For small-scale farmers across Africa, 2026 has brought a familiar pressure in an unusually severe form. The war in Iran disrupted shipping through the Strait of Hormuz, a critical artery for international trade, and fertilizer exports were among the casualties. As supplies tightened, prices climbed sharply around the world, leaving growers who depend on imported inputs facing costs they could scarcely absorb.
In Zambia, however, one farmer barely noticed the squeeze. On a 12-acre plot outside Lusaka, Kanangwa Newlove has spent years cultivating what she describes as a kind of paradise. Shady fruit trees break up her fields, tomato vines spill across trellises during the growing season, and neat rows of corn, pumpkins, and a local leafy green known as blackjack fill the space. She also grows eleven different varieties of lettuce.
Newlove's operation did not begin as a grand commercial venture. She started by bringing vegetables to her coworkers, a small gesture that steadily grew. Before long, she found herself supplying a supermarket, and the enterprise kept expanding from there. Today her farm, Loctaguna Organics, sells to restaurants and airlines and runs training courses for NGOs and students interested in organic methods.
The secret to her resilience is a fermented compost known as bokashi, a traditional Asian recipe that has found new life among farmers looking to reduce their dependence on purchased fertilizer. Bokashi is made by fermenting organic matter, a process that transforms farm and food waste into a nutrient-rich soil amendment. For Newlove, it has replaced the commercial products whose prices have spiraled.
Her timing could hardly be better. When the Iran war choked off the Strait of Hormuz, international shipments of fertilizer were dramatically halted, and the effects rippled quickly through global markets. Prices spiked worldwide, but the pain was especially acute in African countries, where smallholder farmers often operate on thin margins and are highly vulnerable to sudden shifts in input costs.
For farmers in that position, a price increase of even a modest amount can determine whether a season ends in profit or ruin. Fertilizer is typically one of the largest expenses a grower faces, and when it is imported, currency fluctuations and shipping disruptions compound the problem. The result is that many farmers either pay more than they can afford or apply less fertilizer than their crops need, reducing yields at exactly the moment food security is under strain.
Bokashi offers an alternative that is both practical and affordable. At a market in Zambia, bags of the homemade fertilizer sit on the same table as organic vegetables, selling for roughly $2.50 each. The modest price point makes it accessible to farmers who could never justify the cost of conventional inputs at current rates. It is, as one description puts it, a labor of love — requiring time, attention, and knowledge rather than large amounts of capital.
The method fits naturally into the broader movement toward organic and regenerative agriculture, which emphasizes building soil health through biological processes rather than relying solely on synthetic inputs. Fermented composts like bokashi can help farmers recycle nutrients on-site, turning crop residues and kitchen scraps into a resource instead of waste. For operations like Loctaguna Organics, this circular approach is not a marketing gimmick but a foundation of the business model.
Newlove's farm demonstrates that the approach can work at a commercial scale. Her produce reaches restaurants and airlines, clients with demanding standards for quality and consistency. She also shares her knowledge through courses aimed at NGOs and students, spreading the technique to others who might otherwise be priced out of the fertilizer market. In that sense, her response to the crisis is not merely personal but educational.
The broader picture, though, remains difficult. The Iran war's disruption of the Strait of Hormuz has reminded governments and traders alike how interconnected global supply chains have become, and how quickly a distant conflict can affect a farmer's planting decisions. Fertilizer is a globally traded commodity, and when shipping lanes are threatened, no country is entirely insulated from the consequences.
African smallholders are particularly exposed because many rely on imports and lack the storage capacity or financial buffers to ride out price shocks. Development organizations have long argued that investing in local input production, including organic alternatives, could reduce that vulnerability. Bokashi and similar techniques offer one path, though they require training and support to scale beyond individual farms.
For now, farmers like Newlove serve as proof that adaptation is possible. While others scramble to afford the fertilizer they need, she continues to harvest from fields nourished by her own compost, selling vegetables and bags of bokashi side by side. Her story illustrates a quiet form of resilience: when global markets falter, knowledge and local resources can fill the gap.
It is a lesson that may outlast the current crisis. Even if fertilizer prices eventually stabilize, the appeal of producing inputs on-farm is unlikely to disappear. For cash-strapped farmers, the ability to make fertilizer from materials already at hand is not just a temporary workaround but a lasting strategy for controlling costs and building healthier soil.
Newlove's paradise outside Lusaka is, in the end, a working example of that idea. The fruit trees, the trellises, the rows of corn and lettuce, and the bags of fermented compost all testify to what can be grown when a farmer refuses to be limited by circumstances beyond her control.
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