Portside

Striding through Bumbogo village, near Kigali, the Rwandan capital, Josette Uwanziga, 24, cuts a striking figure. Wearing a white dress, black jacket and patent leather sandals, and clutching her mobile phone and keys, she could be on her way to an office in one of the capital's new skyscrapers, instead of walking past a patchwork of bean and sweet potato fields en route to the village's tin-roofed administration offices.

The head of customer service is the perfect emblem for a new generation of women the government is pushing hard to promote. Independent, ambitious and self-sufficient, Uwanziga hopes to move quickly up the ranks. "I want to make decisions and be involved in the development of my country," she says. "Women are much more developed now, they want to be involved in politics. Men have to understand that now we have the right to the things they have."

Women's rights in Rwanda – where, 20 years ago, between 250,000 and 500,000 women were raped during the genocide that left more than 800,000 Tutsis dead – have progressed hugely. An impressive 64% of parliamentarians are women – the highest proportion of any parliament in the world – gender rights are enshrined in its constitution, and a swath of laws have given women the right to inherit land, share the assets of a marriage and obtain credit. As many girls as boys receive primary and secondary education, maternal mortality is lower and the birth rate is falling.

There is also a drive to rid the country of gender-based violence – one-stop centres are being rolled out, while electronic billboards in Kigali declare: "Together we can stop sexual harassment".

But that is not the full story. Domestic violence remains common and widely accepted – the phrase "niko zubakwa" or "that's how marriages are built" is frequently used. Behind closed doors, fearful critics of President Paul Kagame's regime claim the apparent empowerment of women is little more than a PR exercise.

The gender minister, Oda Gasinzigwa, laughs off the suggestion. "Go into the communities and ask," she says, noting that neighbouring countries come to learn from Rwanda. "We have been on a transformative journey and we have come very far. After the genocide women played a vital role in rebuilding the country."

Kagame's approach to gender rights is clear-eyed, she adds: "The president has said: 'How can we develop our country if we leave half of the population behind?' And he is right."

After the genocide, which left hundreds of thousands of women widowed and traumatised, the fight for equality came second to survival. Groups such as Avega , set up by 58 widows in 1995, helped grieving women form cooperatives as well as providing financial and psychological support.

In a room crammed with sewing machines in Avega's eastern province cooperative, Joseline Nibagwire, whose husband was killed in the genocide together with two of her three children, puts it this way: "The women in this room went through poverty, anguish, hopelessness, illness, rapes, torture. We had to share those problems to overcome them. We used to only talk about what had happened, now we just work."

A new generation of women, taught about the genocide at school, is beginning to break down barriers. Beatrice Bamurigire, 21, became a plumber in the Gatsibo district in the east; her training was funded by the NGO Plan International. She is heavily pregnant and insists she will continue to work after having her baby. "My husband is very supportive, he sees that by having this work we have a better life for our family," she says. "Women have a choice now – we can even do traditionally male jobs."

Sexual violence

But recent reports hint at a darker picture behind the success stories. According to the government's 2010 demographic and health survey, two in five women reported suffering physical violence at least once since they were 15. One in five had experienced sexual violence, most at the hands of their husbands.

A 2011 report from the Rwandan Men's Resource Centre said 57% of women questioned had experienced violence from a partner, while 32% of women had been raped by their husbands – a crime admitted by only 4% of men. And while, according to UN figures, the number of people living in poverty has fallen from 56.7% in 2006 to 44.9% in 2011, in rural areas the poorest citizens tend to be women, often genocide survivors.

Part of the problem, says Godelieve Mukasarasi, founder of the widows' association Sevota, who campaigned for rape to be recognised as a weapon of genocide, is that the women who have suffered most remain sidelined. "It is good there is a focus on gender laws now, but women who were attacked during the genocide are still suffering. Many men who committed these crimes were not punished, they acted with impunity," she says. "Apparently we have zero tolerance to this violence now, but if you are going to have zero tolerance, first you have to punish the original perpetrators."

Critics of the government argue that the regime – which has been accused of locking up, or assassinating, dissenters – is impeding progress. Many suspect the number of women in parliament may be linked to a desire to change the constitution to allow Kagame to run for a third term in 2017.

During a secret dinner in a Kigali suburb, a longtime women's rights campaigner speaks anonymously. "I go to these meetings, we sit round a table and I hear about this amazing progress. And ask myself – are we living in the same country?" she says. "We are not blind to the progress that has been made, but the women we work with are excessively poor. And increasingly, we see the poorest are women – women are beginning to have a monopoly on poverty."

But what about the series of laws brought in to promote women's rights in the past two decades? She laughs. "What does that mean, if you are so poor you cannot eat? These women parliamentarians have a good salary, good for them – I'm pleased, really I am – but it's like a vase of flowers in a living room: it looks good, it smells good, but ultimately it does nothing."

Another guest, a critic of the regime, adds: "We know about these things, we could help – but if no one is allowed to criticise anything, then how can things get better?"

In Butare, Speciose Mukakamana, 47, explains that she feeds herself, her husband and her five children from a small plot of land. They live on about 15,000-30,000 Rwandan francs a month ($15-30), the income from her husband's occasional work. Her 15-year-old daughter wants to attend secondary school, but they cannot afford the fees and she may have to start work. Asked whether a female-majority parliament has improved her life, she shrugs. "You see them when they come for votes, you hear it on the radio – but they don't come here to ask how we are doing. You are not going to go to them and say, 'This is my problem, can you help me?'"

Mukakamana says she was raped and badly beaten by an attacker a few years ago, but the case was never followed up by police: "I felt like people no longer respected me as a mother or church member, it was like a second [ordeal] I had to go through."

But the state, third sector and church argue that grassroots work is being done to tackle inequality and gender violence. In Bumbogo, local leaders have teamed up with the church and Tearfund, an NGO, to raise awareness and challenge traditional patriarchal views.

Sitting in the shadow of his church, Reverend Didace Gatsinzi, explains that he has had several conversations with husbands who beat their wives. "I tell them, 'God does not support a man who beats his wife.' It is hard work, but it is our job and it is bearing fruits," he says. "Here people listen to the church more than they do the local leaders."

Uwanziga, a young leader trained in gender-based violence, insists that although the country has some way to go, it is making progress. "A lot is changing here: women are making decisions – in their families, in the government. They are involved in every aspect of the country," she says. Then, with a glint of challenge in her eye, she asks: "And you, how are things in your country?"