True leadership lies in vulnerability. It means admitting when something has gone wrong and having the courage to learn from it. These lessons can reshape how we lead, how we grow, and how we support those around us.
In many cultures across the world, failure isn’t something that is embraced. In African culture especially, from an early age, we’re taught to avoid it, fear it, or quietly move past it. We are not often taught to sit with it, reflect on it, or share it openly. But if we’re honest, failure is part of every journey, especially in leadership.
True leadership lies in vulnerability. It means admitting when something has gone wrong and having the courage to learn from it. These lessons can reshape how we lead, how we grow, and how we support those around us.
In this edition of the Reader, some of the leaders in our network, along with members of our own team, share personal stories of failure and what they learned from those moments. These leaders are practicing real vulnerability by opening up about the many types of failures leaders can face, from strategic missteps to interpersonal blind spots. What unites these stories is not the failure itself, but how each person chose to learn from it rather than wallow in it.
As you read these reflections, we hope you will take a moment to consider your own. What have your failures taught you?
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If you haven’t failed, it means you haven’t done anything.
I’ve learned this truth the hard way. In the early days of founding Strong Roots in eastern DRC, I made a series of hiring decisions that came back to bite.
We brought in people whose values simply didn’t align with ours. At the time, we hadn’t fully understood how important it was to prioritize values just as much as skills. One example still stands out. We hired someone to focus on community engagement and provided him with a motorbike to help him reach remote areas. A few weeks later, he sold the motorbike and disappeared. It was a financial blow, especially because then, we were a young team working with such a limited budget.
Others came in with the right words, oversold themselves, and made big promises, but it quickly became clear they didn’t have the skills to do the job.
Those experiences changed how I lead. Today, I’m much more intentional about who we work with and bring on our team.
Today, we ensure that:
Hiring is deliberate, relational, and values-driven.
Now, we hire differently. Before offering a contract, I sit with the person, we share a meal, talk about life and the things that matter to them. I want to understand who they really are, and see if our approaches are aligned. No external pressure, not even from donors or partners, forces us into rushing recruitment. I’m very proud of the team we’ve built since taking this approach.
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Several years ago, before my time at Maliasili, I fell into conflict with someone I can only describe as a ‘juggernaut’ in Kenyan conservation. My contention with them was that they failed to acknowledge the work of others, including ours, that was pivotal to their success.
My failure here was in the way I dealt with this situation. Instead of putting things into context and finding strategic ways to deal with the situation, I led not just those under me, but all those around me in a massive branding exercise. I put our logo everywhere, eager to no longer be sidelined and unrecognized. As a result, we created what I can only now describe as conservation ‘merch litter’, something that, today, many of us frown upon as a flawed and outdated practice.
The legacy of my angry reaction remains to this day. It is a show of egos, trying to outbrand each other, rather than of compassionate conservation leadership. I wish I could take it all back now. My reaction turned conservation success into a competition where there were winners and losers. It is exactly the opposite of what I stand for, and what is so wrong with our field. I should have taken a pause, recognized my emotions, and responded better instead of reacting. It would have made all the difference.
Today, I:
Don’t let ego hijack the mission.
This experience taught me just how easily ego can take the wheel, and how quickly the focus can shift from the mission to the self. My reaction, though rooted in real frustration, became more about us being seen and acknowledged for our rightful input than about solving the issue at hand. In trying to reclaim our space, work and impact, I created noise. What could have been a shared celebration of impact turned into a branding contest, one that left a legacy I wish I could undo.
Practice restraint.
I’ve learned that leadership calls for restraint. Those momentary decisions, especially when made in frustration, can leave lasting marks. Sometimes, the best thing a leader can do is to pause, take a breath, and choose grace over reaction. Then strategize.
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Early in my career, I had a narrow view of what failure meant. I saw it as a final “no” rather than a “not yet.”
