Up the Rwandan hills of Gicumbi, where the northern hills face the equatorial African landscape, agriculture is not only a profession but a lifestyle passed from parent to child, from generation to generation. Despite its heritage reputation, farming in Gicumbi has in the past been characterized as small yields, long hours of work, and the slow but silent struggle for financial ends to meet.

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Anastasie Mukabaziga knows this story well. She’s lived it. A mother of three and lifelong farmer, Anastasie worked her 1.5-hectare plot the way her parents taught her; by instinct, tradition, and muscle memory. Each season she sowed, waited, and hoped. Some years were better than others. But always, the math stayed tight, just about enough to eat, not quite enough to save. A single poor harvest could ruin months of effort.

“Farming was always a risk,” Anastasie says. “Some seasons, the rains would fail. Other times, pests would take everything. We worked hard, but we couldn’t see the way out.”

But change, like rain, sometimes comes quietly and transforms everything it touches. This transformation came when Anastasie was introduced to newer, more sustainable, and contemporary farming methods, which seemed opposite of everything she knew from her inherited skills. These new methods taught her about the role of soil structure in crop health, the importance of fertilization timing, and how to manage pests without damaging the land. The lessons were technical, yes, but also profoundly personal.

“I realized I had been farming in the dark,” she says. “Now I farm with understanding.”

The results came quickly. In her most recent harvest, Anastasie recorded a 40% increase in yield as compared to previous seasons, representing an impressive 3.4 tonnes of wheat. But what matters most isn’t just the number. It’s what that number made possible. It meant her children stayed in school with fees paid upfront. It meant she could purchase higher-quality seeds for the next season without relying on credit. It meant her home had a roof that didn’t leak and a pantry with more than maize. And perhaps most powerfully, it meant she could transfer this knowledge.

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Today, Anastasie is no longer just farming for her household. She’s become a voice of possibility in her community. Neighbours visit her fields, not just to admire the yield, but to ask how she did it. She shares her techniques freely, knowing that when one farmer thrives, the whole village grows stronger.

“I tell them it’s not magic,” she laughs. “It’s knowledge. It’s patience. And it’s believing that we, as women, can lead.”

Anastasie’s story is a powerful example of what happens when rural women farmers are seen, heard, and equipped. She represents a growing wave of women who are transforming barren hillsides into productive, dignified livelihoods, shifting the narrative of agriculture in Africa from subsistence to success. In the end, Gicumbi didn’t need to be saved. It needed to be believed in. And Anastasie? She believed first. Now her fields yield more than wheat. They yield hope and a new model for what’s possible when women rise with the land beneath them.

FOOTNOTE:

Anastasie Mukabaziga was one of the first women to join Walisha Foundation’s farmer training program and she is helping many more women (and men) free their families from low yields and the ripple effects. Stories like Anastasie’s continue to inspire us at Walisha to move forward with resolve in our mission.

Are you inspired? Help more women like Anastasie here