What unites the leaders I work with is not geography, but the desire to lead in a way that feels both effective and authentic. Because of my time living and working in Africa and the West, I’ve long been interested in how the beliefs and expectations we carry from our countries and cultures influence how we lead and what might become possible when we expand our definition of ‘good’ leadership.
What I’ve experienced of leaders in African countries is not a single style of leadership but a wide spectrum. Some leaders have approaches that may feel familiar to many Western contexts: ambitious, results-focused, and stretched thin by long hours and relentless expectations to succeed and exceed. Their leadership mirrors what is often rewarded and recognized as successful in Western organizational life.
Other leaders in Africa, equally capable, equally intelligent, have a different center of gravity. What stands out to me is a different orientation. They have a deep motivation to do well not only for oneself, but for family, community, and future generations. They have a lived understanding of scarcity and resilience and a warmth that is embodied rather than performative. Their strength does not need to dominate to be felt. And despite the many country and continent specific challenges they face daily, there is a joyfulness that I encounter more often.
In many African contexts, leadership carries qualities that are subtle and unmistakable: care that is expressed openly, interdependence that is acknowledged rather than hidden, and ambition that is integrated with responsibility for others. Many of these qualities are often described in leadership literature as “feminine’. In these spaces, they are not secondary to performance or authority, they are at the core. They value strength that includes care, authority that remains relational, and drive that does not sever connection. Naming this can feel uncomfortable in some Western contexts, where “feminine” qualities have historically been sidelined or misunderstood.
In many Western leadership contexts, the tension I often learn about is a persistent pressure; a fatigue that goes beyond busyness; a focus on performance and output that leaves little, if any, room for rest, renewal, and time to think; a sense that identity is tightly bound to role, title, or organization; and responsibility so often experienced as a burden to carry alone.
As with everything complex, both can be true simultaneously. Western leadership contains depth, care, and humanity, just as African leadership contains ambition, hierarchy, and pressure. These qualities do not belong exclusively to geography. What stands out to me is that history and context matter: what people have endured and rebuilt together leaves its imprint on how leadership is expressed and on what is valued and prioritized.
When we become aware of and open to alternative ways of leading, it can invite courageous reflection. Which parts of my current way of leading have been determined and accepted without question? Which parts am I choosing or might I expand? And perhaps the deeper question is not how we compare, but how we define ‘good’ leadership. What has reinforced it? What might it be leaving out?
Expanding our definition of leadership may mean allowing qualities once considered secondary such as care, relational authority, and shared responsibility to sit at the center rather on the outskirts. For some, this might mean being more generous with oneself and more able to recognize that doubt and fatigue are not signs of inadequacy but signs of deep care and engagement. For others, it may mean loosening an overly individualized model of leadership and allowing community and shared responsibility to carry more weight.
I believe that if we widen and deepen our definition of ‘good leadership’, comparison loosens, isolation lessens, and leadership becomes less about proving and more about who we are willing to become.