This interview is part of a series profiling the stories of the 2024 WE Africa leadership programme fellows, African women in the environmental conservation sector who are showing up with a strong back, soft front, and wild heart.
***
We live in a world that puts a premium on those who command the most attention. As if being introverted is something to overcome. But Kristi Maciejewski has never subscribed to that idea. She has always been soft-spoken—not timid, just quiet. And she likes it that way.
"At the end of a long day filled with people, I need to retreat, sit in a quiet space and recharge. That is where I feel most at peace," she says.
As a child, she was shy. Not because she lacked confidence but because she was acutely aware of her voice—literally. A speech impediment made her self-conscious, and rather than risk stumbling over her words, she often chose silence. But now, in her 40s, she’s learning to speak up and claim her space.
"I still default to staying quiet, but I realise that’s not always a good thing. I own my introversion, but I also want to own my confidence."
***
Growing up, it felt, to Kristi, like her two older brothers came from a different world; their lives were already far ahead of hers. So, she learned to interact with her imagination. She would disappear into Enid Blyton’s Famous Five novels that were filled with adventure and mystery. And when the stories ended, she created her own adventures—climbing trees and pretending she was a spy on secret missions.
Nature became her refuge, and her family’s trips to South Africa’s game reserves deepened her love for the wild. In her heart, this was where she belonged. She made the decision that she would do everything in her power to land there.
But at the university, she chose to study microbiology.
“To this day, I have no idea why,” she admits.
Looking back, she suspects that her dad’s influence had something to do with that.
“He was okay with the whole nature thing,” she says, “but I think he wanted me to do something that felt more like real science.”
It didn’t take long for Kristi to realise she’d made a mistake. Being cooped up in a sterile lab made her feel trapped.
In her second year, she changed to conservation ecology. Kristi was back on track and eventually landed her dream job: researching wild dogs.
But then, a situation threatened to take it all away. And for the first time, Kristi didn’t stay quiet. She fought back with something she had spent a lifetime holding in.
Her voice.
**
“I had been given a Land Rover and a telemetry set and had spent days tracking wild dogs and observing them. It was incredible,” she says.
It was the kind of life she had always wanted. Wild. Uncomplicated.
Even though she loved the experience, Kristi was excited to take a break and return home to her family after four months in the bush. Maybe a little too excited.
“I drove a bit too fast on the dirt road, and the Land Rover rolled and landed upside down. Miraculously, I was fine, but the vehicle was completely wrecked.”
The aftermath was brutal. Apparently, Kristi hadn’t checked the tyres. She would be fired for gross negligence.
But something didn’t add up.
Kristi wasn’t the kind of person who would be negligent. She had done her checks and submitted a report that the tyres were worn. She had the emails to prove it. “I showed them to my friend, and he said, ‘This is your proof. You’re not negligent. You did everything right.’”
With that, a terrified Kristi gathered her courage and took it to management. It turned into a messy disciplinary hearing. “I presented the evidence, and they had no choice but to admit I wasn’t at fault. They had no right to fire me.”
But winning didn’t mean things got easier. “Going back was awful. I was the youngest, the only woman, and I had challenged the system. They didn’t like that. They made things very difficult. In the end, I chose to leave.”
***
Kristi felt stuck. She went back home.
Then, she stumbled across an advert for a PhD program in the Eastern Cape. It wasn’t exactly what she had planned, but it allowed her to build on her past experiences. Besides, Kristi loved change. And just like that, she had a new path forward.
Kristi found herself doing not one but three postdocs.
“I don’t even know how I got here,” she says. “I’m not an academic.”
And yet, there was something undeniably appealing about it. Getting paid to do research without the pressure of a traditional job was...nice. Comfortable, even.
Her dad didn’t quite see it that way. “When will you get a real job?” he’d ask repeatedly.
And Kristi would just laugh because, honestly? It didn’t always feel like a real job. But it paid the bills and kept her engaged. For the moment, that was enough.
But then something surprising happened.
For someone who had always wanted to be as far away from people as possible, Kristi found herself drawn to them. Not in the usual way—she still had no interest in big crowds or endless meetings—but the people she met in the field, those who lived and breathed the land, fascinated her. They knew things science was only beginning to catch up with.
“That’s when I really started to see the value of Indigenous Knowledge,” she says.
Soon after, she got a job as a regional director at Panthera, an organisation dedicated to big cat conservation.
Four years later, she is still here and loves it. It’s fast-paced, hands-on, and deeply connected to real-world impact. She’s working at every level—communities, conservation organisations, donors, government agencies—and seeing tangible results.
"Everything I learned in academia, everything I questioned, is finally making sense," she says. "It feels like all the pieces just… fell into place."
