Not the usual “How true was [name] when they said…” quotes. These go a little deeper, into the uncomfortable corners of the mind where life stops making sense and everything becomes a question.

“He who sees too much ends up not fitting in anywhere.” ~ Friedrich Nietzsche

“The more you understand this world, the more you destroy yourself. That’s why fools are happy, and intelligent people live in loneliness.” ~ Unknown

“I am a victim of my own conscience, constantly feeling guilty for things I have not done.” ~ Franz Kafka

“How many years does it take to forget a minute?” ~ Unknown.

“And yet the only exciting life is the imaginary one.” ~ Virginia Woolf

“There are decades where nothing happens, and there are weeks where decades happen.” ~ Unknown

“Are we what we do with time, or are we what time does with us?” ~ Mahmud Darwish

“And if I have died and don’t know about it, of whom do I ask the time?” ~ Pablo Neruda

“Let the young man in his desperation go out and hunt. If he kills the elephant, his poverty ends. If the elephant kills him, his poverty ends.” ~ African Proverb

“Was he a man dreaming he was a butterfly, or a butterfly dreaming he was a man?” ~ Zhuang Zhou (Zhuangzi)

“Reality exists in the human mind and nowhere else.” ~ George Orwell

Click here to read Part 1

#8. Gutamiiza
This song was recorded when the Ugandan music industry was writing off the Goodlyfe and embracing Fik Fameica and others. Radio was here to prove he was still the monster writer, and he did. Most listeners don’t capture the meaning of most lines, though they enjoy the output.

“Nga nefunyafunya nga omujaasi mu gonjo” means rolling like a soldier trapped in a fish-net. Helplessness.

“You and me love; we are star synchronise (unclear words) nyatiti kamba nane”

Nyatiti kamba nane refers to a traditional Kenyan 8-stringed instrument. Nyatiti means a stringed lyre, and kamba nane means “eight strings” in Swahili. How exactly “nyatiti kamba nane” fits into the lyric is genuinely hard to pin down with certainty, because Radio seems to slur or swallow the words connecting “synchronise” to “nyatiti kamba nane,” making the exact phrasing difficult to isolate by ear alone. Spotify’s official lyrics transcribe the line as something close to “I’ll change your edi kamanani,” but that phrase doesn’t correspond to any word in the languages Radio was known to sing in, which suggests a mishearing rather than an actual lyric. “Nyatiti kamba nane” fits both phonetically and thematically far better.

The likely words if you listened repeatedly are: “You and me, love, we are star, synchronise sound ya nyatiti kambanane,” meaning two lovebirds combining and aligning like how the eight strings of a nyatiti work together to produce a single, unified sound rather than separate notes. In other words, two people becoming one instrument to make something as beautiful as music.

“Nkwambalira mu kakufu kale darling nakukolamu mudaali… Negalira mu nyumba ya mayinja nakomelera misumaali”

These are hauntingly beautiful lines that read exactly like a dark fairy tale romance, such as Rapunzel, where characters perform impossible feats for love.

Here is a breakdown:

“Nkwambalira mu kagufu kale darling nakukolamu mudaali…”
(I wear you inside my necklace, darling. I made you into a medal…)

In folklore, a princess or a knight carries a magical token, a piece of their lover, to give them strength.

Radio elevates his lover to the status of a sacred prize or a royal honour. He is placing her directly over his heart. She is his ultimate achievement, a priceless treasure he proudly keeps close to his heart at all times.

“…Negalira mu nyumba ya mayinja…”
(…then I locked myself in a stone house…)

To protect this love, Radio willingly cuts himself off from society, friends, and reality. The cold, heavy stone signifies the lock strength. Like Rapunzel locked in her tower, he shuts out the whole world. No friends or family, just him and her.

“…nakomelera misumaali.”
(…and nailed it shut.)

This is the most tragic yet deeply romantic climax of the lyric. By nailing the doors shut from the inside, Radio ensures there is no escape and no rescue mission. The nails are reinforcing the guard of stone. He chooses to trap himself with her forever so that nothing will set them apart, not even themselves.

#9. Everything I Do
This is one of his most narratively complete songs, closer to Fred Sebatta’s full-scene, drama-leaning style. There’s an actual plot: Radio calls the girl who gave her a number (maybe it’s the girl whose number he asked for in Sweet Lady), but instead of her voice, it’s the automated network operator that answers, “the [subscriber] you are trying to call is unavailable.”

This is the person he calls “akawala akajibeelako…,” the cold, computerised rejection standing in for her own silence. He then threatens to move his bed behind her house so she dreams of him; he sends her a flower, and she refuses it. Each detail escalates the rejection until the song ends, not in an image, but in an emotional break; he screams, “eiyeeee…” and then Weasel Manizo comes in.

#10. Pollination
“Baby honey bee, it’s pollination time.” Radio uses biological pollination to convince a girl to allow him to be next to her. Bees don’t choose to pollinate; it’s simply what happens when the conditions are right. So, he’s wondering why she is declining when all conditions are right.

