Seeds of Hope in Eastern Congo

At fifteen, Maki had two choices: starve or join the militia. He chose what seemed like his only path to survival after his parents were killed in the conflicts that plagued eastern Democratic Republic of Congo. But today, at 27, Maki proudly has his own field. The crops growing there represent not just his livelihood but his commitment to peace.

 "I didn't like this life," he says, referencing his time with the militia. He needed a chance to do something different with his life. That chance came through the USAID-funded "Strengthening Livelihoods and Resilience" program, which offered Maki and others like him an alternative path: becoming a farmer.

 In Ituri Province, where violence and displacement have torn communities apart for generations, the program does more than just hand out seeds. The program weaves together multiple strands of support. It doesn't just teach farming—it builds agricultural systems from the ground up. Participants receive training, access to quality seeds, and perhaps most importantly, guaranteed connections to markets where they can sell their produce. It doesn’t just hand out money—it builds economic opportunities for those who need it most. It doesn’t just hand out food—it creates a system where the community can grow, sell, and buy its own food.

The program creates a web of hope: former militia members become peaceful farmers, survivors of sexual violence build thriving businesses, and teachers supplement their inadequate salaries to continue educating the next generation.

Take Shukuru, who manages a hair salon staffed by women who survived sexual violence. "[We were] rejected by society," she explains. But this program “enable[s] us to include ourselves economically in our villages." Her salon is more than a symbol of resilience and renewal; it’s a business that creates ongoing opportunities for her community.

Or consider Losani, a teacher of ten years who couldn't make ends meet on his salary alone. Through the program's agricultural support, he now grows enough to supplement his income and continue his vital work educating young people. And he is selling to the people in his community who desperately need food. "We don't want to live by distributing flour and oil," he insists, " we want to continue working with your help to improve our lives."

The program's impact extends to building food security and improving nutrition, particularly for women and children. Their work with local farmers has introduced resilient crop varieties and sustainable farming methods that help communities bounce back from natural disasters and climate challenges. Former alcoholic beverage sellers now proudly grow beans. Some participants have even expanded into pig farming, creating new food sources for their communities.

 But this fragile ecosystem of progress is now at risk. The suspension of USAID funding threatens to unravel years of careful progress. Without continued support, farmers can't access seeds or markets. Women-owned businesses may close. And most worryingly, young people might once again see armed groups as their only option for survival.

"I'm really afraid that I’m going to lose what I’ve gained," Maki admits. "I thought I'd see other young people joining me, abandoning the spirit of war and finding peace. Why abandon us now?"

The stakes couldn't be higher. In a region where cycles of violence have seemed inevitable, this program has proven that another path is possible. It's shown that economic opportunity can be more powerful than conflict, dignity through work can heal deep wounds, and communities can build their own future when given the chance.

 The question is whether we'll allow this progress to continue or watch it disappear. As one participant said, "Being great also means knowing how to support the weak." The choice—and the consequences—rest with us.