Woman at the helm: Regina Ombam on purpose, power and politics of presence

Her career has meandered: from a lecturer in the Department of Economics at the University of Nairobi to a brief stint at the Anti-Corruption Commission; then Deputy Director for HIV Investments at the National Aids Control Council (NACC); and later, Health Financing Dialogue Facilitator at the East African Community.

She holds a Bachelor of Art (Anthropology), Master or Arts (Economics), and a Master of Public Administration in Public Policy Analysis from Columbia University.

It is a long way from the girl who was raised in Shauri Moyo, Nairobi dreaming of becoming the president. She still aims high but remains a woman who isn’t defined by her role. Or limited by it.

What’s your earliest memory of being trusted with responsibility?

In Standard Three. The headteacher asked me to lock the school after everyone had left. That’s when I realised I was wired for leadership.

Where was this?

Our Lady of Mercy, Shauri Moyo.

What were your dreams then?

Mzee Jomo Kenyatta (first President) would pass, and people lined up to greet him. I loved the respect. I would imagine myself sat somewhere and people lining up and singing for my entertainment.

What did that younger self think power looked like at that time?

I saw power as something to be adored and something to be considered as the penultimate. I wanted people to listen to me, do what I say, and then I’d come out and say, ‘I’m the one who told these people to do this, and they have.’

Now you hold a powerful office. Has your definition of power changed?

Yes, because I have lived to see different sets of leadership and started to understand that leadership requires a lot of servanthood. My prayer is always, ‘How best can I show people that I am here to serve and not exploit them?’

What’s the one piece of advice you got when you were handed this office?

Someone told me that I hold delegated authority from the President, that the final decision rests with me. It is a position that requires Solomonic wisdom because whatever decision I make is seen as the position of the government, and people take it as something they need to act on going forward.

What was the turning point in your career?

When I started working in the public sector, I was posted to the Ministry of Finance, then later the Ministry of Roads and Public Works where I handled planning aspects of the road sector, meeting development partners to facilitate feasibility studies. I would attend briefing meetings, and I would marvel at how everyone paid attention to the PS—back then there were very few women PSs. I wondered: Will I ever be one?

How did it feel to finally become one?

Exciting. I hoped someone would give me a chance. I’d travelled, worked across the world, and studied widely. But I asked myself: how best can I serve my country?

Is that a question of purpose?

Yes, but it’s also about age, which I don’t want to say how old I am [chuckles]. At some point you stop thinking about income and start thinking about impact. You want to be remembered for what you did for others.

Do you think people get to the question of purpose only after they are financially free?

Purpose should not be tied to financial achievement. Purpose is about community—about giving back and serving others. In the final analysis, when people look back, what will they say you did for them?

What weren’t you told when you got this job?

It’s still early days—less than a month in. There were a lot of ifs, and don’ts, the dos, and the likes, but no one really prepares you for the people skills required. You need empathy and tact. People look up to you as someone who can do what is expected but also be compassionate.

As much as your office is a professional position, it is also a political one. How has your life changed?

People want to know more about me. I’ve always been private—no Facebook, very little online—but now I must show people who I am and still remember I’m a State officer and I am obligated to serve the government of the day in the best way possible.

Was it a deliberate decision you made early on in your career to be a private person?

Yes. It’s how I was raised. We’re Catholic - taught to be humble and serve quietly. I saw it a lot with my parents when they served the church and the community, and they would avoid pomp around what they did. My family isn’t flashy. I find satisfaction when someone says, “Thank you, you helped me.”

Are your parents still alive?

No. My father died in 1986 while I was doing my A-levels. My mother passed away in 1996.

You are the firstborn?

No, I am the fifth born, out of 10.

The middle child. Was the stereotype true for you that the middle child is the forgotten child?

No, I ended up being the darling of my parents.

What is the lasting advice your parents gave you?

My mother told me not to be like our doormat—trampled on by everyone. She said: “Be confident, know who you are, or people will walk all over you.” That image stuck. If you don’t come out to show who you are and your capabilities, people will trample you. Every time I am doing something, that always comes to mind, because I don’t want to be a doormat.

What stands out from your work in the HIV space?

Realising that new infections were highest among the most vulnerable: young people, women, sex workers. Yet our strategy didn’t prioritise them. We were two years into a five-year strategy. I approached my director then, as the Head of Strategy, and suggested we prepare a new strategy to demography. We agreed, and I set up a team, and once we implemented the new strategy, we saw HIV infections plummet.

