In the misty highlands of Rwanda’s Volcanoes National Park, where the call of the mountain gorilla echoes through bamboo forests, Benjamin Mugabukomeye’s name is known not only among fellow conservationists, but also within the surrounding communities in the Northern Province. His story is one of quiet perseverance, of evolving with Rwanda’s conservation movement, and of redefining what it means to protect both nature and people. Today, Mugabukomeye serves as the Rwanda Country Coordinator for the International Gorilla Conservation Programme (IGCP) — a regional organisation working across Rwanda, Uganda, and the Democratic Republic of Congo to protect the endangered mountain gorilla. With offices in all three countries, IGCP has become a linchpin of transboundary conservation efforts. But Mugabukomeye’s journey began long before such titles and structures were in place. “When I first entered the world of wildlife conservation, I didn’t have a structured plan or formal academic training in biodiversity,” he recalls. “I had studied biology in secondary school and loved nature. I grew up surrounded by forests, and I always felt a deep connection to the environment. That’s what pulled me in.” Beginnings in Volcanoes National Park Mugabukomeye’s conservation career began on June 8, 1995, when he became a park ranger in Volcanoes National Park — home to one of the last remaining populations of mountain gorillas on earth, in the country's northernmost province, bordering Uganda and DRC. ALSO READ: Rwanda ranks 6th in wildlife conservation in Africa At the time, the job was both dangerous and daunting. The scars of Rwanda’s tragic past were still fresh, and the forests were vulnerable to poaching, encroachment, and insecurity. “The work of a ranger has never been easy,” he says quietly. “In the years after the genocide, insecurity was still real. There were ambushes, there were armed groups, and rangers sometimes lost their lives protecting the parks. Even today, it is physically demanding; days spent trekking in the rain, carrying heavy gear, or following gorillas deep into steep terrain. It is not a glamorous job. But those sacrifices are what made the mountain gorilla story possible.” “One of the challenges we faced was the resettlement of former soldiers, known as 'abaregeya',” he says. “There were informal land allocations happening, where people would be told to sit somewhere and given what they called a ‘document’ — essentially a claim to land. This created tension between human settlement and protected areas.” The context was fragile. Rwanda was rebuilding after the 1994 Genocide against the Tutsi. The country’s priorities were resettling displaced populations, restoring social order, and rebuilding institutions. Conservation was not at the top of the national agenda, and yet the survival of Rwanda’s national parks hung in the balance. Despite the instability, Mugabukomeye found his calling. “I didn’t enter this field because I had a gun,” he explains. “I wasn’t part of armed patrols or enforcement squads. What drew me was the chance to protect biodiversity. I had studied biology in secondary school, I grew up around forests and animals, and I felt a deep responsibility toward nature.” Learning on the job His early years were marked by trial, error, and adaptation. Rwanda’s parks lacked manpower and resources. Many experienced rangers had fled the country, and the remaining workforce was thin. It was not unusual to hear of dozens or even hundreds of people exiting park forests, seeking to resettle or exploit resources. ALSO READ: Rwanda deploys AI to boost gorilla conservation But in the face of these challenges, the government gradually began rebuilding the park system. Recruitment drives expanded the ranger force. Communities were sensitized on the importance of protected areas. “That period was transformative,” Mugabukomeye remembers. “We were laying the foundation for a new conservation culture.” After years of service in volcanoes, he rotated through Rwanda’s other national parks, including Nyungwe and Akagera. In Nyungwe, he witnessed the richness of primate diversity and the role of tropical forests in water security. In Akagera, he experienced the challenges of restoring a savannah ecosystem ravaged by decades of degradation and human encroachment. By the mid-2000s, he returned to Volcanoes National Park, where his focus shifted toward biodiversity conservation and, crucially, community engagement. “That’s when I realised conservation was not just about animals,” he says. “It was about people. Protecting species like gorillas goes hand in hand with improving the livelihoods of those who live near them.” Turning poachers into partners One of Mugabukomeye’s proudest achievements has been transforming local communities from antagonists into allies. Many residents once relied on poaching or illegal harvesting of forest resources for survival. Under his leadership, IGCP and partners introduced alternative livelihoods: beekeeping, handicrafts, sustainable agriculture, and ecotourism ventures. “Some of the people we once arrested for poaching are now among the strongest voices for conservation,” he says. “They belong to cooperatives that generate income legally, and they are respected community members. That transformation is powerful.” Another milestone was the construction of the 76-kilometer “buffalo wall” — a dry-stone barrier built along the park boundary to reduce human-wildlife conflict. By keeping buffaloes and other large mammals from straying into farmland, the wall has minimized crop losses and reduced the risk of retaliatory killings of wildlife. ALSO READ: Inside Rwanda’s 15-year journey of gorilla conservation Equally impactful has been Rwanda’s pioneering revenue-sharing scheme, launched in 2005, which allocates 10 per cent of national park tourism revenues to surrounding communities. The policy, which Mugabukomeye helped implement on the ground, has funded schools, health centers, roads, and