I’ve been sitting with a thought for a while now — letting it simmer, refracting it through my own experiences, especially as someone who has been on both sides of the global stage. The thought is this:
Conferences—the False Hope of International Exposure, Won’t Save Us.
Brief international travel does more to paralyze than inspire.
It’s a bold statement. I know. But hear me out.
Over the past few years, I’ve witnessed this conversation bubble up online — often concerns around Malawian politicians and their frequent international travels. One user asked (genuinely, I think), “Don’t they come back inspired? Don’t they want to make things better after seeing how things work out there?” It’s a fair question. One I’ve asked myself many times — not just about politicians, but even about myself.
Because I’ve traveled. I’ve seen. I’ve sat in those beautiful conference halls in Europe and North America. I’ve dined with diplomats in New York. I’ve shared stages with thinkers in Rwanda. And here’s what I’ll tell you from my vantage point:
Exposure is not enough.
Travel is a mirror, not a solution
When I first moved to New York City to work with the United Nations, I was a 26 old Malawian woman who had only ever dreamed of being in the rooms I found myself in. The first few months were euphoric — the skyline, the subway, the pace, the power. It was all so… possible. And that’s the thing about New York. It seduces you with possibility.
But that seduction comes at a cost. Because soon after the inspiration fades, you’re left with a different feeling: inadequacy. You begin to realize how deep the systemic gaps are between your home and this hyper-functioning metropolis. You start to feel — not empowered — but overwhelmed.
How do you go back to your home country and reconcile that what you’ve seen works, can’t just be transplanted into your local context? How do you take big, bold ideas and retrofit them into broken systems that can’t support even the basics?
There begins the paralysis.
The Myth of the One Year Miracle
And here’s something we don’t talk about enough: even long-term international programs — not just brief travel — aren’t always enough.
I think often about the many African students who pursue a one-year Master’s degree in the UK on Commonwealth scholarships. It sounds like a dream. But when you talk to them — really talk to them — many will tell you a different story. One of isolation. One of being overwhelmed. One of staying entirely in their shell, too afraid, too unsure, too disconnected to fully integrate or process the opportunity they were given.
They return with a piece of paper but no real sense of community or clarity. And it’s not their fault. One year is barely enough to adjust, let alone thrive.
In many ways, I was lucky. When I landed in New York, I met Aury and Heather — two strangers who saw me, welcomed me, and gently helped me break out of my shell faster than most. But even with that support, it still took nearly two full years before I began to feel like I was truly existing in community. And if I’m honest, even now, I’m still finding my way.
That’s the truth about exposure — it’s not just about being in the room. It’s about being equipped to belong there, to contribute meaningfully, and to carry it back home with purpose. And most of us don’t get that chance.
The illusion of empowerment through exposure
Don’t get me wrong — exposure is valuable. But not if it lacks continuity, grounding, or context.
What most African leaders — young and old — experience is the equivalent of intellectual tourism. A 3-day conference in Geneva. A week-long fellowship in Washington. A UN side-event in Addis. And then they’re sent back to their countries like missionaries, expected to “implement change.”
But change doesn’t come from exposure. Change comes from infrastructure, ecosystem, and systemic support. And most of us don’t have that.
We return home with fire in our eyes and no wood to burn. We want to digitize public services — there’s no electricity. We want to build smart cities — there’s no broadband. We want to implement data systems — there’s no one to collect or store the data properly. We want to raise capital — there’s no capital market. So what then?
We shrink. We shelve our grand visions. We slowly, painfully become part of the very system we wanted to change.
From New York to Lansing: Finding my bridge
When I left New York, I moved to Michigan for my MBA — a deliberate shift. I knew I needed a softer landing, a place that let me process everything I’d experienced. Lansing is no New York. But maybe that’s exactly what I needed. A bridge.
In New York, I learned how big the world could be. In Lansing, I’m learning how to build the structures that hold up those dreams. I’m learning to model, to prototype, to evaluate. To test and retest. I’ve moved from just feeling inspired to learning how to deliver value — sustainably.
And this is the point. Africa doesn’t need more conferences. We need systems. Structures. Strategy. We need to send our leaders not just to be inspired, but to be trained — in actual execution, resource management, digital systems design, public finance. And when they return, we need to have the proper scaffolding to support what they’re bringing home.
So what now?
I’ve spent a lot of time in recent years thinking through aid dependency, innovation models, and my own failures as an entrepreneur in Africa. I now build with both lenses — that of the grassroots digital skills trainer in Malawi and the international development evaluator in New York. I now see what’s possible, but more importantly, I understand what’s missing.
And maybe that’s why I’m being pulled — slowly, surely — toward something bigger. Maybe governance. Maybe systemic reform. Maybe one day political leadership. Maybe it really is inevitable.
Because at some point, it’s no longer enough to reflect. You have to rebuild. And to rebuild, we need Africans who’ve been exposed and trained — and also grounded in local realities.
To the next generation of African leaders:
Go. Travel. Learn. Soak it all in.
But don’t be fooled into thinking that a conference badge is a blueprint. You’ll need far more than inspiration to build what we need.
You’ll need patience. Precision. Political will. Systems thinking. Financial literacy. Community buy-in. Evaluation models. Market strategies. Ethics.
And most of all, you’ll need a strange cocktail of passion and delusion — the unwavering belief that what seems impossible in Africa today can become inevitable tomorrow.
I know because I’m walking that line every day.
And I’m still building.
Still in Transit,
Ntha
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