What attracted you to that particular area of work?

I was at the Anti-Corruption Commission as a policy analyst but felt underutilised. When NACC opened recruitment for Head of Strategy, I applied and got the job. I felt I could utilise my economics background to planning—introducing costed strategies. That’s how I carved a niche in health financing.

Did you ever have an aha! moment?

Yes. When the World Bank and UNAIDS nominated me to a 12-member advisory team. We would advise both the then World Bank president and UNAIDS’ Executive Director on sustainable financing. I was the only African—and the only woman. That moment confirmed I had something to offer. My price went up [chuckles].

Was your career a straight line?

No. I started as a lecturer, then an economist, then a health strategist. Many thought I’d end up in the Ministry of Health, but I landed in Trade. My anthropology and economics background give me range. Trade is everywhere.

Do you feel like you are starting over or building on to something?

I am building on to something. Trade has a broader macroeconomic lens. I’ve come at the right time to understand global trends and their impact.

How do you reconcile trade’s transactional nature with the human focus of health?

There is a lot of humanity in trade that people don’t see. There is a lot of negotiations that go on in trade before a deal is reached, which requires patience, diplomacy, and tact—very human values.

What does ambition mean to you now?

I hadn’t even thought about that [laughs]. I suppose it’s knowing that my decisions count. If I mess up, the consequences are real. The buck stops here.

What part of you never makes it to the CV?

That I love music, dancing and sport. I love the good life [chuckles]. As the daughter of a music teacher, music and dance were part of our DNA growing up. Whatever we did in the house, we did it with song and dance, and that connected us as a family.

We lived in a school compound, we didn’t have many neighbours, so we became quite close-knit knit and song and dance was my way of letting loose and not being too uptight.

How are you finding time to dance now with your busy schedule?

I saw a rhumba night notice for next month at my club. That’s going in my calendar [laughs]. My life now is being managed, there are things I can’t do the way I used to. I have to look over her shoulder now and then.

What part of yourself are you unwilling to lose?

My commitment to family. I always create time for them. I have always created time for my family, however busy I am. That is my prayer, that I will not be so engrossed that I forget that I still have a family to go home to.

How do you ensure that both the office and home are working?

Organisation. I have done this for years. When my husband was working before retirement, I did a lot in terms of managing my work and home. With this position, little has changed. I delegate where I can. It helps that my family is supportive, which lightens my load. I never leave them out, I always have to check in with them.

How important is having a supportive spouse in a high-flying career?

Invaluable. My husband is a former PS—now we joke he’s PS Emeritus. He understands the pressure and supports me. When I see him proud of me, I feel backed. I am lucky [chuckle].

Can one have it all?

No. One at a time. Even if you think you do, something always comes up. My late dad called it “the ugly head.” It’s inevitable.

What is that girl in Shauri Moyo telling the PS now?

You did it. I am still dreaming.

Are you ever worried about what happens when you leave the big office?

Not at all. This is public service, not my estate. When the time comes, I’ll leave happy knowing I made a difference.

What’s a decision you made early on that has sustained you to date?

To work hard and stay informed. Knowledge gives you an edge. I’ve always been a learner. People say I have an elephant’s memory. I am a go-getter.

What matters more than you thought it would?

Understanding my team. Behind the PS title is a mother figure—someone they can talk to and trust, who still gets the work done.

What question don't people ask but you really wish they would?

My pain. People see me as always smiling, that I am the life of the party, but they never ask me about my pain. I wish somebody would.

What’s this difficult thing you go through behind the curtain that we never get to see?

People could look at me and say that I need to let go of my parents, that they were old enough, but it is a pain that still lingers because my parents were really loving. Every time I go through something, I ask, "If daddy or mommy were here...?" It pains me to realise they are not.

You were very close…

Very.

What do you think they would say about you now?

My siblings say that if our parents were here, they would not have accompanied me to the swearing-in and gone to State House because they [parents] would have been given priority.

I think they are still watching us, and I strongly believe my mom and dad, wherever they are, they are saying, ‘We are so proud of you.’

What would you like to pass on from your parents to your children?

The art of giving. My parents were givers. We got to know so many people, some we even assumed were relatives, but were just people sent to our house, and my parents would stay with them and find out what their relations were. Whatever little we had, we shared. I pray my children get that—giving without waiting to receive.

And now you are in a position where people want to take from you. What are you giving for free?

My time. If someone wants to see me, I wouldn’t wish to make it difficult to access me. It is a busy position, but I still have time for people.

→ [email protected]