#11. Ntunga
“Ntunga onzizewo bujja” (stitch me up, make me brand new again) and “Oli mpiso etaluma” (you are the sewing needle that doesn’t hurt) are some of the most mind-blowing lines ever written. The latter is an oxymoron.

“An oxymoron is a figure of speech that combines two words with opposite or contradictory meanings placed right next to each other, creating a small, self-contained contradiction, and the tension between the two words is exactly what makes the phrase memorable or thought-provoking.”

A Pass builds on these lines to say in Wuuyo: Njagala ontunge nzenna, onebase ku kyaalani (Here, I have lain on the sewing machine; I’d like you to stitch me all up). A Pass brings in the idea of the sewing machine, though Radio never specified where he preferred to be stitched: whether by the sewing machine needle or the traditional needle (perhaps the Ntunga video led him on). This is exactly what Radio did with his writing; he gave you room to find a picture in your mind and relate to it. A Pass perhaps related to it in his own way.

Note: Don’t be confused by the internet when it says Wuuyo was released before Ntunga.

“Smell ya Moschino, dress ya Valentino” (Moschino perfume/Valentino dress): Moschino and Valentino are high-value luxurious Italian brands. It is surprising that the girl who wears such expensive brands, most likely a rich man’s daughter, can prepare “empombo/oluwombo,” and use a needle to stitch. Maybe that line is there to depict her politeness and her gifted hands; the very reason Radio loves her and trusts her therapy.

Radio Mowzey often unapologetically used high-end but meaningful diction to perhaps show that he went to school; for instance, in Don’t Cry he drops the terms ‘Legato’ (pronounces it as Regato), ‘Sando’ and ‘Vibrato,’ and Ugandans go bananas!

#12. Nkwetaga
Nkwetaga sets Radio apart as the lyric professor; in the music video, he is teaching the community. He explains the value chain in the human ecosystem, the value of everyone and usefulness to each other. The chain, from the teacher, doctor, grandma, parents, animals, to the butcher, isn’t just a nice image. It’s as though Radio is saying this is how he really saw people connect: nobody starts the chain, and nobody is the last link either. Everyone in it both needs help and gives help.

The teacher taught the doctor. The butcher, who looks like the end of the line, is actually feeding the kids who will grow up to be the next teachers and doctors. And when you match that with the second verse, manure turning into fertiliser, then a harvest, then shared profit, the point gets even clearer: even the dirtiest, least important-looking thing in the chain is still needed to make the good things happen. The government benefits from a musician through taxes. No one is useless. No one can be cut out without the whole thing breaking.

The line “taata azimbe nyumba bbiri” shows the epitome of a wealthy family man; a wealthy African man typically has two houses, one in the village and another in town.

Radio mentions Asante and Abba; Asante Manzi Ssekibogo Nakintije is Radio’s son, and Abba Marcus Mayanja is Chamelone’s son. Mentioning their names hits differently because their fathers spent years doing the opposite of what the chain is about; instead of holding the links together, they were breaking them on purpose.

Lwaki Tokula (also called “Kanywamusaayi”) is widely seen as Radio and Weasel’s diss at Chameleone, and even inside that angry song, they still say “Tuli ba musaayi gumu,” we are one blood, and beg him to stop fighting and respect one another. Sitaani and Camilla carried the same kind of anger. On his side, Chameleone answered with songs like Bayuda and Byansi Byakuleka, and it didn’t stay in the music; the two camps actually fought physically too.

So, when Asante and Abba’s names show up in a song about how nobody can survive alone in the chain, it feels almost like an accusation. These two men proved, over and over, that they could break a link, could turn the ‘like brother, like sister’ saying into open war. But the chain doesn’t care who is fighting whom. Asante will need something from Abba one day, and Abba will need something from Asante, whether or not their fathers ever made peace. Fortunately, Chameleone and Goodlyfe made peace.

Compiled by Mwesigwa Joshua

Mowzey Radio, the second half of Radio and Wesel, wasn’t just Uganda’s most beloved voice; he was a monster writer. He spent his childhood listening to Fred Sebatta and inherited his writing style, dramatising feelings rather than narrating them. But where Fred Sebatta had 15 minutes to build a full scene, Radio often had one line. He made you feel what Sebatta would make you see. He did this with his lyricism, poetry and strong imagery.

When he asks Jennifer for a certain dance she performed at Julie’s wedding, as well as to sing Christina Aguilera’s song, it’s hard to understand that Julie is a made-up character and that Christina is a real person. And when he shouts a girl’s name like a Vuvuzela, you’re reminded of the World Cup in South Africa, but when he mentions Tshabalala, your mind can’t figure that out.

Think of Mowzey Radio as a poet, lyricist, mind-painter, manipulative scriptwriter and more. He drew something in your mind, and it made you cry or smile.

