At the Lake Manchar fish market, the catch is sorted by species and size. Once thriving, Mohana fishing sustained an entire region. Today, it no longer provides enough to support families. In the 1930s, more than 200 fish species were recorded in the lake. By 1998, only 32 remained. Since then, another dozen have disappeared. The species that survive today are those able to withstand the polluted waters.

A young Mohana girl fills a canister at a water cistern on the shores of the lake. Fetching potable water has become a daily ritual for the Mohana. What was once a freshwater reservoir now shows high levels of E. coli, pesticide residues and persistent organic pollutants. The Mohana, who once drank directly from the lake, must now buy every litre: 50 Pakistani rupees (about 15 euro cents) for a 20-litre canister. An unaffordable cost for families who now catch only a few kilos of fish per week.

A group of Mohana fishermen fold their nets Each catch has become so rare that they no longer hesitate to fish during the breeding season. Those who once lived in symbiosis with their environment are now forced to adopt unsustainable techniques. They encircle spawning areas with nets, then strike the water with bamboo poles to drive the fish into the mesh. A desperate method that only accelerates the depletion of the lake’s remaining fish stocks.

Hira washes her cooking utensils in the brackish waters of the lake. With drinking water strictly reserved for consumption and cooking, the polluted water must still be used for everything else: laundry, bathing, and washing dishes.

A worker sprays pesticides on a mustard field. Agriculture is the backbone of the Sindh province, and employs nearly 70% of its population. The use of pesticides has direct effects on the health of the men and women working in the fields, as well as on the environment. Pesticide residues spread into the soil, the groundwater, and inevitably, to Lake Manchar. According to the Pesticide Research Institute at the Pakistan Agricultural Research Council (PARC) in Karachi, “It is alarming to see the complete absence of regulation and monitoring of pesticide residues in Pakistan.” In addition to contaminating crops, most water samples taken from the region in recent years were found to contain pesticide residues.

Once, Lake Manchar was a key stopover on the Indus Flyway, hosting tens of thousands of migratory visitors from Siberia and Central Asia. Today, pollution has drastically reduced their numbers. Yet the Mohana, also known as the “bird people,” continue to live surrounded by birds with whom they share a unique relationship. Companions in fishing, pets, sometimes food or trade, birds remain at the heart of their culture.

Amid the herons, a Mohana hunter emerges from the water. When the nets no longer bring in much, the Mohana continue a practice unique in the world: bird hunting… with the help of birds. The hunters wade in up to their necks with a live bird tied to the end of a branch, serving as a lure to trap others. These trained birds allow them to approach their prey as closely as possible, until the decisive moment when, with a lightning move, they catch it.

Three Mohana children play on the shores of Lake Manchar, where makeshift shelters of reeds and tarps line the water. Despite the hardships, the gestures of childhood persist.

Mohamed propels his Hurro, the Mohana’s traditional canoe, across the waters of Lake Manchar. This dugout canoe is more than just a means of transport. It is the legacy of a people who live to the rhythm of water: the Mohana. Also called Mirbahar (“lords of the sea”), they have lived for generations on the waters of Lake Manchar, a vast freshwater mirror stretching nearly 250 km² in Sindh province, Pakistan. This lake, the largest in the country, was long an oasis of life. But this natural sanctuary is dying. And with it, an entire world is slipping away.

A Mohana family aboard their houseboat. Once, more than 20,000 Mohana lived on Galiyo, the community’s traditional floating dwellings. Today, only around forty remain, home to fewer than five hundred people. Their number continues to decline as fishing no longer provides enough income to maintain these floating homes.

Bashir gazes at the few huts standing on the opposite shore, where he and his family have now settled. Bashir and his kin haven’t always lived on dry land. He was born on the waters of the lake, just like his father before him. He grew up aboard a houseboat, in a floating village that no longer exists. Twenty years ago, they were forced to leave the quiet of their lakebound life to settle along the shores, because fishing no longer brought in enough to maintain their floating homes.

On Lake Manchar, a vast freshwater mirror stretching nearly 250 km², the Mohana’s last lake village holds barely forty Galiyo. As they fall into disrepair, these floating homes slowly vanish, taking with them an ancestral way of life.

In front of the Mohana’s last floating village on Lake Manchar, a child moves across the water on a makeshift polystyrene raft.

At the Lake Manchar fish market, catches are sorted by species and size. The largest fish will be sold in local markets, while the smaller ones will be turned into flour to feed poultry farms.

Filling canisters with drinking water has become a daily ritual for the Mohanas. During potable water distributions, everyone waits their turn to fill their canisters. First come, first served. Here, on the shores of Lake Manchar, every drop of potable water is a treasure, every canister a victory.

Filling canisters with drinking water has become a daily ritual for the Mohanas. On foot or by boat, once the canisters are filled with potable water, they must still be carefully brought back to the homes.

On the waters of Lake Manchar, the first solar-powered boat equipped with a reverse osmosis water filtration unit is a pilot project aimed at allowing a few Mohana families access to potable water without having to buy it at a high price.

Pollution in Lake Manchar has drastically reduced the Mohana’s fish production: from over 15,000 tons per year in the 1970s, catches have fallen to just a few thousand tons today, according to the Sindh Fisheries Department.

Using flour and water, Nayla and Hira prepare chapatis to feed the family. For the Mohana who have settled on the lake’s shores, life is harsh: with no school or clinic, poverty grows a little more each day. Some days, they have enough to eat; on others, they go hungry.

Waters laden with industrial waste form a foul-smelling white foam on the surface of the Right Bank Outfall Drain (RBOD). Built in the 1990s, this canal was initially meant to make the western Sindh salt-ridden lands cultivable. In reality, it rerouted agricultural wastewater, laden with fertilizers and pesticides, along with industrial effluents and sewage from several major cities in the province directly into Lake Manchar. In just a few decades, the salinity has soared, the oxygen has dropped, the algae have proliferated, and the lake’s fragile ecosystem has collapsed.

Ali Kasghar glides slowly across the lake with a stuffed bird on his head as camouflage. Another living bird, attached to the end of a branch, acts as a decoy, allowing him to slowly approach other birds without alarming them until the final moment, when he snatches them with lightning speed.

From a young age, Mohana children grow up surrounded by birds. Known as “birds people”, they maintain unique bonds with these birds. Today, as they learn other languages, other trades, other dreams, their culture slowly fades, and with it, their way of life.

Using a bamboo pole, Mohamed ferries children from one shore to the other in his Hurro, the Mohana’s sleek traditional canoe.