by Mariana C. Hernández-Montilla

I woke to the sound of chickens outside my dormitory window at the Akagera Community Centre. Their morning concert, an unexpected alarm clock during my stay, became a surprisingly perfect example of Rwanda’s new beginning. There was something persistent, vital, and remarkably ordinary about those chickens, which felt especially meaningful in a country where ordinary life had once disappeared.

When the world turned its back on Rwanda in 1994, the unimaginable happened. On the ground, Rwandans were left to face the tragedy alone. After ten UN peacekeepers were killed, the international community pulled out most troops, as documented at the Kigali Genocide Memorial and other sources. What followed was one of the worst genocides in modern history, a tragedy that shocked the world and left a lasting scar on humanity. Yet, 31 years later, under the slogan “Kwibuka 31” meaning “remember, unite, renew” in Kinyarwanda, I witnessed a nation that had transformed itself through extraordinary resilience and determination. To learn more about Rwanda’s recovery in my capacity as a teaching assistant, I joined my class of students enrolled in GDI’s Environment, Climate Change, and Development Master’s on a trip to Kigali.

 

When Nature Retreated

During the violence of 1994, the animals disappeared, running away from the turmoil and noise. “The animals were gone, having fled to neighbouring countries or perished” an official at Akagera National Park, told us during our visit. Genocide didn’t just destroy human lives – it also devastated infrastructure, buildings, and natural resources, causing serious damage to the entire environment.

From 1993 to 2006, protected areas shrank by 92%. Forests were cut down for multiple reasons: to remove military cover, to make space for refugees and displaced families, and because charcoal burning became a wartime business when other work wasn’t possible. Meanwhile, farms were abandoned and soil started washing away. This landlocked country with mountains covered in thick forests and savannahs, went silent. Nature itself seemed to back away from what was happening on its soil, like the land itself was grieving too.

But amid this devastation, a powerful truth emerged that would guide Rwanda’s recovery. At the Kigali Genocide Memorial (the resting place of 250,000 people), I saw these powerful words on a wall from someone at the Aegis Trust: “You can’t make peace on an empty stomach.” These words, simple but deep, capture what Rwanda’s transformation is really about: knowing that true reconciliation means healing both hearts and the land itself.

 

Home-Grown Solutions: The Rwandan Way

Rwanda bounced back through what locals call “Home-Grown Solutions”, approaches that honour Rwandan traditions while embracing practical innovations. The Gacaca courts are a good example of this – a justice system where community members sit together and talk things through, instead of using Western-style courts. Rwanda also adapted Singapore’s digital system for government accountability, calling it Imihigo (performance contracts), to fight corruption in their own way. And through Umuganda – monthly community workdays, people rebuild roads and buildings together while strengthening their bonds with neighbours.

During our visit, we got to meet people from Rwanda’s Ministry of Environment who told us about their Vision 2050 plan, which puts a lot of emphasis on restoring forests and ecosystems.  But, when talking with the Rwanda Green Fund officials, they explained that they focus on helping people improve their daily lives before tackling environmental issues, which reminded me of the memorial’s message that healing must start with meeting people’s basic needs.

 

Nurseries: Seeds of Hope in a Healing Land

Of all the things I witnessed, the nurseries captured my attention and heart. These humble yet powerful centres of new life represent Rwanda’s commitment to restoring what was lost. Far from being just plant collections, these nurseries are key to Rwanda’s plan for handling climate change. By bringing back forest cover and making better use of farming land, they help stop soil from washing away, keep water in the ground longer, and create carbon sinks. The nurseries we visited took many forms and served multiple purposes, each telling a different story of Rwanda’s recovery:

Placement and Layout

What impressed me most were the nurseries’ challenging locations and their strategic placement along wetlands and roadsides that decorated the hills we saw during our long drives between districts. These spaces have been turned into bustling centres of growth, bringing life back to land long unused.

From Simple to Sophisticated

I saw all kinds of different ways they were growing things, from basic crop farming to fancy greenhouse setups. These nurseries grow everything from flowers to everyday foods like cucumbers, tomatoes, and cabbages. Row by row, the land is quietly reclaimed.

 

Economic Viability

In one greenhouse operation I visited near Kigali, I saw the numbers that make these nurseries profitable for local families. A single greenhouse produces between 3,000-4,000 cucumbers each season, and they can sell each kilogram for about $0.50. It takes around 45 days to grow a full crop, bringing in about $3,000 per cycle, an important income in rural Rwanda. The high yields possible in these controlled environments show what can happen with the right investment, creating reliable income while helping rebuild the nation’s agriculture.

