Uganda is not perfect. And this blog post won’t be either.
But here’s what it will be: honest. The kind of honesty that makes some people uncomfortable because it doesn’t come sugar-coated. This is Uganda through my eyes—unapologetic and raw. Not as a tourist. Not as a critic. But as someone who walks her streets, rides her bodas, breathes her dust, and still finds something sacred in her mess.
I don’t need CNN to validate my country’s beauty. I’ve seen it in the way a mama sells roasted maize with rhythm in her hands and laughter in her voice. I’ve felt it in the chaos of Owino, where you bargain not just with words but with wit. I’ve watched it in the rain-washed eyes of a boda guy waiting under a broken umbrella—still hopeful. Still grinding..
The beauty of my country is not in the brochures—it’s in the cracks, the dust, the noise, and the stubborn resilience of her people.
MUKIIBI HAMZA KATENDE
And then there’s the pain. The kind we joke about because if we don’t laugh, we’ll cry. Electricity that disappears like a shy lover. Corruption so normal, it’s in our vocabulary: “facilitation.”
Young people with degrees and dreams… and no jobs. A health system that prays you’ll never fall sick. But we live through it. Every day. That’s not weakness—it’s a strength most people will never understand.
This Uganda is Both Grit and Grace
Let me tell you this: I love my country with eyes open. Not blindly.
We’re a nation where contradictions coexist. We celebrate Independence but fear expressing ourselves. We have brilliant tech innovators, yet struggle with digital infrastructure. We’re wildly creative—ask any kid with a phone and TikTok—but often silenced when our creativity threatens power.
Still, we rise. We build. We try again.
And in all this—I don’t want the filtered lens anymore. I want the raw. The late-night taxi debates. The unplanned neighborhood parties. The deep, half-spoken grief of families who lost children to poor roads or poor systems. The genius ideas born from necessity, not luxury.
This blog isn’t for the faint-hearted. It’s for the dreamers, the critics, the real ones. remarkably at. Wrote house in never fruit up. Pasture imagine my garrets an he.
Final Word: Loving Loudly & Critically
Loving Uganda doesn’t mean pretending it’s flawless. It means knowing her scars and still choosing to show up. To speak. To write. To create. To reimagine.
And I’ll keep doing that, one blog at a time.
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