There was a time when employment and opportunity felt like a free-for-all endeavour. You just had to be able to get the job done, and you would get the position. The mantra was simple: study hard, work hard, and you will make it.
When it comes to modern Uganda, however, things are a little different. It sounds more like if you are able, study hard. If you are capable, work hard. But whatever you do, make sure you know someone. Because in current Uganda, doors mostly open from the inside, and everything feels like a closed circle.
For many of us, common youth, this is a realisation we come to eventually, often the hard way. It comes with personal moments that sting. Moments like what Abdul, a MUBS graduate, can relate to, “After my third rejection, dropping CV after CV, a friend asked me a simple question: ‘But whom do you know there?’
For many Ugandan jobseekers, it’s even more direct. You walk into an office, hopeful, confident in your papers and hands-on skills, only to be casually asked, “Who sent you to us?” And just like that, you understand. That, ladies and gentlemen, is the value of social capital. We were told to work and study hard, but no one told us to know someone.
No one ever stood on a podium to announce that merit was no longer enough. There was no press conference, no memo. It simply became the norm… jobs advertised but already spoken for. Interviews that feel like formalities, with the ever-dreaded “we shall call you.” Positions that mysteriously go to “someone’s person.”
At first, you tell yourself it’s just bad luck and that maybe you are not trying hard enough, so you keep tweaking your CV, rewriting your cover letter, attending free career talks, paying for an online “professional” CV, volunteering, interning, and pushing on, until the truth becomes hard to ignore: effort matters, yes, but access matters more.
You quickly learn there is the official path, with applications, interviews, and requirements that help to a point, and then there is the real path: the phone call, the quiet introduction, the recommendation from someone whose name carries weight.
This is where things get complicated. On the one hand, people will tell you, “That’s just networking.” And they are not entirely wrong, human societies have always relied on relationships.
But on the other hand, when those without networks are consistently locked out, networking starts to feel less like a strategy and more like a gatekeeping tool. Especially when competence is present, but access is not.
What This Reality Is Doing to Young People
The biggest damage from a connections-first culture isn’t always economic. It’s more psychological for those who are locked out of opportunities.
You hear it in how youth talk, and if you had a word with any of them, you’d notice their confidence in the system is broken, hope has turned to caution, and dreams have become jokes they tell themselves to evade pain. They no longer ask, ‘How good am I at this?’ but ‘Who can help me get there?
Some adapt quickly, learning how to position themselves, whom to befriend, and where to show face. Others grow bitter. Either way, many begin to feel cheated, not because they didn’t work hard, but because the rules changed without warning.
And then there are those who simply give up on formal systems altogether. They hustle, improvise, or leave the country whenever they can. Not because they hate Uganda, but because they want a fighting chance.
However, be that as it may, the uncomfortable truth is that for many Ugandans, relying on connections to secure a job is not about greed or corruption; it is simply survival.
When opportunities are scarce and competition is brutal, waiting for fairness feels like a luxury. If your uncle knows someone, you will use that link. If your former boss can recommend you, you will follow it. Not because you think it’s right or that there is anything more to it, but simply because rent is due, expectations are heavy, and time is not on your side. Besides, if you had a gig that you knew one of your people could do, would you pass them up?
This is where judgment becomes easy, and understanding becomes hard. It’s simpler to blame individuals than to question a system that quietly rewards proximity over potential.
The other danger of all this is what it does to social mobility. When opportunities keep circulating within the same circles, the outside slowly grows larger. Talent remains unused, motivation erodes because it seems like nothing matters, and trust in institutions fades.
As for those born without access, no strong networks, no powerful surnames, no strategic schools, it becomes obvious that you are running a different race.
This is not an article arguing that connections should disappear. That would be dishonest because, truthfully, social capital will always matter. But it cannot be the only currency that counts.
A society that tells its youth to work hard, then quietly punishes them for not being connected, is setting itself up for frustration, stagnation, and loss of talent, trust, and belief.
Maybe the conversation we need to start is a simple one, not accusatory, but honest. We were told to work hard and study hard, yet no one told us that in modern Uganda, knowing someone can matter more than any qualification you earn.