At first, it was nothing like the work Kristi had trained for. In her mind, conservation had always been about the wild, landscapes and animals. But suddenly, she found herself responsible for people's growth, their challenges and successes. And she had no manual for it.
“No one really teaches you how to manage people. You’re just thrown into it and expected to figure it out.”
Over time, she started finding something deeply rewarding about watching her team thrive, especially the younger women she was mentoring.
She encouraged them to apply for leadership programs and pushed them towards opportunities they hadn’t considered for themselves. And when they succeeded—when she saw them gaining confidence, stepping into their potential—it was a different kind of fulfilment.
It reminded her why she was here.
Because, in the end, conservation wasn’t just about the landscapes or the wildlife. It was about the people. Always had been.
How does she lead? I ask her.
“I don’t feel like I have all the answers. If anything, I believe the people I lead have them. My role feels more like making connections, putting the pieces together, and helping things flow. I prefer to lead from the wings while everyone else takes centre stage. And if they choose to look my way, I’ll be there to guide them and cheer them on,” she says.
***
The urge to hold back from speaking is still instinctive. But Kristi is learning to use her voice when it matters.
For the longest time, she would speak up in meetings and share an idea, only for it to go unnoticed. Then a louder, usually male, voice repeated it, and suddenly, that same idea was brilliant. Worth acting on. That was infuriating. Kristi responded to such incidents by retreating into silence. Why fight to be heard when people weren’t willing to listen? But at some point, she realised that staying quiet wasn’t the solution—it was the problem.
Maybe the trigger was the Land Rover incident that nearly got her fired.
“If I hadn’t stepped up, I would have left that job feeling like such a disappointment. I would have questioned if I was even meant to be in conservation. I probably would have changed my career path entirely.
“But deep down, I’ve always known I am a conservationist. Even when people were telling me I didn’t belong, I listened to that small voice inside that told me, No, this isn’t fair; something is wrong here. And that gave me the strength to go back.”
Or maybe it was the countless conversations with her WE Africa coach about imposter syndrome, the nagging thought that she didn’t belong.
She isn’t sure exactly when it started, but something has definitely shifted.
Kristi has stopped questioning whether she has the right to speak. And she is finding the balance she seeks—not by forcing herself to be someone she isn’t but by refusing to allow introversion to keep her from being heard.
“It’s tough being in a space where not everyone sees things the same way. I don’t like conflict—I want everyone to feel included, and I want to feel included too. But sometimes, deep down, I just know something isn’t right. I feel a change needs to happen, yet I’ve struggled to trust my instincts and step up. Lately, I’ve been learning to do this, and honestly, it’s been rewarding—even when it pisses people off. And that’s been the hardest part for me—realising that standing up for what I believe in sometimes means upsetting people. But I’m learning to be okay with that.”
As an introvert, how does she find stillness in a world that never stops?
“Lately, I’ve been trying to stay present in small ways. When I see 11:11 on the clock, which happens quite often, I take a moment to pause and just be present. When I step outside, I look up at the sky and say, It’s a good day.
“I think if we’re intentional about how we interact with the world around us, everyday moments can become special. Even something as simple as thanking the cashier at the grocery store can be meaningful. Maybe that person really needed that acknowledgement in that moment.”
Kristi also has a ritual before going to bed. “I think about little magical moments from my day—like the way the sun caught a bird’s wing. Noticing them makes me look for more, and the more I look, the more I find.”
Upon reflection, Kristi has discovered that all she truly wants in life is to be at peace. “I used to think happiness was the goal. Anytime someone asked me what I wanted, I’d say, to be happy. But when I really thought about it, I realised that happiness is fleeting. What makes me happy today might not tomorrow. What I truly want is peace. If I wake up and ask myself, ‘What do I need right now to feel at peace?’, it feels more grounding than chasing happiness.
“Even in my work, I see it. I manage a team and navigate a lot of challenges, but at the core of it all, I’m seeking peace—for myself and others. When I feel anger or frustration, it’s usually because something has disrupted that peace. So my instinct is always, how do I get back to that? Because at the end of the day, peace is what matters most.”
***
The following statement was written and shared by Kristi Maciejewski during her graduation from the WE Africa Leadership Program in December 2024:
What if I shined?
What if I listened to the soft calling of my heart?
What if I allowed myself to truly believe?
Believe in my power; believe that I can?
What if I truly believed—believed that I am?
That I am warrior woman, princess and queen.
I am beautiful and strong; I am seen.
I am the tree, the flower and the field.
I am the wind, the mountain, the sea.
I can be all-encompassing, yet, I am just me.
What if I shined?
What if I allowed myself to just be?
Do you think the world is ready for me?
Dr Kristi Maciejewski, WE Africa 2024 Fellow