Radio delivered deep lines with magic that lived in the gap between what he said and how he sounded saying it. He was a trained community psychologist who had the skill to bring out of his listener all the emotions he wanted. Listening to Radio Mowzey and crying wasn’t accidental; it’s something he planned the moment he put his pen to paper, as a professional film scriptwriter would. See these lines;

#1. Zuena
“Unapendeza sana sana… Unaniumiza sana sana” (You are so lovely… you hurt me so much)

The intention of that line seems to have been creating a rhyme (-ndeza, -umiza), and this is where most writers would miss it; they want to rhyme but forget meaning and emotion. That line sets up the song’s whole engine in one breath: beauty and pain arriving together, inseparable. Then he escalates into something few songwriters would risk, trying to measure love using a measuring machine: “Zuena, lwaki tonteka ku minzaani… noopima nolaba akwagala y’ani” (Why don’t you put me on a scale and measure who loves you).

The line “Oli nga ekyuma ekipima obudde obwembela” (you are like a temperature-measuring machine) isn’t necessarily a romantic cliché; it’s a deliberate refusal to sound plain. An amateur writer would say, you are a thermometer! But to a common Ugandan who has ever had their temperature tested, he wanted to show that Zuena is like that device they put on your body to test your ‘hotness’; most Ugandans are not good at pronouncing ‘th,’ so he saved their day.

That’s the same instinct John Donne used centuries ago, comparing love to a compass or an astronomical instrument: forcing an emotional truth to justify itself in the language of precision.

The line, “Ku countdown y’omutima gwange gwe ali ku number emu” (on the countdown of my heart, you are at No.1), a radio listener understands what a countdown is and what a number one song on a countdown feels like.

#2. Nyambula
This breakup song was, in a sense, a quiet jab at Jose Chameleone. Many Leone Islanders remember Chameleone as the demanding boss who would order his protégés to remove his shoes for him, barking, “Nyambula engatto!” (Take off my shoes!), which is how he earned the nickname “Nyambula” within the crew.

Radio took that inside joke and turned it into a genius disguise: although the song is titled Nyambula, in reference to Chameleone, he actually pronounces it Nyambura throughout, reshaping it into what sounds like a breakup song about a Kikuyu girl named Nyambura. The real meaning hides in plain sight, buried inside a name that sounds almost, but not quite, like the joke it’s actually built on.

“Bwewakaabanga nga nze gwokaabila, nga lwokubye enddulu wuuwi nzilukilira” (When you cried, it’s me you were crying for. When you raised an alarm, it was me who responded) is nearly non-metaphorical; it reads almost like testimony. Radio is describing himself, and likely the other Leone Islanders, as the ones who always showed up whenever Chameleone got into the fights he was known for picking. But the line also works as a broader truth about relationships: in most partnerships, one person ends up carrying the weight, always the one to step in, always the one to fix things. That person is usually left heartbroken in the end, because when their effort goes unnoticed, the other party eventually walks away.

“Naye nondekaawo, ogenda webigula n’abazungu. Abalina sente mpulira balingamu n’obubundu” (You left me alone and went running around with loaded foreigners… they had some guns too). On the surface, this line exists mostly for the rhyme (-zungu, -bundu), but it does real work underneath. It paints the picture of someone trading loyalty for a “high life” with foreign men, and the mention of guns adds a sting of helplessness: the image of a white man with a gun taking your girl, and there being nothing you can do about it.

#3. Where You Are
Radio was good at language mixology: mixing Luganda, English, and Swahili.

“Rohoni unanitesa kishenzi” (inside my soul, you torture me mercilessly) carries the raw emotional charge, and the song immediately code-switches into English for the plainer request, “find a place we can go… lost in your arms.” The Swahili carries the suffering; the English carries the asking. Radio may never have consciously thought of it in these terms, but his instinct, his genius, working beneath deliberate thought, arrived at the same result. And as listeners, we can still notice it, even if he never mentioned it anywhere.

#4. Ngenda Maaso
What happens when you go after a man with a thousand talented, poetic ways of hitting back? You end up on the receiving end of his pen. Chameleone, New Vision, and Bebe Cool all felt the sting of Radio’s writing in this song. “Elinya lyange olisiize enfuufu. Ogambye abantu ebyenyanja byange byentunda bivuundu” (You have smeared my name with dust, you tell people I sell rotten fish) and “Amagoba gange gakukwasa ensaalwa so nga maanyi gange lwaki oyagala okufuna amangu” (my profits make you jealous, yet it’s my hard work. Why do you want to make quick profits?) were both aimed squarely at New Vision, who Radio and Weasel accused of publishing false stories about them.

He used the simplicity of a fish business to depict just how envious the music industry was of Goodlyfe.

The honest context behind it: when Goodlyfe rose to fame, it stirred real resistance from industry gatekeepers blocking anyone from climbing past a certain point. Reportedly, the media itself had been influenced by powerful industry forces determined to hold back rising acts. Goodlyfe’s momentum caused such a stir that they ended up in direct conflict with Vision Group, Ange Noir (now Club Guvnor), DJ Shiru, Straka Mwezi, and other established gatekeepers of the scene.

