Kampala’s Heterogeneous Sanitation Infrastructures: Exemplars of Survival and Disruption
This paper challenges the negative framing of informal sanitation in Kampala by reconceptualizing it as heterogeneous, socially embedded infrastructures that are indispensable yet unevenly distributed, arguing for their recognition and integration into urban planning to achieve equitable sanitation across the Global South.
Original paper licensed under CC BY 4.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/). This is an AI-generated explanation of the paper below. It is not written or endorsed by the authors. For technical accuracy, refer to the original paper. Read full disclaimer
In many cities around the world, the way people handle human waste is often taken for granted until it fails. When the system works, it is invisible; when it breaks, it becomes a crisis of public health and dignity. For decades, urban planners and scientists have viewed the solution to this problem through a single lens: a massive, centralized network of underground pipes that carries waste away to a distant treatment plant. This "modern" ideal assumes that every city can eventually be wired like a machine, with uniform technology serving every household. However, in rapidly growing cities across the Global South, this ideal often clashes with reality. Here, populations expand faster than pipes can be laid, and the formal system reaches only a fraction of the people. Instead of waiting for a perfect system that never arrives, residents create their own solutions. They build their own toilets, hire their own workers to empty them, and find their own ways to move waste. These are not just temporary fixes; they are complex, living systems that have evolved to keep cities functioning. Understanding how these systems work is no longer just about fixing a leak; it is about understanding how millions of people survive and how cities actually function when the blueprint fails.
A team of researchers from Makerere University in Uganda has spent years studying these self-made systems in Kampala, the capital city. They focused on the informal settlements of Bwaise, where the population is dense and the official sewer network is absent. Rather than simply counting how many toilets are broken or how many people lack access, the researchers looked at the entire journey of human waste. They followed it from the moment it leaves a body, through the process of being removed from a pit, transported across the city, and finally treated or dumped. They interviewed hundreds of people, from the families using the toilets to the entrepreneurs who run the emptying services, and they mapped out the physical infrastructure that connects them all. What they found challenges the common belief that these informal setups are merely chaotic or dangerous. Instead, they discovered a highly organized, though uneven, network of people and technologies that keeps the city moving.
The researchers call these systems "heterogeneous sanitation infrastructures." In plain terms, this means the system is made of many different parts that do not look the same but work together. In the neighborhoods they studied, most people use pit latrines, which are simple holes in the ground lined with concrete. Some are improved versions with better covers, while others are shared by many families in a single building. A small number of residents use more advanced systems like composting toilets or those connected to septic tanks. Crucially, the way these toilets get emptied is just as varied. In some places, large vacuum trucks drive in to suck out the waste. In the narrow, crowded lanes where big trucks cannot fit, workers use small, motorized tricycles equipped with pumps. In the most difficult spots, where even tricycles cannot reach, workers known locally as "frogmen" enter the pits by hand to scoop the waste into buckets. This waste is then moved to transfer stations or directly to treatment plants, or in the worst cases, dumped into drainage channels that lead to wetlands and lakes.
The study reveals that this system is not a random collection of failures but a structured, though fragile, reality. It is held together by a web of relationships between landlords, community managers, small business owners, and government officials. These actors negotiate prices, manage maintenance, and decide who gets service and when. The researchers found that this network is deeply embedded in the social fabric of the city. It is not just about moving waste; it is about how people organize themselves to live together. For example, in one community project, a sanitation facility was built that also served as a meeting hall and a storage space for a local savings group. The toilet was not just a utility; it was a hub for community life. This shows that the people living in these areas are not passive victims waiting for help; they are active engineers of their own survival, constantly adapting their solutions to the constraints of space, money, and flood risks.
However, this ingenuity comes with a heavy cost. The paper makes it clear that while these systems keep the city functioning, they also create significant dangers. Because the system is not fully closed or monitored, waste often leaks into the ground, contaminating water sources, or flows into drainage channels that flood during the rainy season. The workers who empty the pits, often without protective gear, face severe health risks from exposure to dangerous gases and pathogens. The researchers found that the poorest residents bear the brunt of these risks. They are the ones most likely to use the most dangerous methods, such as open defecation or unsafe manual emptying, because they cannot afford the safer, more expensive options. The system is not equally safe for everyone; it is a gradient where the wealthy have cleaner, safer access, and the poor are left with the most hazardous conditions.
The study also highlights a major shift in how the city is being governed. For a long time, the government tried to ignore these informal systems or tried to replace them entirely with the centralized pipe network. The researchers observed that this approach is failing because the pipe network cannot reach everyone. Instead, the city authorities are beginning to recognize that they must work with the existing informal networks. They are starting to partner with the small businesses that empty the pits, providing them with better equipment and training, and creating platforms where community leaders and government officials can talk to each other. This is a move away from a top-down command structure toward a more collaborative approach. It acknowledges that the informal system is here to stay and that the only way to improve public health is to make that system safer and more reliable, rather than pretending it does not exist.
Ultimately, the paper argues that we need to change how we think about urban infrastructure. We should stop seeing these messy, varied systems as "broken" versions of a perfect modern city. Instead, they should be seen as a different kind of infrastructure entirely—one that is built on human relationships and constant adaptation. The researchers describe these systems as existing on a spectrum. On one end, there are "infrastructures of survival," where people do whatever is necessary to get by, often at great risk. On the other end, there are "infrastructures of disruption," where these same systems are beginning to challenge and change the way the city is run, forcing the government to adapt its rules and plans. The study suggests that the future of sanitation in cities like Kampala lies not in building a single, perfect pipe network, but in recognizing, supporting, and improving the complex, human-centered systems that are already there. By understanding the real work that happens on the ground, cities can find ways to reduce the risks for the poor while building on the resilience that already exists.
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