Blame Game
The wind didn’t wait — but somehow we still blamed the gate
A Day So Full It Spilled Over
I don’t know if you’re like me, but growing up, if anything went wrong, someone had to be responsible. This was the norm in many African homes. The cows went out and ate the neighbors’ crops? Who was in charge of herding that day, or who left the gate open? It was more important to allocate blame than to solve the conflict that had arisen. Someone had to soothe Dad’s anger triggered by the fine he’d have to pay.
There was this one time our cows went and had a field day at the neighbor’s garden. My little brother had just been born, and everyone was home from school. As I mentioned before, my siblings studied far from home and only visited during holidays. This particular day was joyous because we were a full house. With guests came sumptuous meals and plenty of meat. God knows I love meat. There was also this incredible feeling of jubilation that came when visitors were home. This day felt exactly like that. The weather was chill, the air fresh, the clouds scarce, and the sky a magnificent blue. The leaves rustled gently in the wind. I was happy.
My household was full of big mouths who joked and laughed at the top of their voices. There was this feeling of company that made the moment feel eternal. We laughed so hard that we forgot to check on the cows. At the time, a notorious heifer in our herd was known to jump fences and eat forbidden vegetables. The danger was real. The cow could bloat and die from severe distension of the abdomen. Worse still, the owner of the ransacked garden would call the village chief and demand a survey. The surveyor would then calculate a settlement cost, often ridiculously high. The economy didn’t allow farmers to be reckless with funds. And if the neighbor was especially malicious, they might even injure the livestock with machetes. Unthinkable, for a family that relied on those animals for income.
My dad was out and about, surveying the area with his walking stick, which he used more to reinforce his status as a respected village elder than for support. He came across our cows clearing the neighbor’s garden. He was infuriated, to say the least. He drove the cows home, then came for our necks. The moment he stepped into the compound, he called my name. The rage in his voice told us danger was imminent. Everyone got ready to run because the beating and the lecture was inevitable.
My older siblings approached him first. When my brother got to him, he dodged a hit to the neck from the walking stick and took off immediately. My sister followed and did the same. If you know anything about our parents, they hate missing a hit. That only made it worse. He was red in the face, and his blood pressure was clearly peaking. I won’t say he was frothing at the mouth, but he was close. When he saw me, I had no shoes on. He picked up a stick and began chasing me. Luckily, I was tiny and swift. I barely made it out unscathed.
My mum slipped outside the compound to escape the lecture that would follow. When we all eventually reconvened, we exchanged war stories and laughed at what had happened. Laughter was our only way to lighten the moment and suppress the fear of what might still be coming. Fortunately, Dad’s anger is always momentary. Once he calms down, the storm passes. That day, my little brother’s cries pulled him away, and we were let back in to help care for him.
The Echo That Followed Me
That day is just one of many examples where blame had to be cast. So when I became an adult, I carried those teachings with me. Not consciously, but deeply. I’d enter a room, find something broken, and before I could think of how to fix it, my eyes would search for who did it. As if the answer could restore peace. As if blame was a kind of broom for cleaning up the mess.
This habit only deepened at my previous workplace. The company was owned and run by a bunch of lunatics, and those who have worked in similar setups may know how unfavorable such environments can be. But that’s beside the point. My boss thrived on blame. If anything small happened, they weren’t interested in solutions. They cared only about who was responsible. This culture is rampant in many workplaces.
The Paper Cut That Bled Too Much
One time, I was managing an export to Uganda. I coordinated invoice processing, order preparation, and logistics. It wasn’t my first time. The buyer was essentially another branch of the company. I ensured everything was in place, including reminding the logistics company to send a truck a day early for inspection and to arrange manpower for loading.
When the truck arrived, it was rejected by the quality control team, it didn’t meet required conditions. As expected, word spread fast, and the blame began flying. But I had learned to cover my bases, so I pulled out the receipts. I had sent the logistics company all the necessary instructions.
I called them, told them to send a new truck. The transporter complained, begged me to talk to QC, but I refused. Eventually, the new truck arrived and we loaded it. I began preparing the border-crossing documentation. But in the chaos of dodging bullets, I made a mistake. I used the truck details from the first (rejected) truck instead of the new one. KRA processed the certificate with incorrect information.
I didn’t realize this until the truck was already at the border. That’s when the transporter noticed. I was shook. I knew what was coming. The mean and egregious bosses would dig up old records and blame everything on me. I would be crucified. Worse, the company had a habit of deducting pay for any mistake with financial implications. Returning the goods to the factory or paying demurrage would be on me.
My manager, in classic fashion, tried to blame the transporter. She insisted I claim they never sent the new truck details. I was stunned. I didn’t realize how deeply blame was woven into the company’s fabric. That night, I dreaded the next morning. I knew my salary was about to be slashed in half. Firing me wasn’t even an option—they needed the staff too badly, lol.
Rooms Built Without Traps
These experiences showed me how destructive the blame game can be. So many people focus on escaping responsibility instead of solving the actual problem. But things changed when I moved to a new workplace. Here, no one asks who made the mistake. They ask, How can we fix it?
It took me a while to adjust. I had to unlearn old habits and relearn that mistakes aren’t the end of the world. With psychological safety, people can grow, mess up, and still thrive. The systems we use were created by humans, and most of the time, with communication, we can undo what once felt like it was cast in stone.