What Ten Years of Quinoa in Rwanda Have Taught Me

In 2015, we carried something small but audacious into Rwandan soil: a handful of quinoa seed and a question: could this unfamiliar crop become part of our food story? Many were skeptical, and they had every right to be. New crops ask for trust before they earn it. We began with simple trials and a lot of listening; learning the land, the rains, and the rhythms of farmers who already know more about resilience than any textbook can teach.

Early trials in Rwanda — every packet of seed recorded, every detail observed, as quinoa began its journey in new soil.

Those first seasons were about humility and method. We tested multiple varieties across different ecologies and took careful notes. The work was slow and local by design: walking the field, recording the data, sharing a meal, asking better questions the next day. By 2016–2017, we expanded trials across two agro-ecological zones to understand what thrives where, and why. That two-year study gave us a clearer agronomic map and the courage to keep going.

Adoption did not spread because of a single paper or a single field day. It spread because farmers taught other farmers. Mothers saved seeds. Neighbors asked for a handful to “try it at home.” A micro-extension spirit took root: first a dozen, then hundreds. By 2018, farmer participation in the model-farmer effort had climbed past 200; by 2020, it neared 500; by 2023, 1,000+ smallholders were growing quinoa. Each number is a story of trust; someone saying, “let’s try.”

Quinoa thriving in Rwandan fields — once a curiosity, now a part of the landscape.

In 2023, a milestone arrived that felt both scientific and deeply personal: the release of three quinoa varieties adapted for our region; Cougar, Gikungu, and Shisha, developed with partners at Washington State University and Brigham Young University. They carry edible leaves, broadening how families can cook and eat from the same plant. Seeing local names among the releases, Gikungu (“economy”), Shisha (“flourishing”) felt like a quiet affirmation that this crop is no longer a visitor; it is learning our language.

We created QuinoaHub to bridge lab and livelihood; to turn field results into seed systems, farmer training, and foods families can actually buy. That meant holding two commitments at once: scientific rigor and everyday relevance. It also meant building partnerships across universities, government, supermarkets, and most importantly, farmer organizations. Our aim was never simply to add a new product. It was to add a new possibility for nutrition, income, and climate resilience inside the farm gate.

Building on lessons from Rwanda, QuinoaHub has scaled its efforts to more than a dozen other African countries. Each context is different, but the vision remains the same: resilient seeds, stronger farmers, and healthier families. By connecting research with real lives, we aim to help communities across the continent reduce dependence on imports and secure their own nutritious food futures.

Along the way, we learned what matters most:

• People adopt what fits their lives. Yield is important, but so are taste, cooking time, price, storability, and whether a child will actually eat it. Just as vital is what one crop can become: in Rwanda, quinoa isn’t only boiled for meals; its leaves are edible too, and farmers make a variety of dishes from them. The grain itself can be milled into flour, baked into breads and cakes, prepared into drinks and porridges, while the stalks can be used as animal feed. Farmers taught us to measure success not just in plots, but in kitchens, bakeries, and even barns.

• Science is a team sport. Participatory trials, “mother-baby” designs, and open feedback loops helped farmers co-author the breeding story, not just appear in the acknowledgments.

• Progress is plural. A resilient food system is not a single breakthrough; it is a braid—seed, training, markets, partnerships, and trust, woven patiently over time.

Today, seeing quinoa on store shelves is less about visibility and more about belonging. A decade ago, this crop was a curiosity. Now it is becoming part of how families in Rwanda and other African countries choose to nourish themselves, alongside the staples they know, not instead of them. If the past ten years have taught us anything, it’s that real change moves at the speed of relationship. And relationships require humility: to listen before we recommend, to test before we scale, to share credit when things work, and to accept responsibility when they don’t.

From fields to families — quinoa packaged and ready for Rwandan supermarkets.

This achievement sits on many shoulders. Researchers who shared germplasm and time. Extension agents who showed up in the rain. Buyers who believed there would be a supply. Government institutions in Rwanda, and partners in the U.S. and across Africa, who created the support systems for research and innovation to take place. And farmers—always farmers—who risked their scarce land and labor on an unfamiliar seed because they could see a future for their children inside it. Thank you. It truly takes a village.

What’s next is not a victory lap; it’s stewardship. We want seed access to be fair, prices to be stable, and nutrition education to keep pace with production. We need to keep asking hard questions about water, soil health, and biodiversity as acreage grows, and to keep designing with farmers, not for them. If we can do that, the next decade can be about depth as much as reach: stronger local seed systems, more diverse rotations, better household meals, and steadier incomes; one field, one grocer, one family at a time.

A handful of seeds brought us here. Community will carry us forward.

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To see moments that words cannot fully capture, I’ve shared a few photos from this journey. You can find more in the QuinoaHub Photo Gallery