In fact, Goodlyfe wrote separate songs as direct responses to specific rivals: Kiduula aimed at Ange Noir, Bakasitoma aimed at New Vision, and Camilla, Sitani, and Lwaki Tokula aimed at Chameleone, who, in Ngenda Maaso, is the target of the line “banoonya ng’ensowela” (they hunt for me like a fly), a reference to Chameleone reportedly hunting down and confronting Radio and Weasel in clubs. Other unspecified rivals were addressed in songs like Talk and Talk. Though Radio and Weasel were, on the surface, mainly known for love songs, they clearly made time to answer every attack thrown their way.

#5.  Enyimba Z’omukwano
This is one of Mowzey Radio’s most emotionally heavy writings. “Okwagala nabwo bulwadde olukukwatako tebiwona, mazima obelera ddala ng’eyalwala kokolo okulemala” (Love is like a disease that never heals; it’s like a cancer that cripples you) is about as far from a typical love song as a love song can get, and then he breaks the fourth wall entirely: “Enyimba z’omukwano zinyiiza. Ziwanawana nyo abagalana” (I hate love songs; they praise lovebirds.) That line is remarkable.

Enyimba z’omukwano is almost a direct echo of Ne-Yo’s So Sick, another heartbreak song where the singer admits he is tired of hearing love songs because they only remind him of what he lost, even though he sings love songs himself. Both artists use the same trick: turning the song into its own confession.

The line “Nze nebwenebaka n’enema okuzukuka” (even if I sleep and never wake up) reads less like poetic hyperbole and more like exhaustion with being alive inside the feeling of love. He made it appear like he was helpless and vulnerable to the point of wanting to die, the same way he did in Nkwagala when he said: “Esaawa bweliba etuuse ng’owulira okooye okundaba onyambanga mukwano n’ongamba nenoonya ekyokola” (In the moment when you feel tired of me, I beg you to let me know so that I look for what to do). The emotion that line engenders is that what he would do might as well be committing suicide; and since no one wants to be the cause of someone’s suicide, the person he was addressing would make sure he never gets tired of him.

#6. Machozi
“I am standing by the roadside hoping you’ll be passing by, come see me.” Every boy has stood at some roadside waiting for his crush to pass by.

#7. Bread and Butter
“Bread and butter” is an idiom that means a livelihood. So, this meant that the girl was Radio’s livelihood.

But here is the catch. Radio had to make this line work for listeners unfamiliar with the English idiom, many of whom didn’t even know what butter was, since it isn’t common in most Ugandan households, or at least they don’t know it’s called that. So, he translated it into Luganda as “Oli mugaati gwa butter,” literally (You are bread with butter). That direct translation carries a different meaning altogether. In English, the phrase is about necessity, something you can’t do without.

In Luganda, the meaning shifts to taste and sweetness; bread smeared with butter is simply delicious, so the line becomes “you are as sweet as bread with butter” rather than “you are essential to my survival.” That shift is exactly why local fans connected with the song so strongly: most weren’t decoding an idiom about necessity; they were hearing a simple, relatable compliment about sweetness.

“Olinga enkuba etonya ekiro ku mabaati” (You are like rain that rains on the roof at night) means her presence gives him comfort in a quiet, steady way, like the calming, repetitive sound of rain at night when everything else is still.

“Oluusi ndoota nenkulaba nga otudde awo kumpi n’eddinisa, obufananyi nembukuba, negative neenzooza” (Sometimes I dream and see you seated by the window, I take pictures in the dream and develop the negatives) means he thinks about her so often that even his dreams are detailed and specific, not a vague image, but her in a clear setting, by the window. He treats the memory as worth preserving, the way you’d develop a photo to keep it permanently, saying the dream felt real and important enough that he wanted proof of it afterwards.

“Olina omusango gw’okuwoza mu kirooto lwaki wansooza” (You have a case to answer as to why you jeered at me in the dream) means that in the dream, she mocked or laughed at him, and he’s now confronting her about it as if it really happened, even though it only took place in his imagination. Treating something imaginary as a real offence is his way of joking about how much the dream affected him; he was bothered by something she never actually did.

Click here to read Part 2

A little bias? Perhaps. A few facts about Uganda’s independence you probably didn’t know? Absolutely.

#1. Independence Day also Honours a Late King
The date, 9 October, was selected to coincide with the death of Ssekabaka Muteesa I of Buganda, who died on the same day in 1884. The day is historically attributed to Muteesa I’s role in inviting early Christian missionaries and explorers, a spirit of hospitality that would eventually shape the region’s future.

At the time, his 37-year-old great-grandson, Ssebaka Edward Muteesa II, was the reigning King of Buganda.

