Fourteen years after its release, a protest song born out of frustration with city authorities is once again reverberating through the heart of the capital.
In the narrow corridors of St. Balikuddembe Market—popularly known as Owino—the defiant chords of “Tugambire ku Jennifer” drift through the humid air. The 2012 hit by Bobi Wine has resurfaced as an unofficial anthem for vendors grappling with renewed enforcement operations by Kampala Capital City Authority (KCCA).
Originally composed as a pointed critique of former KCCA Executive Director Jennifer Musisi, the song has found new relevance in 2026, as traders facing eviction adapt its refrain to a different name—but a similar struggle.
Under the leadership of current Executive Director Hajjat Sharifah Buzeki, KCCA has launched what officials describe as the most aggressive “Trade Order” campaign in recent years. Since a February deadline passed, enforcement teams backed by police have patrolled the Central Business District, dismantling kiosks, clearing road reserves and confiscating merchandise from traders deemed to be operating illegally.
“They tell us the city must be ‘smart,’ but they don’t tell us how our children will eat,” said Moses Isabirye, a shoe vendor operating near the Old Taxi Park.
As his speaker blared the familiar chorus, he added: “When Bobi Wine sang ‘Tugambire ku Jennifer’—Tell Jennifer on our behalf—he was speaking to Musisi. Today, we sing it to Buzeki. The names change, but the tears of the common man are the same.”
KCCA argues that the enforcement drive is necessary to restore order, improve sanitation and protect licensed businesses that pay rent and taxes. The authority says it has secured stalls in designated markets such as Busega and Usafi to accommodate displaced vendors.
“Businesses flourish in organized environments,” Buzeki recently stated. “The enforcement of trade order is not arbitrary; it is anchored in law. We have secured stalls in designated markets to ensure no one is left behind.”
Yet the transition has been fraught with friction. Vendors contend that many of the available stalls are located in low-traffic areas, are unaffordable in practice, or are controlled by middlemen who demand unofficial payments.
The 2026 Trade Order is not confined to the capital. Similar ultimatums have been issued in newly established cities including Mbarara, Mbale and Gulu, where authorities say street congestion and unregulated vending undermine urban planning and public safety. But for thousands of small-scale traders, the enforcement feels less like reform and more like displacement.
For Bobi Wine—born Robert Kyagulanyi Ssentamu—the song marked a turning point from music to activism. Now leader of the National Unity Platform (NUP), he built much of his political identity around championing the urban poor.
“The song wasn’t just about a person; it was about a system that views the poor as a nuisance to be swept away,” a NUP spokesperson said. “We are seeing the same ‘cleansing’ without viable economic alternatives.”
At the heart of the standoff lies a stark economic reality.
Recent economic surveys in Kampala illustrate why many traders risk arrest to return to sidewalks. Average daily income for street vendors stands at roughly UGX 50,000. In contrast, those operating in zoned markets report average daily earnings of about UGX 7,000—an 86 percent drop.
On the streets, vendors say, foot traffic is guaranteed. In gazetted markets such as Usafi and Busega, accessibility challenges and reduced customer flow significantly affect sales. For traders whose working capital may not exceed UGX 150,000, the margin for survival is razor-thin.
While KCCA leadership often emphasizes that many market spaces are free, vendors point to hidden costs that complicate the narrative.
In some markets, self-styled “landlords” reportedly demand “key money” ranging from UGX 150,000 to UGX 300,000 to secure a stall. For those seeking to move into formal arcades, monthly rent for a small shop in downtown Kampala ranges between Shs500,000 and Shs1 million—well beyond the reach of most street traders.
Even the formal licensing route can be daunting. A Grade IV trading license costs around UGX 31,500 annually, but when garbage collection, electricity and security fees are added, many small vendors view compliance as financially unsustainable.
As KCCA trucks continue to patrol cleared sidewalks along Luwum Street and other parts of the CBD, the haunting refrain of “Tugambire ku Jennifer” lingers—a reminder that the contest over Kampala’s streets is not only about urban order, but about economic survival.
Whether city authorities can bridge the gap between their “Smart City” vision and the lived realities of informal traders remains uncertain.
For now, as long as that divide persists, the song that once challenged Musisi continues to echo—repurposed for a new era, but rooted in an old struggle.