If something didn’t work the first time, I would quickly move on. That mindset closed doors, especially in a field like conservation, where progress often comes slowly. I also struggled at the beginning of my career in reconciling what was conservation in reality vs what you learn in school. I was applying my knowledge very narrowly. It’s easy to think that there is this miracle solution that you can apply from elsewhere that will solve many of the problems we face as a sector.
But conservation is not one-size-fits-all. I have an example that speaks to this point: a program failure.
At the time, Niassa Carnivore Project was trying to find a solution to the illegal killing of wildlife for bushmeat. According to the literature, rabbits were considered a viable alternative source of protein, sustainable, fast-breeding, and already used in other regions. The idea seemed solid, so we introduced them. They adapted quickly, roamed freely, and bred fast. However, much to our horror, they also began digging burrows near people’s houses, many of which were made of mud. During the rainy season, several homes collapsed after their foundations were weakened by these burrows. It was a painful and humbling lesson. In the end, we found that ducks were a much better fit for the local context.
I’ve also seen the power of a mindset shift, of moving from “this can’t be done” to “this hasn’t worked yet.” I could have easily given up after the rabbit disaster, but I had to learn from that failure and adapt. I know this is the reality for many of us in conservation.
How have I changed my leadership since?
I practice adaptive conservation.
It’s essential to understand the local context and adapt ideas based on feedback from what’s really happening on the ground. Not all theoretical ideas will work in every context.
We treat failure as a collective learning opportunity.
We’ve also learned to treat failure as part of the learning process. As a team, we’ve made a conscious effort to reflect on our mistakes together and turn those experiences into shared lessons. This collective approach helps us adapt more effectively than if we were each navigating failure alone.
I’ve embraced the “It’s not working yet” philosophy.
I now recognize that when something isn’t working, it doesn’t mean it has permanently failed. Often, it just means it’s not working yet. That mindset shift, from seeing a “no” as final to seeing it as a “not yet”, has been crucial for me. Adaptation is a process. If you look at most meaningful change in the world, you’ll see it comes after repeated failures.
Accepted that I might fail again, but I will keep trying.
We also need to challenge the perception, often shaped by media and perhaps the stories people see, that conservation is easy. The truth is, as we all know, conservation is hard. It takes time, perseverance, and a willingness to try, fail, and try again, often more than once, before you find what truly works.
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During my final years at Integrated Rural Development and Nature Conservation (IRDNC) in Namibia as the Co-Director, I found myself in a frenzy to raise funding. After nearly 20 years of support, our largest and most loyal donor had shifted priorities, leaving us without critical core funding. Despite tough cost-cutting decisions, we still had to raise close to $2 million; the thought of unpaid salaries kept me up at night.
In response, we took on multiple small, time-bound grants and began consultancy work, hoping it would provide much-needed unrestricted income. We eventually raised the money, and I was proud that we had exceeded our annual target without a dedicated fundraiser, managing over 20 grants with a lean admin team. After all, we prided ourselves on directing resources to the field rather than HQ!
But the costs were high. I became a master administrator, buried in spreadsheets and disconnected deliverables, rather than leading the team. The consultancies, while aligned with our mandate, diverted our attention from core work. Slowly, we lost sight of our long-term vision. The pressure wore us down. I stopped enjoying the work that had once inspired my commitment to IRDNC. Team members who excelled in community engagement work were pulled into administrative roles. Our finance manager, overwhelmed and burned out, eventually resigned.
We had developed a rigid, compliance-driven mindset. The obsession with cash flow and deadlines began to chip away at IRDNC’s unique culture, one built on strategic thinking, responsiveness to communities, and investing in relationships. I felt smug that we had secured a large budget, but at what cost to our mission, to our team and to me?
I’ve since learned:
The right fundraising strategy is absolutely key for any team.
It would have been wiser to stay mission-centered and reduce costs – right down – even if that may have been very painful. We would have been better off doing less, building a strong case for the evidence of our work’s impact, and slowly building relationships with donors strategically aligned with our goals, even if they were unable to fund us at the time. Eventually, funding always finds great impactful work.
