The Laidlaw Foundation aims for their Scholars to refine their leadership skills and to do this, we must figure out who we are as leaders. Growing up, I was considered a ‘natural-born leader,’ where others recognised traits in me that influenced and strengthened others alongside me. If you were to ask me though, I would have told you that people only said that because I was overtly confident for my age, so people only listened because I had the loudest voice in the room. I didn’t see the ‘leader’ that everyone else saw. I knew I thrived socially and loved talking to people – as many people as a little girl could, to be honest. I knew I had no difficulty on a stage, whether that was in theatre or as a form of activism, educating my school network on social issues around the world. I knew I liked taking charge of projects, but I wouldn’t have said it was because I am a leader. I would have said that if I depended on someone else, they either wouldn’t do it right or wouldn’t do it at all. It was better for everyone involved if I managed the project and while it may have been pessimistic, at the time, everyone else depended on me too. If anything, I was fulfilling the role that was assigned to me.
In my first year as a Laidlaw Scholar, I attended introductory workshops to leadership over a residential weekend with the other UCL Scholars. Meeting them, I could see the leadership quality in everyone else. I saw how business-minded some of them were, able to navigate issues through a corporate lens and identify areas where the workshop related to the world of work. Me personally? I was just happy to trade a blue block for a red block and watch the designated architect build something I could not have done in a million years. I saw how creative my peers were, their ability to analyse, mimic and build, to create the images they see in their own mind and share a physical form of their imagination. I saw how kind and open some of them were, creating a safe space for all ideas and all voices. I found myself in a room full of leaders and still, at that point, if you were to ask me, I wouldn’t know what leader I was or if I was one in the same way everyone else was. My journey in Laidlaw has shown me the ‘natural-born leader’ my community saw when I was younger. Better yet, Laidlaw has shown me the type of leadership I embody, and how my strengths uplift a team.
At times, I can be stubborn. My secondary school, for instance, did not want to talk about the genocide in Palestine and I asked my Head Teacher directly whether he would address it during assembly. Every other crisis that seemed to happen was, at the very least, mentioned. When it came to black and brown people – suddenly, that ethos did not exist. Safe to say, he did not give me the most satisfactory answer. Safer to say, I ensured it was addressed in assembly. I have always fought for what I believed in and during my LiA, I learned how determined I am. In the last two weeks of my project, I fell seriously ill. Both healthcare providers in Ghana and in the UK had failed me in some way. My first responder in Ghana was a pharmacist who, convinced I had malaria, started me on a malaria medication plan. I remember calling my mama and telling her that I really don’t think it is malaria. “I think I have an infection.” Two days later, when the medicine gave me no relief, I went to hospital, demanding a test, demanding to know what was wrong with me. In fact, I was doing a lot of demanding while I was ill.
Even in the UK, where my GP did not take my illness seriously and I ended up admitted to the hospital, I fought for my health. My UTI (not malaria) developed into a kidney infection, and, during this, I demanded that my care be taken seriously, that someone figured out why I was so unwell. I was even willing to undergo surgery if it had meant someone could tell me what was wrong with me. Luckily, I didn’t need to in the end. As a leader, this determination of mine will be what drives projects forward, what allows me to fight for my ideas and my team. People don’t just listen to me because I am loud – though I am sure it helps – people listen because I say what is worth listening to. In spite of this, I’m not a ‘head of the table’ leader, barking orders, having an oversight of the situation but never really involved. I learned I was a ‘let’s all hold hands and sing kumbaya’ leader from this one instance in Ghana. Due to dangerous floods and the grid’s distribution of power, there were times where the house was dark, with no running water and no ability to charge or use most appliances.
The first time this happened, our Country Coordinator had decided to leave the volunteer house. Me and 5 others were alone, unable to go to our respective projects and with no assurance that we would be able to shower or even eat that day. It was unsurprising that moods fell, and everyone appeared pretty hopeless. There was so much out of our control and the one person who was meant to look after us did not seem to care less, but we could control how we chose to spend the day. I encouraged everyone to party with me, sharing songs from different countries and learning each other’s cultural or childhood dances. In that moment, I couldn’t drive away the mosquitos attracted by the flood, I couldn’t bring the power or water back, but I could make everyone smile again. This moment, I believe, is testament to the type of leader I am.
If you were to ask me now, though, I would tell you that, yes, most of the time – I am the loudest in the room. My voice does not silence, though, my voice amplifies. I say what others are afraid to say. Yes, I love to talk and love meeting people, and this comfortability I have with social interactions enables me to connect with a diverse range of people. It enables me to empathise and understand experiences outside of my own, preparing me to interact with a world full of differences. Above all, I uplift those around me so I aim to continue to be a leader that inspires.