 

Bringing the Community Together

One of the best parts of our trip was staying at the Akagera Community Centre, which was built in 2017 specifically to connect with and involve local people. Before the Centre existed, people in the area could only use the land for growing crops. The Centre shows how thinking has changed about balancing wildlife protection with helping local people make a living. We stayed 3 nights in the Centre’s shared rooms, and they told us that the money from our stay goes directly back to the community. The Centre has a library and supports different ways for people to earn money. I also found three nurseries growing local tree seedlings, plus people growing mushrooms, raising chickens (which happened to be right outside my bedroom, so I woke up every morning to a wonderful chorus of chicken sounds), and keeping bees. These activities give residents new ways to make money instead of relying on methods that might harm the environment.

 

Connecting Organizations

In Kayonza district, local farming cooperatives gather seeds and deliver them to the Rwanda Forestry Authority, building a crucial bridge between agriculture and environmental restoration. This blending of farming and forestry demonstrates Rwanda’s comprehensive approach to land use, although most of the decision-making power still sits with the central authorities rather than local groups.

One afternoon, after climbing up a steep hillside to see some cooperative work, I spoke with a cooperative member about the local nurseries. He said to me, “Some will grow strong, some won’t make it. But we keep planting.” The way he said it made me realize that healing both land and people requires patience, commitment, and focusing on the future rather than just immediate benefits.

 

The Cooperative System: Social Nurseries

These farming cooperatives are like social nurseries – they don’t just grow crops but help develop people’s capabilities too. Officials told us there are about 2,000 agricultural cooperatives across the country, making up 48% of all cooperatives in Rwanda. Just like the plant nurseries, these groups help communities learn to work together and get through tough times. By law, these organizations must have at least 30% women members, making sure women are part of the economic recovery. Cooperatives give small farmers a way to reach buyers and grow their businesses through different opportunities.

The training system for cooperative members particularly impressed me, as they were building people’s skills right alongside growing crops. But I also noticed some worrying dependencies. The seeds used in these cooperatives come mostly from big international companies like Monsanto, as well as companies from Germany and Israel. The pesticides are mainly bought from Osho in Kenya, and there’s heavy use of NPK fertilizers outside the greenhouses. Agricultural experts say that NPK fertilizers can hurt soil health over time, kill off helpful microorganisms, and pollute water when they wash into rivers and lakes. All this reliance on outside suppliers, worries me when it comes to long-term sustainability and environmental damage. It also made me wonder whether farmers feel pushed to join cooperatives, especially when membership fees can be hard for poorer farmers to afford.

Relying on international seeds, especially ones that need specific pesticides to work, is about more than just changing how they farm. Farmers who used to save their own seeds now depend on deliveries from suppliers thousands of miles away, while the old local varieties slowly disappear. This change makes me wonder about freedom and control. The costs of supplies and membership fees create new money pressures, which raises an important question: do these systems help farmers become more independent, or are they just trading old dependencies for new ones? This dependence goes beyond just seeds and fertilizers. Farmers now depend on outside supplies that don’t always arrive on time, and they could be losing their ability to use the traditional ways they used to manage risks. They grow what the Imihigo performance contracts tell them to, which made me struggle with a basic question throughout our visit: Is modernizing always a good thing? What does this mean for traditional knowledge and cultural practices?

The effects reach far beyond economics. When communities lose control over their seeds, they lose their voice in their agricultural destiny. Seeds carry more than just plant genetics – they hold knowledge, and all the wisdom built up over generations of people who figured out what grows best in in local growing conditions. Rwanda’s nurseries could become centres not only for modern farming methods, but for rediscovering traditional varieties. Having control over seeds means communities maintaining power over not just their land, but their right to choose what grows on it. This represents a different approach to renewal; one based as much on preserving what they had as creating what they could have.

 

The Paradox of Progress: Challenges Within Success

Tough questions kept coming up in our daily talks: Who’s actually benefiting from these programs? The emphasis appears to be on what gets produced rather than who’s producing it —a pro-food rather than pro-people approach. The government decides which subsidized crops to grow based on national goals, not what local people want or have traditionally grown. This top-down approach works well for implementing nationwide agricultural transformation, but it risks eroding local farming knowledge and reducing the variety of crops people grow. What about farmers who don’t want to participate? It depends on the area, but the pressure to follow government farming priorities can be pretty intense.

Also, the unequal sharing of benefits worries me when it comes to fairness. Even though farmers are growing more, they’re still mainly selling unprocessed products because they can’t afford the resources needed for packaging and adding value to what they grow. I learned about deals with companies like Alibaba to export coffee, but because they can’t process goods in Rwanda, the country misses out on much of the profit from its farm harvests capturing less value from its agricultural products.

 

Wetlands and Wildlife: The Broader Restoration Picture

One of the most iconic examples of Rwanda’s commitment to ecosystem restoration is the Nyandungu Eco-Park, which proudly displays the message “from a degraded wetland to an ecotourism park.” Spread across 164 hectares, this pioneering project is Rwanda’s first successfully restored wetland ecosystem. The park tries to achieve multiple goals: protect the environment, bring communities together, provide recreation, boost economic development, and support scientific research.

