The Making of a Man: Leadership Forged in Loss

One of the most defining moments of my life as a man and a leader came the day I lost my mother—my anchor, my pillar of emotional resilience and strength. It was during the height of COVID, a time when hospital beds and oxygen were scarce. After tirelessly calling around, we secured a spot for her in Mulago Hospital’s main ICU, Bed 12. The story of how we managed that is one I’ll share another day.

What happened next is still raw, as vivid as if it were yesterday. Transferring her from the ambulance nearly cost us everything. The oxygen tank we’d brought was too large to fit on the hospital bed, forcing us to wait for a smaller one. By the time the nurses found it, her oxygen levels had plummeted below 50. There was hope, but it was faint. Eventually, they hooked her up to the ICU equipment and assured us she was in good hands. In Uganda, you facilitate everything to move quickly, and we did. By 7 p.m., exhausted, we found a place to stay nearby in case they called.

At 3 a.m., my phone buzzed with messages from our hospital contact. Mum’s oxygen levels had improved, and she’d even sent us pictures. Relief washed over me, and I drifted back to sleep. But the next morning, ICU and COVID restrictions made it impossible to see the doctors, no matter how hard we tried.

Then, at 2:30 p.m., the call came. Our contact said things had taken a turn—mum hadn’t reacted well to new meds and was fighting for her life. I told my sister, who’d flown in from London, to pray while I pressed on with the day’s duties. At 3 p.m., an unknown number rang. As her next of kin, I answered every call. This was the one you dread, the one you can’t unhear. My knees buckled, and I sank to the pavement. Protective son mode kicked in—I bombarded the doctor with questions. How? Why? Just hours earlier, they’d said she was improving. Conspiracy theories swirled, but it didn’t matter. The news was final.

I called her bedside nurse, breaking the news through a haze of disbelief. Then, gulping water to steady myself, I began the calls to relatives and friends. At that moment, words from my mentor, Vusi Thembekwayo, echoed in my mind: “What makes you a leader is when you step up when it’s time, how your energy and disposition change when it’s time to lead.” Those words carried me through the days ahead.

You can’t train for leadership like this—managing the chaos before the burial, the wake, and after, especially as my siblings had to return to the UK on short notice. For two months, I barely left home, yet I had to make decisions as if nothing had happened. My anchor was gone, but the memories replayed like a relentless film, stirring emotions I couldn’t escape.

From this chapter, I learned:

• My #leadership was truly tested—and born—for the first time.
• My #mental toughness took a hit, but how I endured proved it was there all along.
• My physical endurance was pushed to the limit—sleeping in my car for weeks while she was in the hospital, changing in the parking lot, and not sleeping properly in my bed until months after the burial.
• My emotional intelligence shone when I went ahead to A-Plus Home, ensuring the caretakers prepared Mum for one last viewing with my siblings. I asked them to make her look peaceful, putting their feelings above my own.

You become a leader in the crucible of doubt, stress, and fear—when you’re the one who brings clarity and direction. “This is what we’re going to do, and this is how we’ll do it.” That’s the man I became. @edward