By Jonan Kandwanaho
Let’s talk about the thing most Ugandans would rather swallow hot porridge than discuss: money problems. We treat them like family secrets. Embarrassing. Private. Taboo. But here’s the truth—until we start talking about money openly, we’ll keep making the same mistakes in silence. And that silence is expensive.
You see, we’ve created a culture where admitting you’re broke is like confessing to a crime. Where saying "I can’t afford it" is taken as weakness.
So what do we do? We fake it. We smile through our overdrafts. We show up to events dressed in debt. We borrow from Peter, lie to Paul, and ghost Mary. We live double lives—baller by day, beggar by night.
And it's not just the youth with social media pressure. Even grown men in their 40s are pretending they’re still in control while hiding car payments and school fees arrears. Women are doing miracles with budgets that don’t budget—juggling rent, kids, and black tax, all while being expected to show up looking "soft life ready."
Why are we like this?
Because somewhere along the line, we were taught that struggling financially is shameful. That you should already "have made it" by a certain age. That asking for help means you failed. But listen—everyone is figuring it out. And most of the people you admire are just better at hiding the struggle.
I remember once walking into a boardroom, sharp in my suit, talking millions. I had Shs17,000 on my mobile money. Seventeen Thousand. Shillings. That wouldn’t even get me a decent plate of food in Kampala. But I had to maintain the image. Smile. Pitch. Convince. Pretend. And I pulled it off.
But inside, I promised myself—I will never again glamorise suffering in silence.
The truth is, money shame is the reason we don’t ask questions. It’s why we take bad loans without understanding interest. Why we sign contracts we don’t read. Why we agree to group contributions we can’t sustain. We don’t talk, so we don’t learn.
But imagine if we changed that. Imagine if you and your friends talked about real things—like how to save, how to invest, how to budget. Not just where to go out on Friday. Imagine if we made it normal to ask, "How did you manage that purchase? What bank do you use? Is that loan worth it?"
Let me tell you about James, a small business owner from Makindye. He runs a ka hardware shop, makes decent money, but was always broke by the 15th. One day, over tea, I asked him how he manages his income. He laughed and said, “Bro, I don’t even know what enters or leaves. I just hustle and hope.”
We sat down, broke his earnings and expenses down, and the man was shocked. He was spending over Shs400,000 a month on cigarettes, pork joints, and unnecessary deliveries. “Eh! That’s a plot of land in Kayunga every six months,” he joked.
But that realization changed him. He started tracking his spending, joined a saving group, and six months later, bought that very plot.
When I started being honest about my money journey—the wins and the losses—I realized people respected me more. Why? Because authenticity is magnetic. And vulnerability is strength. The minute I said, "I used to misuse money," it gave others permission to say, "Me too." And that’s how growth begins.
One lady once DM’d me after a financial literacy talk and said, "Thank you for making it okay to be honest. I’ve been pretending for years, and it’s exhausting." That message stuck with me. We’re not tired because we’re working too hard. We’re tired because we’re working hard to maintain an illusion.
Let’s normalize money talk. Not in a show-off way, but in a way that builds each other. Let’s sit with our siblings and break down budgets. Let’s teach our kids about saving, not just about grades. Let’s have circles where we discuss actual wealth-building moves—not just gossip and giveaways.
And let’s also talk about the pain—about being scammed, losing savings, failed investments, financial abuse in relationships. Because the more we talk, the more we arm ourselves with knowledge. And knowledge is cheaper than experience.
I once got conned out of Shs3 million by a “deal” that promised quick returns. I told no one for months—ashamed, embarrassed. But when I finally shared my story at a seminar, three other people said they had almost fallen for the same trap. That one story saved others. That’s the power of openness.
Because here’s the thing: shame thrives in secrecy, but healing happens in community. And financial freedom is a team sport. No one makes it alone.
So, to anyone reading this who has ever felt embarrassed by your bank balance, who’s skipped events because you couldn’t contribute, who’s afraid to open their mobile money app—breathe. You’re not alone. You’re not a failure. You’re just human. And you’re learning.
Talk about money. Ask for help. Share your journey. Let your story be someone else’s breakthrough.
Your future is too important to be buried under pride. Let’s talk money, Uganda. It might just save us.
Mr Jonan Kandwanaho is the president of the Money Lenders Association of Uganda