Walking through Nyandungu, I was amazed by how they transformed what used to be a damaged area into a flourishing ecosystem. But I couldn’t help noticing that the entrance fee of 1 USD, while it might seem small by international standards, could be too expensive for many local people. This made me wonder about access and whether they’re finding the right balance between funding conservation and making sure everyone can enjoy nature.

The wetlands all belong to the government now. This makes conservation work more organized, but it also means local communities, who know these ecosystems better than anyone, don’t get to participate in deciding how to manage them anymore.

 

Seeking Balance in Imperfection

While nurseries represent hope and growth, they exist within a complex system of contradictions. At Akagera  National Park, Rwanda’s only savannah park, the wildlife recovery story reflects the nation’s own journey. Emptied of its iconic species during the conflict, the park now boasts a remarkable comeback, having reintroduced elephants, rhinos, and lions on a land that was once silent.

But even here, things get challenging. The park is run by a private company with a revenue-sharing deal that gives 10% of profits back to surrounding communities. But I kept wondering: as the animals return – which is beautiful to see – do local people now feel like visitors on what used to be their own land? Is that 10% payment really enough?

These questions about Akagera point to a bigger problem I noticed during our visit: Rwanda keeps its farming and conservation work completely separate from each other. Despite real progress in both areas, keeping these efforts apart often creates conflicts when there aren’t enough resources to go around. When these priorities clash, protecting wildlife and nature usually takes a back seat to economic development goals. This tension between ecological health and human survival exists in conservation everywhere, but Rwanda’s small area and high population density make the balancing act especially tough.

The problems go beyond environmental contradictions. The land consolidation policy isn’t moving forward as expected, only meeting 57% of its resettlement targets because rural people stay strongly tied to their family lands. This connection interferes with the technical efficiency that agricultural modernization programs want to achieve.

Perhaps I was seeking a perfect model in an imperfect world. Maybe what Rwanda has achieved is the best that could be done with available resources. With around 80% of the population living in rural areas and 70% depending on agriculture, the pressure to increase food production is immense. The country faces extraordinary challenges: high rural population density (462 people per square kilometres), tiny average farm sizes (less than one hectare), and the ongoing impacts of climate change including flooding, landslides, and droughts.

 

Seeds of Hope for the Future

As I think back on our trip through Rwanda’s thousand hills, I feel hopeful but also want to think carefully about what it all means. The way Rwanda has changed its farming through nurseries and cooperatives is remarkable. Blending traditional knowledge with modern farming methods shows how creative Rwanda has been in addressing environmental problems, even as questions about sustainability and dependency still linger.

And it’s these lingering questions that stay with me. Whose voices are we not hearing in this story? During our short visit, we couldn’t reach the most remote villages, and we did not have the opportunity to speak with many locals due to ethical, time, and money limitations. Asking these tough questions doesn’t diminish what Rwanda has achieved – if anything, it shows just how hard it is to rebuild in a sustainable way after such devastation.

On our last night in Kayonza, I watched local people singing and dancing, which moved me more deeply than any policy discussion ever could. During our two-week trip, I saw signs of new life everywhere I looked. I planted a tree in Kayonza, hoping that someday it will grow strong and tall, my small contribution to Rwanda’s green future. Yet even in that hopeful moment, I had wrestled with more difficult realities throughout our journey.

I struggled with the tension between environmental justice and economic needs. Rwanda is essentially starting its economy over from scratch, so every decision matters enormously. The focus on livelihoods as priority, with biodiversity as a secondary benefit, may not align with ideal conservation principles, but it reflects what’s real in a country where having enough food comes first. This embodies Rwanda’s eternal tension between idealism and pragmatism – the gap between what we hope for and what’s actually possible. In a nation still rebuilding from trauma, still building basic roads and schools, still making sure people have enough food, combining environmental goals with helping people make a living represents a pragmatic way forward.

The debate about dependence versus self-reliance will go on, but Rwanda’s story – told through its nurseries – teaches us about the difficult realities of sustainable development in countries recovering from conflict.

The nurseries, with their fragile seedlings that will one day become mighty forests or abundant crops, serve as a perfect metaphor for a nation that refused to be defined by its darkest hour, but still deals with complicated challenges as it works toward real sustainability.

And like those chickens that woke me each morning with their vibrant singing, like the seedlings reaching toward sunlight in once-empty soil, hope grows in Rwanda. Not the naive hope that ignores problems, but the stubborn, get-your-hands-dirty kind that keeps planting anyway. This quiet determination, more than any single policy, is what defines Rwanda’s rebirth.

 

Images all by Mariana C. Hernández-Montilla

Note:  This article gives the views of the author/academic featured and does not necessarily represent the views of the Global Development Institute as a whole.

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