#2. Revised Independence Anthem
The national anthem performed at the midnight ceremony on 9 October 1962 is not completely identical to the one sung today. George Wilberforce Kakoma’s original opening line was “Oh Uganda may your children uphold thee.” It was officially amended two months later, in December 1962, after religious leaders protested that it was “Godless” and successfully lobbied Prime Minister Milton Obote to replace it with “Oh Uganda! May God uphold thee.”

“I feel that Uganda is a religious country and it is a pity that the word God is not named in her anthem.” – Archonship Erica Sabiti

#3. Independent under the British Monarch
Despite the midnight celebrations on 9 October 1962, Uganda’s independence did not immediately end its ties to the British monarchy. Under the 1962 Independence Constitution, Uganda became a sovereign state but remained a Commonwealth realm, retaining Queen Elizabeth II as head of state, holding the title Queen of Uganda.

The Queen’s constitutional duties were exercised locally by Governor-General Sir Walter Coutts, while Milton Obote served as prime minister and head of government.

This arrangement lasted until 9 October 1963, when Parliament, then divided between the ruling UPC (37 seats), the opposition DP (24 seats), and the Buganda KY royalists selected from the Lukiiko (21 seats), was influenced by Prime Minister Obote to amend the constitution. This amendment abolished the office of Governor-General and replaced the Queen with a locally chosen, non-executive president.

To fulfil a political bargain born of the ruling UPC-Kabaka Yekka alliance, Kabaka Edward Muteesa II was elected as Uganda’s first president, while Milton Obote remained prime minister.

In 1966, Uganda’s constitutional order changed dramatically when Milton Obote abrogated the existing constitution, assumed the presidency under the interim “Pigeonhole Constitution” and subsequently overthrew President Muteesa II.

#4. The Republic of Uganda
In September 1967, a new republican constitution was promulgated; it consolidated a centralised political structure and formally abolished the traditional kingdoms.

To be continued… Happy 64 years of Independence, Uganda!

6 October, 2026 – Uganda’s entertainment and tourism spaces are buzzing following a surprise link-up between American music mogul DJ Khaled and the newly appointed CEO of the Uganda Tourism Board (UTB), Juliana Kagwa.

The “We The Best Music” DJ sent social media into a frenzy when he shared a photo on his Instagram account @djkhaled, posing with Kagwa. He energetically captioned the post:

“Bless up @julzkagwa Uganda @wethebest where its all love and respect Love is the only way ! bless #wethebest”

The post, which also features Jose Chameleone’s “Tubonge,” has attracted thousands of engagements and raises one obvious question: Is DJ Khaled finally making his way to the Pearl of Africa, perhaps as soon as 2026?

As of now, there hasn’t been any official announcement from either DJ Khaled or the Uganda Tourism Board confirming a visit, performance or tour. However, using Tubonge only added to the speculation.

The section of Jose Chameleone’s song used in the post includes the lyrics, “Njoo, nimesubiri sana lini tutaonana. Njoo, rafiki wa kweli, rafiki milele kweli,” which roughly translates from Swahili to, “Come, I have waited for you for so long, when will we see each other? Come, true friend, truly a lifelong friend.”

While the song choice doesn’t necessarily confirm a visit is planned, its message, combined with Khaled’s Uganda shout-out and his photo with Kagwa, certainly hints that a bigger announcement could be on the way.

It is also worth remembering that DJ Khaled was previously unveiled as the international virtual host for the MTV Africa Music Awards (MAMAs), an event heavily promoted under UTB’s #VisitUganda banner but never took place.

Owning a car in Uganda is rarely just a way of getting from one place to another. In part, it also whispers something about you. For someone who has spent years working towards it, whether by saving, taking out a loan or entering a rent-to-own arrangement, finally getting the keys can feel like crossing an important line.

The same is true for a motorcycle.

Once you own one, you quickly learn that some people look at your ride with a completely different interest. They aren’t admiring it, but are looking for a component they can remove and sell, or, in the case of this piece, use to make you pay to get it back.

Car parts theft in Uganda is not confined to the familiar stories of losing a side mirror or headlight while stuck in Kampala traffic. Your car can be targeted while parked at home, at a wedding, a funeral, or even your workplace. Watch out for open parking areas with little to no security because, unlike the pros on Jinja Road, those operating in the least expected places often go for number plates, and according to victims, they know exactly which cars to target.

You park your car and go about your business. When you return, a note bearing a phone number is pinned somewhere on the car. This is the first indication that something has been taken from your car. Victims unfamiliar with the game recall ignoring the note and driving off, only to be stopped by traffic for driving without a number plate. Those familiar with the game immediately dial the number.

The recovery process can be surprisingly straightforward if both sides are willing to play along: they have your number plate. You want it back. They want money.

The ransom can vary depending on the car or its owner. Some victims say certain vehicles attract higher demands than others, particularly sought-after brands such as Toyota and Subaru.