Staying mission-centred is critical to any conservation organization.
I thought that being more ‘generalist’ would broaden opportunities for IRDNC. But it’s only when organizations remain highly focused on their mission that they become the ‘go to’ for their area of specialization.
Being a leader doesn’t mean being alone.
I felt that I carried the heaviest load of fundraising – but that was not an accurate view of things. It made me feel unnecessarily burdened. We had a strong network of allies and supporters, and dynamic and committed former team members, who – had I been humble enough to reach out – would have been more than willing to help me to think creatively and more strategically about funding.
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In a previous job, I served as the Minister of Water and Environment for my region. As the lead of a water governance initiative, I aimed to transform water access through legislation. We assembled top experts, secured funding, and designed a technically flawless bill promising affordable, organized water access for thousands of households. After immersive consultations with assembly representatives, including off-site briefings on citizen benefits, we felt confident of success.
Two weeks before the vote, an assembly member called: “It’s not the bill, it’s the timing.” Despite our meticulous preparation, the bill failed spectacularly. My heart sunk. Representatives who had praised it days earlier voted “no.”
I was very bitter with the outcome. I felt that I had completely failed, failed myself and the people who desperately needed access to clean and safe water. I was trying to do the right thing, how could they? In my bitterness, I discovered the fatal flaw: political horse-trading. Our bill had become collateral damage in an unrelated power struggle I was not aware of. Technical merit meant nothing when pitted against backroom political deals.
Six months later, the identical bill passed with only a date change. The difference? Timing.
I learned that leadership demands:
Reading the room beyond what appears logical.
In many instances, especially in conservation, logical arguments will often not get you the wins you deserve. Merit isn’t always enough. Even the most logical, well-researched proposals can fail if they don’t align with the political climate or timing.
Understand the power dynamics at play.
In leadership, especially in public service and community conservation, it’s essential to map not only the formal stakeholders, but also the informal currents, hidden agendas, rivalries, or shifting alliances that could impede progress. What is currently happening where you’re working, both the seen and unseen? Knowing this helps to avoid surprises that might be a hindrance to progress.
Know when to take a pause, and come back stronger.
Tactical patience is not weakness. Sometimes, stepping back, recalibrating, and waiting for the right window can be more effective than pushing forward. This is often true in many instances for example when implementing projects with communities, where there are various dynamics that need to be addressed for the projects to succeed.
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I once failed to listen deeply enough to the unspoken signals from my team about a colleague. This person stood out, they were the only one with a degree on our team at the time, and presented themselves brilliantly. At first, I wondered if the team’s discomfort was driven by envy or some kind of ‘ganging up.’
But what I missed was that the team actually had strong, collective intuition. They felt something was off but didn’t know how to voice it without sounding like they were telling tales. As it turned out, the colleague had significant mental health challenges that they had refused to address, and it became one of the most complex management issues I’ve ever had to deal with. I took a little too long to listen to my team.
My failure was not observing more closely, not reading between the lines, and not creating the kind of space where concerns could be raised safely and without judgment.
This failure taught me several lessons including:
The need to create a safe, discreet, and accessible space for both staff and managers to raise or explore potential mental health concerns.
Be more observant of team dynamics and how one person’s behavior may be affecting the group, even if everything seems fine on the surface.
Don’t ignore discomfort or strange behavior; it’s often a signal. Be courageous enough to explore it rather than hoping it will go away on its own.
What really went wrong? Why? Sometimes the ‘failure’ isn’t as obvious as we think. Keep asking yourself, “but why” until you can’t answer that question anymore. This will usually get you to the heart of the answer.
What actions or decisions did I make that contributed to this failure? What actions or decisions DIDN’T I make/do that contributed to this? Sometimes it’s hard to look at ourselves clearly. So put yourself in someone else’s shoes: what would they say to you about the failure?
What would I do differently today?
