Allen Asiimwe’s ‘elephant’ chase across 40 countries

“For many women, there is always something holding us back; patriarchy, cultural contexts, and inner fears like the impostor syndrome, fear of failure, of not being enough,” she says.

The second elephant is what she stewards every day as the deputy CEO and chief of programmes at TradeMark East Africa, an organisation focused on inclusive trade and regional integration. There, she is committed to shaping Africa’s narrative on governance, trade and regional integration. Trade, women, and inclusion marks intersect most of her body of work throughout her career.

We speak the day before her birthday, which will be spent travelling [always] and doing needs mapping. She just crossed the 50th mark, and the most important question she’s asking herself is, “What more can I do?” Her elephants are still out there.

Did you grow up in Uganda?

Yes, in Kampala, in a family of five girls and one boy. In an African setting, you often have more siblings. Our family was always large. My parents had very open doors. My mom always said, "The only small thing will be your heart. The home is never too small to take in people." So our three-bedroom home would often have around 15 people. We didn't have much, but we had plenty. There was always enough to go around because of our parents' generosity.

My dad was an optimist. He was a career civil servant who later became a one-term Member of Parliament. It was hard for a civil servant to go into politics.

My mom was a banker but also did a lot of trade between Kampala and Kenya. She would travel overnight, do quick shopping for textiles, go back and sell them, then be at the bank during the day.

I think those experiences taught us a lot about hard work and perseverance. Nothing's too small. If you look at my family, everyone is hustling or multitasking. You'll be a lawyer but also run two other things.

Sounds like a stable childhood.

It was, except for a short period when I left home and went to live with my cousins.

Why did you leave home?

I can’t get into it here, but I had an argument with my dad. I was maybe 16 or 17. So, most of my university years I was away. But we later on patched things up when I had my first child.

I was around 30. But having said that, my father was the most loving dad; everybody who knew him would agree. When he was vying for the MP position, he couldn’t lie; that’s why he lost.

The region we come from - southwest Uganda, the Bachiga people - they are known to be very forthright, honest. That has also played out a lot in my career. My mom and I say what we mean, and we mean what we say.

My dad was imprisoned for about four months during the bad days when they would just take you for political affairs in '82, the Obote (former President Milton Obote) period. The day he was released, nearly 60 people were taken to the forest and killed. Arbitrary killings. Such things played out as we grew up. But my parents were never the kind to look back, always forward-looking.

How did that background shape you?

If you look at my career, I've had a few knocks and hits, but I've always thought, "What's next? What more can I do?" I take after my mother, who very service-oriented and missionary-like. My dad used to call her "the eternal missionary."

Our home was never small; we could take in one more person. So I find I'm always doing acts of service. It's my love language. Through my mom, I discovered kindness, service. It brings me a lot of fulfillment when I do things for others and create an impact.

Last night, watching the news [Saba Saba protests], I was very frustrated. In the past, I was very much into activism. I would be leading campaigns for women, especially against domestic violence.

I was chairperson of Federation of Women Lawyers (FIDA) in Uganda. I led many movements across the continent on women's rights, on human rights. So I was always trying to make good or to fight injustice. And I think I picked up a lot of it from my mom and family.

What battles are you fighting now?

I've sort of eased back. Now I see a lot of that fighting spirit in my daughter who is passionate about rights. She'll see something wrong in the US, like immigration and tax, and she'll speak against it.

Over time I realised instead of fighting for people, I could have a bigger impact by empowering people to meet their rights. I do that by mentoring more women into leadership through Girls for Girls, which I started at Harvard Kennedy School with a few friends. We are looking at how to empower women to take action and change their lives and impact their communities.

Women often have a dream. Even at 70-something, my mother still has a dream. She thinks she will become a millionaire. [Laughs] Everyone has a dream, but for many women, especially because there's always patriarchy and cultural contexts, there are also things that hold us back, especially impostor syndrome and the inner fears: the fear of failure, the fear of not being enough. It's never just about the money. There's always that fear that I'm not good enough. So we believe that mentorship is a way to share how to navigate the leadership journey.

How old are your children?

My daughter is 21 and my son is 20.

What do you tell your son in readiness for another girl who's being raised to be a woman like you?

That’s a very interesting question. The truth is that even though we've done quite a lot with women, boys still come from a place of great privilege. It's only recently that some countries started allowing women to drive, to own land or property and inherit.

However, to safeguard these gains, it doesn't mean we don't raise empowered boys as well. They are struggling with issues of vulnerability and masculinity as they see these strong, empowered women come up.

Growing up, my dad had a chair designated for him in the house. Only he could eat certain parts of the chicken. That's not the situation in many households now; everyone is treated equally.

Men are now dealing with not being able to be vulnerable, to show, "Look, I am not the man of the house. I cannot feed." So I've had these conversations with my son. I believe there is a space for men to come up, to see how we can create curated programmes and support systems that allow men to thrive in this new dispensation.