Once you agree on an amount and send the money, you are told where to find your plates, usually placed in an odd spot: under a particular tree, beside a wall or somewhere else near where you parked. Just like that, the transaction is over, although some thieves may try to demand more money for the second plate.

Why Not Simply Go to the Police?
The obvious question: why negotiate with criminals instead of reporting the theft to the police?

You should report it. A stolen number plate can be fitted to another vehicle to conceal its identity while committing a crime. First, have the theft recorded by the authorities: report it at the nearest police station or post, providing all relevant details, including the note left by the thieves and the number on it.

But what happens next?

Victims recount being told by police officers to “just talk to them.” This may sound dismissive, but tracking down the person behind a phone number is not always straightforward. The line may be registered in someone else’s name, while getting officers to investigate and pursue the suspect can take time and resources.

By the time the person is traced, they may have lost the plate or even deny taking it in the first place, leaving you with the added cost of replacing it.

The Cost of Replacing a Stolen or Lost Number Plate in Uganda
The official process of replacing a number plate isn’t as costly or complicated as many motorists assume.

File a police report confirming the loss, then publish a newspaper notice for 5 to 7 days before applying for a new one through the Uganda Revenue Authority. The application costs UGX 49,000, while the digital plate, following the phasing out of old plates, costs UGX 75,000. The new plate is installed at a scheduled appointment.

Why Victims End Up Paying Thieves
Consequently, many victims choose to negotiate its return. When the alternative is spending more time and money chasing a thief, with no guarantee of recovering the plate, or going through the replacement process with its associated costs, agreeing to pay a nominal ransom can seem like the quickest way out.

The better option, of course, is to make the car harder to target in the first place. Where possible, park in secure areas and consider installing security systems such as an alarm or a dash camera with parking mode.

Kampala, Uganda, 30 September 2026: dfcu Bank has called for the establishment of a dedicated mining risk-sharing mechanism to unlock financing for Uganda’s growing minerals sector, arguing that stronger risk mitigation structures are essential to attract capital and support the industry’s long-term growth.

The proposal was made by Moses Malinga, dfcu’s Sector Head, Infrastructure and Energy, during a panel discussion on “De-risking the Mine” at the 15th Annual Mineral Wealth Conference and Expo held at Speke Resort Munyonyo.

Malinga said a mining risk pool would enable insurers, banks and other industry stakeholders to collectively absorb and manage sector-specific risks, improving the ability of financial institutions to support projects from exploration through to production.

Drawing lessons from Uganda’s oil and gas industry, he said the mining sector could benefit from a similar consortium approach, allowing multiple players to share exposure while expanding access to financing.

“Mining projects carry different risks at every stage of development, from exploration to production. Financial institutions must understand and appropriately mitigate these risks before deploying capital,” Malinga said.

He noted that insurance should not be viewed solely as protection for lenders, but as a shared safeguard that supports both financiers and project developers while strengthening confidence across the investment ecosystem.

Malinga also called for greater investment in Uganda’s reinsurance capacity, arguing that stronger local balance sheets would enable domestic insurers to retain more risk while reducing reliance on foreign markets for ordinary exposures.

As Uganda’s mining sector continues to attract increasing interest from investors, he said access to finance remains one of the key factors that will determine the pace at which opportunities are converted into commercially viable projects.

He added that dfcu supports the sector through a value-chain approach that includes asset financing, performance guarantees, transactional banking and payment solutions tailored to mining enterprises.

The conference, held under the theme “Beneath the Surface: Unlocking Africa’s Next Mining Powerhouse,” brought together 1,112 delegates from 30 countries, including government officials, mining companies, financiers, insurers, investors, development partners and technical experts to discuss the future of Uganda’s mineral sector.

Addressing delegates, State Minister for Minerals Phiona Nyamutoro said Uganda must increase the mining sector’s contribution to the economy if the country is to meet its development ambitions.

“The sector currently contributes about 2.2% of GDP, yet our National Development Plan IV targets 7.9% by 2029. This is a significant gap that we must work together to close,” Nyamutoro said.

She noted that discussions at the conference had generated practical recommendations around licensing, financing, artisanal mining, value addition, geological data and skills development, all of which will be critical to accelerating sector growth.

Uganda National Mining Company Chairperson Maria Kiwanuka emphasised the importance of clarity around Government participation in mining projects, particularly regarding capital commitments, shareholder rights, regulatory approvals and the impact of State participation on project financing.

She said predictable frameworks would give investors greater certainty when assessing project viability and making long-term investment decisions, while ensuring Uganda’s national interests remain protected.

Kiwanuka also highlighted the need to retain greater value from the country’s mineral resources through local processing, refining and downstream industrial development rather than continued reliance on exports of unprocessed minerals.

Have you ever wondered what happens to people who become famous overnight? One minute everyone knows your name, your videos are everywhere, brands are calling, and people are eager for a selfie with you; then silence—the attention is gone.