water systems. “When communities see benefits flowing from conservation, they become its strongest defenders,” he notes. The rise of Kwita Izina As Rwanda marks two decades of mountain gorilla conservation, among the symbolic initiatives Mugabukomeye has supported is Kwita Izina, Rwanda’s annual gorilla naming ceremony. What began informally — with rangers and conservationists giving names to newborn gorillas for monitoring purposes — has evolved into a globally recognized event attracting celebrities, world leaders, and conservation advocates. “In the early days, it was just rangers sitting together, deciding what to call a new baby gorilla,” he recalls with a smile. “It wasn’t public, it wasn’t glamorous. But it was meaningful to us, because each gorilla’s name is tied to its identity, family, and history.” In 2005, the government institutionalized the practice, transforming Kwita Izina into a public festival showcasing Rwanda’s conservation achievements and positioning the country as a global leader in sustainable tourism. “Today, when a famous person names a gorilla, the world takes notice,” Mugabukomeye says. “It has elevated Rwanda’s profile and inspired pride at home.” The ripple effects are visible in Musanze and Kinigi, where hotels, lodges, and tourism services have proliferated. “You can compare Musanze’s hospitality sector to other secondary cities in Rwanda — the difference is striking,” he says. “This growth is directly tied to conservation and gorilla tourism.” Balancing people and wildlife As gorilla populations and other wildlife rebounded, new challenges emerged. Human-wildlife conflicts persisted, particularly crop raiding by buffaloes and monkeys. To address this, Rwanda innovated with not only the buffalo wall but also a compensation system for farmers affected by wildlife damage. “Not many countries have such a system,” Mugabukomeye explains. “When a farmer’s crops are destroyed, they receive compensation based on current market prices. It may not be 100 per cent, but it’s fair and timely. This reduces resentment and keeps communities on the side of conservation.” At the same time, conservationists had to strengthen gorilla monitoring systems. Rangers began recording detailed data on gorilla families — their numbers, health, births, deaths, and interactions. Each gorilla now has a name, a known lineage, and an identity card of sorts. “Monitoring ensures we know when a gorilla is sick, injured, or giving birth,” he says. “It allows us to respond quickly and protect the population.” Data-driven conservation A turning point in Mugabukomeye’s career came with the adoption of the Ranger-Based Monitoring (RBM) system. Rangers were trained to collect real-time data on wildlife sightings, threats, and habitat conditions. This information, fed into central databases, guides not only park management but also informs regional and international conservation strategies. “The data we collect in volcanoes feeds into the bigger picture of mountain gorilla conservation across the three countries,” he says. “It helps us understand population trends, disease risks, and the effectiveness of interventions.” Shaping the future ahead After more than 30 years in the field, Mugabukomeye remains passionate about the future. His focus is now on youth education and climate resilience. Through environmental clubs in schools, he mentors the next generation of conservationists. ALSO READ: Kwita Izina: Stories behind this year’s gorilla names Through climate-smart agriculture and resilient water systems, he helps communities adapt to climate change while reducing the risk of disease transmission between humans and gorillas. “Conservation isn’t just about protecting wildlife,” he insists. “It’s about empowering people. When communities thrive, wildlife thrives too,” he says. “To make conservation sustainable, we must educate the young. That is why we support environmental clubs in schools around the parks. Children learn about gorillas, about trees, about water. They take those lessons home, and often they influence their parents too,” Mugabukomeye argues that if a child tells their father not to cut a tree because it protects soil and water, that voice carries weight and that is how we create a culture of conservation.” He also underscores the need for vigilance in an era of growing tourism and development pressures. “We have to balance economic growth with ecological sustainability,” he warns. “If we lose the forests, we lose the gorillas, and we lose part of ourselves.” Similarly, Mugabukomeye argues that conservation efforts are threatened by climate change and the unpredictable nature of its consequences. ALSO READ: How gorilla tourism is reshaping Musanze’s economy, communities “Climate change is a new frontier,” Mugabukomeye warns. “We are seeing heavier rains, sometimes long dry seasons, and this affects both people and wildlife. Gorillas are susceptible to diseases that can spread more easily when conditions shift,” “Communities near the parks also face crop failures and water shortages. That is why climate-smart agriculture and reforestation are now part of conservation. We cannot separate people’s survival from the survival of gorillas,” he says. A legacy rooted in purpose Mugabukomeye’s journey is not that of a man who mapped out every step, but rather of someone who listened to a calling and answered it with integrity. Today, his name is synonymous with conservation leadership in Rwanda, not just because of the animals he has helped protect, but because of the people he has empowered along the way. “Thirty years ago, conservation was not a priority for a country recovering from tragedy,” he reflects. “But we stayed the course. We built trust with communities, we adapted, and we showed that protecting gorillas is about protecting our future.” In a region where the balance between nature and humanity is delicate, Mugabukomeye stands as proof that with patience, partnership, and purpose, both can thrive.
