For small-scale farmers already squeezed by thin margins, 2026 has delivered one blow after another. The war with Iran disrupted shipping through the Strait of Hormuz, a chokepoint that carries a substantial share of the world's fertilizer trade. With vessels unable to move freely, international fertilizer shipments were dramatically curtailed, and prices climbed sharply around the globe. The ripple effects were felt almost immediately in African countries, where smallholder farmers have far less cushion against sudden spikes in input costs than their counterparts in wealthier economies.
Yet on a 12-acre farm outside Lusaka, Zambia, one grower barely noticed the crisis. Kanangwa Newlove has spent years fertilizing her crops with bokashi, a homemade fermented compost whose roots lie in traditional Asian farming. Because she produces it herself from locally available materials, the volatility of international commodity markets has little bearing on her operation. While neighbors scramble to afford imported fertilizer, Newlove continues to harvest and sell her vegetables without interruption.
Newlove's farm, called Loctaguna Organics, is a study in diversity. Shady fruit trees are scattered across her fields. During the growing season, long tomato vines drape over trellises, and tidy rows of corn, pumpkins, and blackjack—a local leafy green—fill the plots. She also cultivates eleven different varieties of lettuce. What began as a modest effort to share vegetables with coworkers evolved, almost by accident, into a commercial enterprise. "I started taking vegetables to my workmates, and before I knew it I was supplying the supermarket," she recalls. "It went on and on."
That gradual expansion reflects the broader appeal of bokashi at a moment when conventional farming inputs have become prohibitively expensive. Bokashi is not a new invention. For generations, farmers in Japan and elsewhere in Asia have fermented organic matter—kitchen scraps, crop residues, manure—using a special inoculant, often containing lactic acid bacteria and yeasts. The sealed fermentation process breaks down the material quickly, producing a nutrient-rich soil amendment that can be applied directly to fields or mixed into compost. Unlike chemical fertilizers, it requires no imported raw materials and no complex supply chain.
The economic logic is compelling. A bag of homemade bokashi fertilizer sells for roughly $2.50 at a market in Zambia, according to reporting from the Sugarbush Green Market in Lusaka, where Loctaguna Organics keeps a stall selling both organic vegetables and the finished compost. Compare that with the spiraling cost of conventional fertilizer, which has been driven upward by the wartime disruption of trade routes. For farmers operating on minimal budgets, the difference can determine whether a planting season is viable at all.
The wider context is stark. The Iran war choked off the Strait of Hormuz, halting or delaying international shipments across multiple sectors—fertilizer among them. Global prices spiked as supply tightened. The effects landed hardest in regions where agriculture depends on smallholder farmers, who typically lack access to credit, storage, or government subsidies that might absorb sudden cost increases. When fertilizer becomes unaffordable, yields fall, incomes shrink, and food security suffers. In that environment, a locally made alternative is more than a curiosity; it is a lifeline.
Newlove is not the only one to recognize this. Her farm supplies restaurants and airlines, and she runs training courses to educate NGOs and students about organic farming methods. By teaching others to make bokashi, she is helping to spread a practice that reduces dependence on imported inputs. The courses also highlight a broader principle: that farmers can reclaim some control over their production costs by cycling nutrients on-site rather than purchasing them from distant suppliers. That message resonates particularly strongly when global trade is in turmoil.
There are limits, of course. Bokashi and similar composts are not a one-for-one substitute for the concentrated nitrogen, phosphorus, and potassium found in synthetic fertilizers. They generally require more labor, careful management of fermentation conditions, and a steady supply of organic waste. Scaling them up to meet the needs of large commercial operations is difficult. But for smallholder farmers growing diverse crops on modest plots, the trade-offs often favor the homemade approach—especially when the alternative is unaffordable or unavailable.
The shift also carries environmental benefits. Chemical fertilizers, when overapplied, can degrade soil health, contaminate waterways, and contribute to greenhouse gas emissions. Bokashi, by contrast, builds organic matter in the soil, improves water retention, and supports microbial life. Farmers who adopt it often report better soil structure over time. These advantages do not show up on a price sheet, but they matter for long-term productivity, particularly in regions where soil degradation is an ongoing concern.
For Newlove, the practice has become a "labor of love," as she describes it. The phrase captures both the effort involved and the satisfaction of producing something valuable from what others might discard. Her fields stand as a small but vivid example of how traditional knowledge can offer resilience when global systems falter. The war that drove fertilizer prices to painful heights has, paradoxically, renewed interest in methods that were once dismissed as old-fashioned.
That renewed interest extends beyond Zambia. Across Africa and parts of Asia, agricultural organizations and NGOs have increasingly promoted locally sourced composts as a buffer against market shocks. The current crisis has accelerated that trend. When imported inputs become scarce, the ability to make fertilizer on-farm shifts from a nice-to-have to a strategic necessity. Farmers who master the technique are less exposed to the whims of international trade and more able to plan for the seasons ahead.
None of this means that bokashi alone can solve the broader crisis in agricultural input costs. The scale of global fertilizer demand is enormous, and supply chain disruptions of this magnitude require systemic responses. But the experience of smallholder farmers like Newlove suggests that diversification—of crops, of methods, of nutrient sources—offers a practical form of insurance. Relying on a single imported product leaves a farm vulnerable; relying on a mix of local and purchased inputs spreads the risk.
As the war's economic aftershocks continue to reverberate, the lessons from Lusaka are likely to spread. A fermented compost made from kitchen scraps and crop residues will not make headlines the way price spikes do. But on farms where every dollar counts, it can mean the difference between a failed season and a successful harvest. Newlove's 12 acres, with their fruit trees and lettuce rows and bags of bokashi ready for market, make that case more effectively than any policy brief.
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