He was born in the forests that would later define his life. In Tanzania’s Kilombero Valley, where mist drifts down from the Udzungwa Mountains, young Aloyce Mwakisoma learned the names of plants before he could read their Latin equivalents.
His father, once a hunter, became a research assistant after hunting was outlawed in the 1990s, guiding scientists through the forests’ green labyrinth. Aloyce followed, absorbing both the language of science and the older wisdom of his Hehe elders, for whom every plant had a name, a use, and a story.
He grew up to become one of the most respected field botanists in the Eastern Arc Mountains, an archipelago of biodiversity stretching across Tanzania. His deep, almost instinctive understanding of forest life made him indispensable to researchers and conservationists. He could distinguish hundreds of species by touch or scent, recalling the medicinal uses and local names that kept their memory alive. Scientists who worked beside him, like Andrea Bianchi, came to rely on his knowledge as much as on their instruments. When scientists identified a new giant rainforest tree, Tessmannia princeps, it was Mwakisoma’s field knowledge that helped confirm what they had found.
He had just secured steady work restoring the Udzungwa forests, a task that drew on every detail he knew: which trees thrived in shade, which fruit ripened first, and which seeds waited for fire or rain. Days before his wedding, he was killed by a bus near Sanje, aged 45. He left behind five children, his partner Salma, and the forests that still bear his traces.
What he left behind is not written in books but lives in the forests he helped restore and the knowledge he shared—proof that the understanding of one man, rooted deeply in place, can help a forest endure.