Uganda has plenty of these. Remember Mzee Kawato and his supposed son, Dexta Rapper, who became sensations for their waist dance? Or MC Africa, the “it’s a Friday twende tupaate” guy; Sudiman Birthday Yo, the guitar guy; Mzee Geodfrey Jjemba Matte, the burial announcer from Kayunga; and, of course, Hozambe Shifura. In their day, when each had their moment, literally everyone knew them. You couldn’t scroll through social media for five minutes without seeing them, or someone creating content around their viral moment.

Looking at some of these names raises an uncomfortable question: can going viral actually turn into lasting fame, or are you simply famous for as long as the internet is interested in you?

Because there seems to be a very familiar cycle: you go viral, and suddenly attention-vultures knock on your door. A tour and travel company calls you; a furniture and bedding retailer invites you to promote its sofas and mattresses; a phone shop on Kampala Road wants you in its next campaign; and a car dealership is willing to have you show off its latest ride. For a while, your face is everywhere, then the hype dies down.

Why? Is this the curse of starting big? Do you go from an overnight sensation to yesterday’s news just as quickly? I think I know why.

#1. The Internet Moves on Fast!
Today you’re the biggest sensation on everyone’s timeline; tomorrow someone else does something crazier, funnier or more controversial, and suddenly you are history.

#2. What Happens After the Viral Moment?
Sometimes someone goes viral because of one specific thing, but after the viral moment they don’t have anything else to offer.

Mzee Kawato, you are so good at twisting the waist; what else do you have for us? If the answer is nothing, the attention disappears.

#3. Views Aren’t Influence
Millions of views don’t necessarily mean you have a loyal audience. People can watch you because you’re trending, for whatever reason, without actually caring enough to follow your journey. Once the trend is over, they leave with it.

This is also common with public figures whose nude content somehow finds itself on everyone’s screen. The attention is usually 48 hours away from the next TikToker’s leaked content.

#4. Too Many Brand Deals
You’re appearing in every imaginable advert, walking on red carpets and featuring in music videos; the money is coming in, and it feels like you’ve made it, except this is the biggest trap.

Because if you don’t use the moment to build something that can outlive the trend and the endorsements that follow, you can easily become the person who was once trending because brands don’t necessarily need you forever; they need you while you’re hot.

#5. Give Them Something New
The Internet that made you famous is ever-changing. If you keep giving people the same thing that made you viral, Ugandans move on fast; they look for something new.

So if you ever find yourself trending, with brands calling to offer free goods, services and endorsement deals, the points above could come in handy. Otherwise, you could become another Ugandan viral name people vaguely remember.

A big shout-out to the old man, Simon Kaggwa Njala, who seems to have managed to capitalise on his Why Are You Gay line.

On 28 August 2026, E-Bus Xpress, a subsidiary of Kiira Motors Corporation, deployed 15 additional Kayoola electric buses to ferry passengers to and from Kira Municipality.

The 15 electric buses now operate on three main routes connecting Kampala city to Kira Municipality via Ntinda.

Five (5) buses operate from Ntinda via Najjera, Kira, Kitukutwe, Kiwologoma to Nakwero and back.

Five (5) buses operate from Ntinda via Naaya, Kyaliwajjala, Namugongo to Sonde and back.

Five (5) buses operate from Ntinda via Kisaasi, Kyanja, to Kungu and back.

This article covers the Ntinda routes to Kira, Kyanja, and Namugongo. For the City Square-Nakawa-Ntinda-Wandegeya route, click here.

Now that you know the routes, here are the Kayoola bus fares for different stops, along with information on how to pay.

Kira Route (Ntinda to Nakwero)

Namugongo Route (Ntinda to Sonde)

Kyanja Route (Ntinda to Kungu)

How to Pay for Kayoola Bus on Airtel and MTN
Cash won’t get you a seat on these electric buses.

Pay E-bus Xpress using MTN MoMo
Dial *165*22#, enter merchant code 594435, enter the amount, and then enter your Airtel Money PIN to complete the payment.

Pay E-bus Xpress using Airtel Money
Dial *185*9#, enter the merchant code 4405648, enter the amount, and then enter your MTN MoMo PIN to complete the payment.

Registered users with cards can dial *272*80# on all networks to top up.

Note: The Airtel Money and MTN Mobile Money merchant codes apply to all Kayoola buses and routes deployed so far. The bus conductor confirms payment on board before the bus sets off.

Can I get off before the end of my route? Yes, you can. Kayoola buses have a stop button that passengers can press to alert the driver whenever they want to get off.

Across the scenic Murchison Landscape of Western Uganda, the northern Albertine Rift is celebrated for its outstanding biodiversity richness. The region harbours an astounding ecological community, accounting for 52% of Africa’s bird species, 39% of its mammal species, 19% of its amphibian species, 14% of its reptile species, and 14% of its plant species.

This tropical haven supports several iconic primate species, including blue monkeys, red-tailed monkeys, vervet monkeys, black-and-white colobus monkeys, olive baboons, and the flagship endangered Eastern Chimpanzee.

