Leadership comes in all forms.

Some people wear badges. Some stand at the front. Some carry clipboards and speak with authority.

Me?

I was never a prefect.

In fact, I never wanted to be one.

Not because I lacked leadership potential. Please. Let us not be dramatic.

I was simply scared of losing my friends.

In my school, prefects were viewed as pro-administration. They were the people who reported noise-makers, wrote names, gave punishments, and said things like, “Everyone, keep quiet,” with unnecessary confidence.

To us, that was social suicide.

Becoming a prefect meant you had crossed over. You were no longer fully one of us. You were now somewhere between student and assistant deputy teacher.

No thank you.

I did not want that kind of leadership.

But leadership, apparently, had not received the memo.

It kept finding me in other corners of the school.

Before I knew it, I was elected Music Coordinator in Drama Club, French Club, and Christian Union.

Music Coordinator.

Not once. Not twice. Three times.

Clearly, someone somewhere had decided, “Let us give this girl responsibility, but let us hide it inside music so she does not panic.”

And honestly, it worked.

I found myself organising songs, leading rehearsals, helping people get into the right key, preparing for Sunday service, and making sure we entered the stage looking like people who knew what we were doing.

Sometimes we did.

Sometimes we did not.

But we entered with confidence, and that also counts.

Slowly, I realised something: this too was leadership.

No badge.
No title that made people fear me.
No power to punish anyone.
No dramatic prefect walk across the parade ground.

Just responsibility.

Influence.

Consistency.

Service.

And then there was another kind of leadership in me- the quiet kind.

The kind that did not announce itself.

I wanted to inspire others to do the right thing, even when no one was watching. I wanted to model behaviour. I wanted to be found in the right places, doing the right things, at the right time.

Well, most of the time.

Because let us be honest: preps were not always easy.

There were days when the blankets would call me by my full government name.

“Kendi… just five more minutes.”

The mattress would join in.

“My sister, you have worked hard. Come back.”

Even the pillow would whisper, “You are a leader, yes, but leaders also need rest.”

Temptation was real.

But somehow, I would drag myself out, attend preps, show up to class on time, and try to do what was expected of me.

Not because I was perfect.

Far from it.

But because I was learning that leadership is not always about being seen. Sometimes, it is about being steady.

It is choosing responsibility when comfort is louder.

It is showing up when no one is clapping.

It is doing the right thing without needing a badge to prove you are a leader.

Looking back, I realise I was leading long before I recognised it.

I was leading through music.

I was leading through example.

I was leading through consistency.

I was leading quietly.

And maybe that is the lesson.

Not every leader stands at the front.

Some leaders hold the tune.

Some leaders set the pace.

Some leaders model the standard.

Some leaders make sure the room does not fall apart while pretending they are “just helping.”

Quiet leadership may not always be loud, popular, or decorated with titles.

But it is powerful.

Because sometimes, the leader is not the one with the badge.

Sometimes, the leader is the one who shows up, does the work, and still makes it to preps even after the blanket has proposed marriage.