The cremation of Rajiv Ruparelia, a youthful business mogul laid to rest on Tuesday, has stirred renewed reflection on a practice many Ugandans still find unsettling. Cremation.
While the act of burning the dead is customary in some cultures, it remains largely frowned upon in African societies, where burial is often seen as an act of reverence and continuity with ancestors.
But as Uganda’s population balloons—projected to hit 100 million by 2050—it's time to ask an uncomfortable but necessary question: where will we find the land to bury our dead, let alone grow the food to feed the living?
Uganda, like much of Africa, holds deep traditions around the body and death. Graves are sacred, often permanent fixtures in family compounds. In many regions, they are protected, visited, and spoken of in hushed tones.
Yet paradoxically, the same graves can be a curse to land value, with property prices dipping the moment a burial site is discovered nearby.
Developers have been known to secretly exhume remains or sidestep sacred ground entirely, leaving behind trails of controversy and disturbed peace.
“We have to be practical,” Rajin Taylor told this writer back in 2009 during a cremation ritual at the Hindu Crematorium in Lugogo.
A long-time advocate for cremation, Taylor, who oversees the crematorium, has frequently explained that the service is available to any Ugandan, regardless of faith or background.
“You do not need to undergo any Hindu rituals,” he said then, a message later shared by his colleague at the Hindu temple in Jinja City.
“We offer a dignified, clean, and efficient way to say goodbye to your loved one.”
After Taylor my first experience at a crematorium, I left firmly willed that it would be my final chapter. I would bring the matter up to my mother and she revolted.
Well, she had nearly beaten me up when I talked of adopting a puppy as a kid but now she will not let me even walk her dog for fear it would get too attached to me and start following me outside the compound.
Of course, her attitude toward cremation has since changed.
At a modest cost, families can cremate their relatives within hours, sidestepping land wrangles, extended funeral expenses, and the long-term burden of grave maintenance.
The ashes can be kept in urns, scattered in places of significance, or respectfully interred in small memorial spaces—practices that are widely accepted in countries like the United States, the United Kingdom, Japan, and across Scandinavia.
In some of these societies, cremation has become the norm, not the exception. In Japan, over 99% of bodies are cremated, driven by space constraints and cultural beliefs.
In Switzerland and Sweden, environmentally friendly methods such as water cremation are being explored as sustainable alternatives.
Uganda is not immune to these pressures. As urbanisation spreads and land prices soar, families in Kampala and other cities already find it difficult to secure burial plots. Public cemeteries like those along in Kololo are overcrowded or reserved for specific classes of people.
The one in Jinja looks like it is last saw activity in the Amin era.
The alternative—transporting the body to ancestral homes—is costly and logistically draining. For city dwellers born and raised away from their ancestral villages, this option is often emotionally disconnected.
Beyond the practical, cremation also offers environmental advantages. Traditional burials involve embalming fluids that seep into the soil, and wooden coffins that contribute to deforestation.
Graves occupy land permanently, yet cremation reduces the body to ashes, freeing up space and resources for the living.
And there are broader needs. “If I had the billions the government is wasting on white elephant projects,” one observer quipped, “I would build a modern crematorium—one that could serve not just grieving families, but also dispose of unclaimed bodies, hospital waste, and other hazardous material safely through incineration.”
Indeed, while Uganda struggles with managing medical waste and abandoned corpses in public hospitals and city morgues, a modern crematorium with an industrial-grade incinerator could help ease public health risks while offering dignified send-offs.
Still, cultural resistance runs deep. Many Ugandans view cremation as foreign, cold, or even sacrilegious. But cultural practices evolve, and often in response to real needs.
At a time when the Okonkwo in us has accepted weird pronouns and surrendered the Rainbow to a certain group, why are we still pretending that our culture is superior to such foreign values?
Fifty years ago, organ donation, cremation, or even public autopsies were unthinkable in many communities. Today, necessity and exposure are slowly shifting attitudes.
The story of Rajiv Ruparelia may open the door to more conversations about how we mourn, how we honour, and how we adapt. Yes, those who saw it firsthand will agree that it is one of the most friendly ways to see off a loved one.
Cremation is not for everyone—but as Uganda’s cities fill and land becomes contested, it must be one of the options we consider with openness, reason, and respect.