At the AfWID Forum, in a sea of powerful women, I had the honor of meeting Mama Ria Phiyega, a woman whose legacy of resilience and leadership has withstood the harshest storms.
From the moment I saw her, surrounded by women who admire her, requesting interviews (myself included, of course—I was part of that beautiful chaos), I knew I was in the presence of someone truly extraordinary.
Mama Ria carries herself with an aura of peace and quiet power, something that struck me deeply. She was calm, composed, and fully present despite the whirlwind around her.
I watched her engage with every person with grace, never rushing, never dismissing. It was in those moments that I saw the true mark of a leader—not one who demands attention, but one whose presence alone commands deep respect.
And then, there was her touch.
I am an attentive person. I notice the smallest details, the unspoken gestures that say more than words ever could. And in my encounters with Mama Ria, her touch spoke volumes. It wasn’t just any touch—it was a touch that carried love, affirmation, and power.
During the interview she granted me, as she spoke about the backlash she endured, she placed her hand on my shoulder. I felt it. I can’t even put it into words, but I felt it—a transfer of strength, a silent acknowledgment that only women who have fought battles in the dark can give to those still finding their fight.
I thought maybe I was reading too much into it. But then, on the second day, when I looked at the picture we took, I noticed it again—her hand resting on my shoulder. And on the last day, as I sat in the front seat of the taxi leaving the Birchwood hotel, I greeted her and waved goodbye, she waved back one last time. These weren’t coincidences.
A touch from a woman like Mama Ria is not just a physical gesture—it is an imprint on the soul. It says, I see you. I hear you. I appreciate you. I affirm you. In that moment, I knew that this was not just an encounter—it was an anointing.
This encounter meant the world to me because I remember the backlash. I remember when she was appointed as South Africa’s first female National Police Commissioner. I was much younger then, unknowing, uncritical, simply absorbing what society fed me.
And what did they feed us? That she was a “bad leader,” that she was “incompetent,” that she “failed.” Being young and unaware, I didn’t even probe further—I just accepted it. But now, I see. Now, I understand.
The attacks on Mama Ria had nothing to do with her competence and everything to do with the fact that she was a Black woman in power. A woman leading an institution that had, for decades, been the stronghold of men. And how dare she? How dare a woman take up that space and hold it with confidence? How dare she challenge the status quo? This is what society could not stand.
This is what they fought against. It was never about her leadership—it was about the fear of what she represented: the inevitable rise of women in positions of power.
And so they tried to destroy her. They vilified her, ridiculed her, and tore her name apart in public. They humiliated her, hoping she would crumble. But she did not. She took every attack with grace, stood firm, and refused to be broken. The very system that sought to erase her only strengthened her legacy.
And now, look at her. Look at us. We walk boldly in her footsteps. We take up space, unshaken by the pushback. We know what they did to her, and we say to those who vilified her: We see you. We remember. And we are coming for all of you who resist women's leadership and deny us the right to lead.
The backlash against women in leadership is something I have become deeply passionate about as a women's rights advocate and as a WOSSO Fellow. Through the WOSSO fellowship program, I have had the opportunity to engage with courageous women leaders, advocate for human rights, and critically reflect on the challenges women continue to face in positions of power.
Women like Mama Ria Phiyega have already fought the battles that many of us are only now beginning to understand. She was a living testament to the resistance that women leaders face in traditionally male-dominated spaces. But more than that, she was proof that we are unshakable.
Her strength affirms my own, and I will continue to fight against the pushback, not just for myself but for the many young women who come after me.
This is why I do not take platforms like AfWID for granted. This space, created for African women, especially young African women like myself, allows us to be in the presence of greatness, to learn from those who have walked before us, and to shape the future with the knowledge of our past.
AfWID has given us the opportunity to sharpen our leadership, connect with powerful movements, and strengthen our advocacy. I, for one, do not take this lightly.
I didn’t just meet Mama Ria once at the AfWID Forum. As fate would have it, I bumped into her again on the second day. And then, as we were leaving on the final day, I saw her one last time—walking to the parking lot with her assistant. I waved goodbye, and she waved back.
I don’t believe in coincidences. I am a deeply spiritual person, and I know when the universe is at work. This encounter meant something. Mama Ria Phiyega came into my path not once, not twice, but three times. The universe is cooking up something great for me, and I am ready for it.
To Mama Ria—we give you your flowers now, today, while you can still smell them. You are a pillar of strength, a force of justice, a leader who paved the way for all of us.
Your grace, your resilience, and your legacy live on in every woman who dares to lead. And to those who tried to silence you? You failed. She is still here. And we are just getting started.
