an area where annual incomes rarely surpass $500, this initial payment pales compared to the significant profits foreign investors anticipate from carbon trading, estimated to reach hundreds of millions over coming decades.

‘Contracts of control’

Existing carbon-trading regulations provide minimal protection for Indigenous land rights, while international investors continue finalizing new deals.

An investigation by the Maasai International Solidarity Alliance (MISA) exposed severe deficiencies in the legally required Free, Prior, and Informed Consent (FPIC) process, designed to ensure local communities comprehend and voluntarily accept such projects.

Many Maasai elders, who speak only the Maa language, were entirely excluded from essential discussions. In some cases, entire villages learned about these projects only after agreements had been signed.

“Women were not consulted. Young people were not consulted,” said Mzee Loita, an elder from Longido. “How can this be consent?”

As a solution, MISA advocates for a five-year moratorium on carbon projects, arguing that communities need time to thoroughly understand the implications and demand stronger legal safeguards.

“We are not against conservation,” emphasized Ndia Marikoi, coordinator of MISA. “But these projects must be built on informed consent, not deception.”

A MISA legal review found that once these carbon contracts are signed, decision-making authority shifts to project administrators, leaving Maasai communities with limited recourse. It discovered troubling contractual clauses, including severe penalties for contract termination, and conditions allowing continued land use by corporations even after agreements expire.

“These are not contracts of partnership,” explained a lawyer assisting MISA. “They are contracts of control.”

New form of land grab

At its core, the carbon credit controversy revives longstanding grievances surrounding land appropriation.

Maasai communities have historically lost substantial land to national parks, wildlife reserves, and various conservation programs – all under the pretext of environmental protection.

Also, for centuries, Maasai pastoralists have survived by freely traversing the landscape, strategically moving herds between dry-season and wet-season grazing territories. Carbon initiatives now impose rigid rotational grazing structures, segmenting land into fixed parcels and severely restricting livestock movement.

The projects employ grazing coordinators – non-Maasai staff hired by carbon credit enterprises – to monitor and report livestock movements, threatening the essence of traditional pastoralism, where mobility is key to survival.

Without flexible access to varied grazing lands, Maasai cattle become highly vulnerable, particularly during drought conditions. The forthcoming dry season could see devastating cattle losses, precipitating an existential crisis for a community whose economic and social fabric revolves around livestock.

MISA has also highlighted increased tensions and conflicts between neighboring villages, as some reluctantly embrace carbon deals while others fiercely resist.

“Our way of life depends on trust,” said Naiputa Lengai, a young herder from Longido. “This carbon thing will destroy that.”

Government unmoved

While carbon credit proponents argue these initiatives provide much-needed economic opportunities, critics contend they reinforce colonial conservation approaches that privilege environmental objectives over Indigenous rights.

“We are deeply concerned about losing our land,” said Timan Tina, a Maasai activist in her mid-70s. “As pastoralists, our land is our livelihood. Without it, we cannot raise livestock or secure our future.”

To the Maasai, she added, the land represents far more than economic survival; it embodies identity, memory, and sacred traditions.

“Every stage of Maasai life, from birth to adulthood, is tied to the land. Traditional medicines used by pregnant women and healers are found in our forests. If we lose our land, we lose our identity,” Tina emphasized.

“As Maasai women, we refuse to allow carbon credit schemes to take our land and benefit outsiders at our expense,” she asserted.

“This is not just a threat to our livelihoods – it is a threat to our very existence. We want to ensure future generations of Maasai can continue to live on and protect their ancestral land.”

However, as Maasai communities confront an uncertain future, the Tanzanian government seems intent on intensifying efforts to increase carbon trading.

At a recent climate change meeting in Dar es Salaam, Vice President Philip Mpango emphasized the government’s commitment to resolving obstacles hindering the growth of the sector, urging relevant authorities to address the challenges promptly.

He also stressed the need for greater transparency in carbon trading contracts to eliminate distrust and improve operations, and called for more educational programs in districts and villages to raise awareness about carbon trading and its benefits.

Gerson Msigwa, the government’s chief spokesperson, did not respond to multiple requests for comment from Anadolu.