Reframing progress through local realities that work
In conversations about Africa’s development, progress often wears the face of innovation, infrastructure, and imported systems. However, what if part of the future lies not ahead of us, but behind, beside, and within us?
Our recent explorations on the commercialisation of cultural tourism, on the overlooked strength of landlocked countries in regional integration, and traditional breastfeeding practices, it becomes clear that some of Africa’s most resilient systems are not always the most visible. They do not always carry institutional logos or pass through formal pipelines. Yet they work quietly, organically, often beyond the data grid.
In many African communities, traditional breastfeeding was not a solitary struggle, but was embedded in a community architecture of care. Women passed on knowledge informally, shared food and rest, and offered constant emotional support. It was not just a maternal practice—it was a social infrastructure. When we view this through a systems lens, it resembles what modern health programming seeks to build: integrated, community-led, gender-responsive approaches. The difference is, it existed—just not in a formalised way. This invites a shift in perspective, requiring us to recognise that not all effective systems are institutional. Some are relational.
Landlocked African countries often start conversations at a seeming disadvantage—limited port access, longer trade routes, and greater costs. However, in practice, many of these countries—like Rwanda, Uganda, and Burkina Faso—have become regional integration champions. Out of necessity, they invest deeply in cross-border infrastructure, diplomatic cooperation, and trade harmonisation. Their experience reframes how we think about structural challenges. What looks like a limitation on paper can become a driver of innovation when met with political will and regional trust. For regional organisations and donors, these countries offer not just cautionary tales but case studies in strategic adaptation.
Across the continent, tourism is a powerful economic engine—but also a mirror. It reflects what we choose to showcase, and how. When cultural practices are adjusted to fit visitor schedules or expectations, their deeper meanings risk dilution. The ritual becomes performance. The sacred becomes staged. For professionals in impact-driven work, this poses a challenge: How do we support visibility without undermining authenticity? Can economic growth and cultural preservation coexist, or does one inevitably compromise the other? The answers are not binary, but they require us to think beyond extractive models—where culture is consumed—to participatory ones, where communities shape the narrative.
In all three of these areas—maternal health, regional cooperation, and cultural sustainability—the common thread requires that we see value in local logic. Not because it is nostalgic or symbolic, but because it works. As professionals committed to long-term impact, we are often looking for models that are contextually grounded, scalable, and sustainable. The irony is that many such models already exist—often in the form of practices that have survived colonisation, globalisation, and modernisation. The task, then, is not to romanticise the past, but to recognise and resource what is already resilient.
If there is a takeaway here, it is this: slow down the urge to intervene. Before we redesign systems, let us take time to understand the ones already in place. Before we dismiss traditional methods, let us ask why they lasted so long. In a sector driven by deadlines and deliverables, this is counterintuitive. But it is also necessary. Because sometimes, the most impactful work we can do is to see more clearly what is already working, then build around it, not over it.