Of your children, whom are you more anxious for as they face the future?

I fret for my girl, my son not very much because boys generally just get up and do things. They have the confidence. With a girl, she may be confident, but she will need the boost. They've both gone through the best schools, but the girl will still face hurdles, both internally and in the job market.

I don't have to remind you that there are still places where they pay men and woman unequally for the same job, or that there are still places where harassment at the workplace is rife because of one's gender.

What have you learned rising to where you are in your career?

First, you have to play politics. You cannot be on the side lines. I've seen people who think, "I'll bow my head and just get on with it and do my work, and they'll see me." It doesn't work that way. You have to be visible. You have to be at the forefront. You have to speak up. I'm not saying be nasty. I hate it when people are nasty, no, I mean speak up, show up, do the hard work.

One thing many young people fail to appreciate is that climbing requires hard work. I learned this first-hand. Back in the UK, I worked in a factory to pay my way through university.

Every minute mattered; if you were late, you lost an hour's pay. You have to show up, put in the effort, and build that muscle for the challenging moments ahead, because they will come.

Second, I've also realised the value of taking time out to reflect, which busy women, especially, often don't do. We think we're superwomen, but stepping back is essential. And a big shift for me has been choosing excellence over perfectionism.

I used to be a perfectionist, working hours on end for flawless reports. Now, it's about doing my absolute best and hitting submit, rather than getting stuck trying to make something "perfect" and missing out entirely.

When did you learn to speak up?

I've always spoken up. Being into a family of five girls, one of the biggest issues was that we grew up knowing my mother would have been better with a boy, more boys, because in my parents' culture, there was always the push for boys.

So, I remember when she would come back from the hospital, and I'm among the older ones, the community would say, "Oh, what did she get?" And it was another girl.

So I was always pushing. I remember at 11, I pushed my dad about bride price. "Why would you charge a bride price for me?" And I cried so much, like, "How much would I be worth? How many cows?"

It was so abhorrent for me that someone could actually pay cows for me. I was always asking questions, of course, about God and later in my 20s and 30s, about structural systems and patriarchy and cultural context and how it is that the system is the way it is.

What question are you asking yourself and the world right now?

I've been looking at the injustice and thinking, "Gosh, if we don't do something, there's going to be a problem." Seeing the injustice, I feel a strong urgency to act, believing inaction will lead to problems.

Trade drives prosperity—Nairobi is a prime example—yet concurrently, we see so many struggling, angry youth. My central question is: How do we create equity? This isn't a communist idea, but a pragmatic recognition that ignoring these issues will backfire.

Now past 50, I'm deeply reflecting on my purpose. My focus has narrowed to mental health, the vital link between trade and women's empowerment, and financial inclusion. My village's women's financial groups, now thriving independently, are a source of great pride.

What would you wish you had done differently when you look back at your life?

I told you, I don't look over my shoulder. I'm very pragmatic. However, one of the things I struggled with was parenting. I was doing a lot with my career. I was travelling around. My children used to call me a "travel monster mom" at one time.

I used to wonder, "Have I been a good mom? Would I have been there more?" But I realised if I had been there, maybe I wouldn't have had the opportunities they got. So it was a catch-22. Right now, I've learned to be more present. People always ask me, "How do you balance?" And I tell them, "You can't balance. Something has to give." So, what I practice more is presence.

Will you ever get married again?

[Laughs] I don't know. [Pause]. I'm a very independent person, so I've really struggled with that question. I would really love companionship; good, quality companionship.

What do you want from your 50s?

Beyond work, my primary goal is to impact one million girls through Girls for Girls. We're currently in 40 countries, having reached around 10,000, training mentors through our shared leadership model.

I spend many weekends on this, aiming to see more women take control and transform their communities. On the trade side, I'd love to see Africa trade more with itself. Much of my work will remain in these areas, along with financial inclusion, expanding on the success of women's groups in my village.

Personally, I'm reflecting more. I'm trying to get back to my active past, like being a Zumba instructor, though balancing it with travel is tough.

Now that my children are growing up and moving out, I'm mapping out what brings me fulfilment. This includes community impact – reconnecting with my roots and building strong communities – and ideation, creating new solutions for problems around us.

Are there things that make you anxious?

Can you imagine? I was talking to friends. I don't know why death suddenly seems to be something we're seeing so often, with so many young people passing away. I know having that anxiety isn't right, but we have to prepare ourselves.

The other day, I was talking to someone who said, "But I still have around 30, 40 years to go, so I shouldn't have this thing hanging over me." Because you see, it can be immobilising.

Death, like an assassination, can immobilise. I remember when my dad died, I froze for several years. I couldn't do investments. I couldn't do anything because I kept thinking, "What's the point? You die." And there's also something else— I want to have a fulfilled life. I don't want the fear hanging over me. I instead want to focus on what I can do, even if it's in a limited time, whether it's a day or 30 years.

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