The years 2024 and 2025 have been exceptionally tough. Grief has hovered, businesses have limped, and politics has been heated and disorienting. Many of us have been quietly and tightly holding on, trying to make sense of it all.
When I chose to attend the YELP Seminar this year, I wasn’t entirely sure what I was walking into. There was a bit of anxiety, like with most reunions, where there’s often that unspoken pressure to measure up, to compare everyone’s journey with your own. The theme, “Leadership at Crossroads,” couldn’t have captured that feeling more accurately.
One of life’s more elusive hurdles is internal: how we imagine we should lead ourselves, versus how life actually unfolds. Early in life, shaped by Western higher education and its emphasis on social impact, I internalized a clear vision: to lead well and do good. Yet, fifteen years of living and returning to Uganda have shown me the sharp divide between intention and reality. The intention to lead well often wrestles with the necessity to survive: making ends meet, starting a family, navigating new businesses. Even acknowledging that tension is itself a privilege. For many, that’s not a debate; it’s simply life.
During our opening PIES check-in (Physical, Intellectual, Emotional, Spiritual), I was reminded how often we run on autopilot. We flex our intellectual muscles, squeeze in some physical activity, and check in spiritually, but when was the last time we really sat with our emotional well-being? Not often. The check-in felt like a balance sheet audit of the self.
Ever since I discovered the Chinese New Year in 2018 and how each year is shaped by its zodiac animal, I’ve been captivated by their thematic relevance. It struck me how perfectly 2025 aligns as the Year of the Snake, a period in Chinese culture symbolizing renewal, patience, quiet strength, and the rediscovery of old ties. This reunion, emphasizing intentional movement, truly felt like it couldn’t have come at a better time.
We read from The Letter from the Cathedral of Milan (Bill Shore, November 1998), a beautiful piece about sacrifice and conviction, especially at life’s inflection points. It reminded us that everything beautiful is built brick by brick, often with struggle and long-forgotten effort. At midlife, we often underestimate just how much we’ve already built, not only in careers but in our inner scaffolding. This reflection hit differently.
Then came that session, the keynote that didn’t feel like a keynote. A quiet reckoning that spoke directly to our internal crossroads. Hashim Mulangwa, Senior Faculty Member Leo Africa Institute and CEO of BG Green Systems and Solutions, in conversation with Raymond Mujuni, YELP Class of 2017 and Deputy Director at AIIJ, delivered what I can only describe as a necessary pause: a moment of honesty, clarity, and truth-telling that peeled back all the layers we so often hide behind.
It wasn’t inspiration in the overused sense. It was alignment: a mirror held up for each of us to truly look inward. Hashim’s reflections weren’t about performance or perfection. They were about leadership in its rawest form: self-leadership. He challenged us, firmly but gently, to stop chasing applause and start confronting our “hangers”: the quiet cravings for affirmation, control, and relevance.
He spoke of adaptation not as a technique, but a discipline; a mindset of knowing your sails even when you can’t control the wind. That line, “you can’t be a leader if you’re not here,” has echoed with me since. Because the truth is, many of us have been running on empty, powered by adrenaline and expectation, forgetting that burnout has a way of whispering before it roars.
Raymond, ever the sharp moderator, nudged the conversation to a tension most of us feel: how do we remain humble while dreaming boldly? Whether it’s imagining trams in Kampala, financial inclusion at scale, or green energy transformations, how do we hold vision and humility in the same breath? Hashim’s answer was grounded: know your stuff, show up ready, but be willing to listen. And that’s it. Excellence doesn’t have to be loud. It just needs to be honest.
He opened up about transitions: the chaos, the uncertainty, the slow unraveling of familiar scripts. He told us about the season when his body broke down before his ambition did. A lesson in slowing down, in checking in, in accepting that even purpose must rest.
He spoke of adversity as the funnel that shapes us: silverware doesn’t just appear polished, it is forged. Sometimes we’re sleeping in tents, sometimes we’re pitching failing ventures, sometimes we’re simply asking ourselves, “Why am I still doing this?” In those moments, it’s not always clarity we need. Sometimes we just need to sit in the rain, feel it, and know that eventually, we’ll rise.
But the part that will stay with me most was his take on influence. “Influence is a gift; be a custodian, not a performer.” That hit. In an age where presence is often reduced to followers and soundbites, Hashim reminded us that how we lead is as important as what we lead. Our greatest credibility isn’t built online; it’s built in the quiet rooms where people decide whether to trust us or not.
He cautioned us against being drunk on our own hype. Ego has a way of making us believe our own PR, silencing critique, and leading us into performance instead of purpose. He asked us to choose self-awareness over self-promotion, to let integrity speak in rooms we haven’t entered. And if we mess up, to own it, fully and publicly.
Finally, he asked us to stop chasing the Africa we want as an abstract slogan, and start becoming the leaders we need. Because without self-awareness, without inner scaffolding, we can’t build anything sustainable. You are only useful to Africa if you are whole. Not burnt out. Not overextended. Not fragmented. Whole!
This wasn’t a leadership session. It was a leadership mirror. In that mirror, each of us had to reckon, not with what we do, but with who we are becoming.
As I walked out of the room, heart full and spirit quieted, I realized this was never just a reunion. It was a recalibration. A reminder.
We don’t need more strategies. We need more soul. We don’t need more platforms. We need more pillars. We don’t need more visibility. We need more vision.
And maybe, just maybe, the Africa we want is already quietly unfolding through the leaders who are finally willing to lead themselves.
