There is a deep-seated rumour that Ugandans genuinely want a better nation and are tired of the circumstances in which we live. I call it a rumour because, by definition, a rumour is “a currently circulating story or report of uncertain or doubtful truth.”
What I invite you to do is to examine the facts with me and see whether our conduct as citizens reflects our professed aspirations.
Take the Uganda Cranes’ recent CHAN tournament exploits. After a victory, videos circulated online of jubilant fans at Namboole Stadium. Instead of celebrating responsibly, several Ugandans jumped with shoes on brand-new seats—facilities that cost taxpayers billions to renovate.
What is staggering is that these seats are not even in the way; a clear standing area exists right in front of them. There was no practical reason to vandalize them.
Are these fans, who destroyed national infrastructure in the heat of excitement, unfairly accused if one says they do not value development? Do they also jump on their sofas at home, shoes on, when they are happy?
We all know how new things are treated by those who rarely get them—whether it’s a car washed daily or a new pair of shoes polished with pride. But when it comes to shared national property, the instinct seems to be the opposite.
When I raised this issue online, I expected condemnation. Instead, I was met with a torrent of justifications. Many Ugandans excused the behaviour as “understandable in the heat of the moment,” even circulating global examples of destructive football fans as if misconduct elsewhere should absolve us. What was missing was a collective sense of shame or reprimand, the kind that signals a society determined to protect its gains.
This attitude is not confined to stadiums. In Kampala, pedestrian walkways—built for safety—double as evening markets, and educated citizens think nothing of riding boda bodas on the same pavements.
We tolerate this erosion of order until dysfunction becomes normal. If Ugandans loved development as much as we say, we would guard every inch of progress fiercely, however small.
Even in high-profile projects, mediocrity finds defenders. Consider Hamis Kiggundu’s contract to redevelop Nakivubo Channel. His past performance has hardly inspired confidence, yet he continues to secure public contracts.
Similarly, SUMMA, the Turkish contractor in Hoima, is known more for speed than quality, but this, too, is tolerated.
All this leaves me searching for proof that Ugandans truly want development. What I find instead is lip service, contradicted daily by our actions.
Until we learn to protect what we already have and demand quality in what we build, talk of loving development will remain just that—talk.