The Knight Becoming a Queen

If Lissa Siya Joseph had to choose one chess piece to represent who she is today, she would choose the knight.

It is an appropriate choice for a journey that has rarely followed a straight line.

Unlike the rook, bishop or queen, the knight moves in a pattern entirely its own. It can leap over surrounding pieces, escape crowded positions and reach squares that appear inaccessible to everyone else. Its movement can initially confuse beginners and unsettle opponents who fail to recognise the possibilities hidden inside its unusual path.

“The knight is creative and unpredictable to some point,” Lissa explains.

The description also reflects something about her. Lissa did not enter chess through the route many people might expect of an Olympian. She was not introduced to the game in childhood by a coach, trained through a school programme or guided into competition by an established chess institution. She discovered chess online while searching for a healthier alternative to social media, taught herself the fundamentals and gradually found her way into Tanzania’s competitive community.

Like the knight, she arrived by an unconventional route.

Her progress has also depended on creativity. Without a carefully prepared pathway, she had to build one for herself, moving from digital games to a physical board, from private learning to national competition and from the uncertainty of her first tournament to representing Tanzania at the 2024 Chess Olympiad in Budapest.

The journey was not obvious from the square where it began.

Lissa also appreciates the bishop, another piece whose influence can be underestimated. A bishop may appear quiet while the centre remains closed, but once a diagonal opens, its power can stretch from one side of the board to the other.

She describes it as a sniper.

The bishop does not always announce its intentions. It waits, watches and applies pressure from a distance. That patience reflects part of Lissa’s playing character. She considers herself a defensive, calculation-oriented player, someone willing to examine a position carefully, absorb pressure and wait for the right moment rather than forcing action simply because the board has become uncomfortable.

Yet neither the knight nor the bishop represents the person she hopes to become.

For that, Lissa chooses the queen.

“The queen is more confident,” she says. “She is not scared, and she is capable of making a bigger impact.”

On a chessboard, the queen combines extraordinary freedom with extraordinary responsibility. She can move across ranks, files and diagonals, transforming from defender to attacker within a single move. Her presence can control the entire character of a position, but her power must be handled carefully. A queen brought into action without preparation can become exposed; one used with purpose can influence almost every square that matters.

For Lissa, becoming the queen is therefore not about appearing powerful. It is about developing the confidence to use the ability she already possesses.

That remains one of the unseen struggles within her chess journey. Lissa has twice earned selection to represent Tanzania at the Olympiad, yet achievement does not automatically silence self-doubt. An unfamiliar opening, highly rated opponent or difficult position can still awaken the internal question of whether she truly belongs at that level.

The evidence says that she does.

She taught herself the game, finished among Tanzania’s leading women in her first serious competition, represented the country in Budapest and returned to national competition to secure another Olympiad place with six points across nine rounds. Those achievements were earned across the board, where reputation cannot make a correct move on a player’s behalf.

Confidence, however, does not always respond immediately to evidence. It must be practised much like calculation or visualisation. Lissa must learn to enter important rooms without mentally reducing herself before the competition begins. She must respect strong opponents without surrendering authority to their ratings and recognise that preparation gives her the right to trust her own decisions.

Becoming the queen also means expanding her impact beyond personal results.

At university, Lissa established a chess club and began teaching others. Every student she introduces to the game extends the meaning of her own journey. Every girl who sees a Tanzanian woman teaching chess, competing nationally and carrying the flag internationally encounters a different answer to the question once asked during Lissa’s early online days: Are there even girls playing chess in Tanzania?

Yes, there are.

They are learning, teaching, competing and qualifying for Olympiads.

Lissa wants that presence to become more visible. Her development is not only about gaining rating points or recording international victories. It is also about becoming someone whose confidence creates space for others, particularly girls who may be curious about chess but have not yet seen a clear pathway into the game.

The transformation she describes is still in progress. She does not claim to have eliminated fear or mastered every part of herself. The knight remains important because creativity, independence and unconventional thinking brought her this far. Becoming the queen does not require abandoning those qualities. It means adding confidence, reach and greater purpose to them.

Samarkand will offer another stage on which that growth can be tested. Across the board, Lissa will still need the knight’s imagination and the bishop’s patience. But she will also need the queen’s willingness to occupy important squares, influence the position and act without apologising for her presence.

Today, Lissa sees herself as the creative knight.

The player she is becoming moves with greater confidence.

Next: Chapter Eight — The Women Who Keep Fighting