In 1975, Wangari Maathai set up a booth at Nairobi's annual agricultural show with tree seedlings. People stopped, asked questions, expressed interest. "A number of people expressed interest in tree planting," she wrote later. "Not one, though, followed up."

She spent the next two years watching rural women in Nyeri—her home region—and realized she'd been offering the solution to the wrong people.

The women were describing the same pattern everywhere: streams they'd known as children had dried up. Firewood that used to be a short walk now required hours of searching. Soil washed away after every rain. They'd planted cash crops—coffee, tea—on advice from development experts. Now the land was giving them less of everything.

The women understood the connections. They believed someone else—government, experts, men with credentials—would have to fix it. Government foresters certainly reinforced that belief. They didn't think "uneducated rural women" could plant trees.

On June 5, 1977—World Environment Day—Maathai made a different choice. Working through the National Council of Women of Kenya, she organized a march from downtown Nairobi to Kamukunji Park. They planted seven trees in honor of historical community leaders.

Only two of those seven trees survived. But the decision Maathai made that day—to work through women's organizations rather than waiting for individuals to claim seedlings, to trust rural women's existing knowledge over technical forestry credentials—would plant over 51 million trees and establish who gets recognized as an expert in environmental restoration.

What They Already Knew

Maathai, who held a PhD in veterinary anatomy, observed something the credentialed foresters overlooked. Rural women were already gathering seeds in forests, planting them in whatever containers they had—old tin cans, broken cups. They watered seedlings, managed sun exposure, transplanted when the trees reached about a foot tall.

None of this required diplomas. Women extended what they already knew from growing food, from understanding their land, from watching what thrived and what died.

In 1977, Maathai recognized that women already knew how to plant trees. Institutional refusal to acknowledge expertise without credentials had created the barrier, not women's capabilities.

In September 1977, following the ceremonial June planting, a second green belt was established on land owned by a rural women's cooperative in Kiambu district. The approach spread through existing women's networks. By the 1980s, more than 600 tree nurseries had been installed by women throughout Kenya, with 2,500-3,000 women participating.

Maathai called them "foresters without diplomas." The approach asked women to apply knowledge they already possessed.

From Seven Trees to Fifty Million

Dried-up streams revitalized. Soil erosion reduced in critical watersheds. Thousands of acres of indigenous forest restored. Kenya's tree cover, which was less than 2% at the turn of the century, reached 7.2% by 2019—largely through the Green Belt Movement's work.

More than 30,000 women were trained in forestry, food processing, and beekeeping. Over 5,000 nurseries were established. Women received small payments—less than 10 U.S. cents per surviving tree—but the income mattered. It provided independence in households and communities where women had little economic power.

What happened next reached beyond Kenya. In 1986, the Green Belt Movement launched the Pan African Green Belt Network with UN Environment Program funding. Over three workshops, participants from across the continent learned the approach:

Pan-African Expansion
Participants	55 people from 36 organizations
Countries represented	15 (Tanzania, Uganda, Malawi, Ethiopia, Zimbabwe, Lesotho, Rwanda, and others)

The model that began with trusting rural women's knowledge spread across the continent. Maathai had recognized that communities already possessed the expertise institutions couldn't see.

The two trees that survived from June 1977 still stand in Nairobi. They mark the moment when someone chose to recognize that the people experiencing environmental degradation daily possessed knowledge institutions couldn't see.

The Question That Remains

Climate adaptation funding now flows through processes that require technical expertise, institutional management, credentialed professionals. The money exists. But the mechanisms often exclude the people whose knowledge makes adaptation work.

Maathai's 1977 decision revealed something climate adaptation still struggles with: the people living with environmental challenges daily often understand solutions better than distant experts. Credentials and expertise follow different paths. Maathai's choice was to recognize knowledge that was already there.

Rural women in Nyeri knew how to plant trees. Institutions had to learn how to see what they knew. That gap—between community expertise and institutional recognition—still determines whose knowledge counts when communities face environmental crisis.