However, this rich natural landscape faces severe environmental pressure. Rapid agricultural expansion and new oil developments have heavily fragmented what was once a continuous forest belt into isolated patches across community and private land. The core protected reserves of Bugoma and Budongo have lost the natural connecting vegetation essential for wildlife to move freely.

The scale of this habitat destruction across both Central Forest Reserves and private or communal forests is staggering. Between 1986 and 2002 alone, an estimated 110 square kilometres of forest were cleared within 15 kilometres of Bugoma Forest Reserve, while approximately 90 square kilometres were lost within 15 kilometres of Budongo Forest Reserve.

Historically, the central challenge facing conservation initiatives in this landscape has been the absence of sustainable, long-term financing mechanisms capable of sustaining restoration efforts beyond initial donor seed funding.

Uganda’s remaining population of approximately 5,000 eastern chimpanzees, primarily confined to these northern Albertine Rift forests, bears the brunt of this isolation. While resilient chimpanzee troops continue to traverse agricultural lands between forest patches, re-establishing continuous habitat pathways between Bugoma and Budongo is critical to prevent genetic isolation and ensure the long-term survival of the species.

To tackle fragmentation on a landscape scale, the Environmental Conservation Trust of Uganda (ECOTRUST) and its partners are executing a comprehensive corridor restoration program across the Budongo-Bugoma landscape. The initiative aims to conserve over 50,000 hectares of natural forest by securing and restoring critical ecological linkages across Kikuube, Hoima, and Masindi districts.

Under ECOTRUST’s leadership, the Northern Albertine Rift Conservation Group (NARC-G) developed an overarching investment plan targeting key forest blocks necessary for corridor functionality. Initially launched via the Corridor Restoration Fund (CRF) in 2020 with foundational support from the World Land Trust, ECOTRUST mobilised additional resources in 2022 from IUCN Netherlands and TotalEnergies to implement the plan.

Forest restoration on the ground combines communal tree planting via Communal Land Associations and Community Wetland Associations with smallholder farm re-afforestation. On the critical Bugoma, Wambabya Bugambe linkage alone, over 2,000 local farmers and forest owners have actively planted 60 hectares of native forest patches.

To guarantee permanent corridor continuity, more than 100 households voluntarily offered portions of their private land along the Kasoma Kanwyaborongo river system. Formal trust deeds are currently being negotiated to hold this land in trust for the community, safeguarding tenure security and securing additional land under trusteeship backed by expansion funding from IUCN Netherlands.

Beyond safeguarding animal migration, restoring connectivity protects Western Uganda’s nature-based economy. Budongo Forest Reserve remains an international tourist destination famed for habituated chimpanzee tracking in the Kaniyo-Pabidi sector, birding, and eco-tourism. Protecting this contiguous forest network ensures that eco-tourism revenue continues to flow back into local communities.

To secure long-term financial sustainability and move beyond traditional short-term grants, ECOTRUST, supported by the Darwin Initiative and in partnership with the International Institute for Environment and Development (IIED), has pioneered an innovative bio-credits-based incentive mechanism.

This community-designed, owned, and led initiative creates a direct, long-term income stream to reward local conservation action. Operating under the Plan Vivo Biodiversity Standard (PV Nature), biodiversity certificates generate payments tied directly to verified restoration outcomes, where a single certificate represents a 1% verified increase in biodiversity per hectare per year.

Performance is measured through rigorous field monitoring of core bio-indicators, specifically birds, primates, and plant diversity, alongside human threat metrics. Issued certificates are owned directly by the community and participating landholders, including Indigenous Peoples and Local Communities (IPLCs).

By pairing structured land trusteeships with direct biodiversity credit returns, ECOTRUST and its NARC-G partners are establishing a self-sustaining model for tropical landscape management, guaranteeing that Uganda’s eastern chimpanzees can move safely through a flourishing, connected ecosystem for generations to come.

The Tusker Lite Rwenzori Marathon, now in its 5th edition, is a World Athletics Label Road Race held annually in Kasese District, located at the foot of the Rwenzori Mountains. It was created as a social enterprise, built to promote healthy living, support Ugandan talent, boost tourism, and raise climate awareness, especially as the glaciers of the Rwenzori Mountains melt and Kasese becomes one of the regions most at risk from climate change.

This year’s event, held on 22 August 2026,  attracted more than 8,000 runners and was built around the theme “Our Culture, Our Heritage, Our Diversity, Live It, Love It”. Beyond the race itself, the marathon included cleaning campaigns, biodiversity awareness weeks and cultural exhibitions that brought residents and visitors together.

For the Environmental Conservation Trust of Uganda (ECOTRUST), whose work in the district focuses on supporting smallholder farming communities to sustainably manage their land while earning a living from it, joining the marathon was a chance to stand alongside the farmers who make its Trees for Global Benefits project model work. Among more than 70 participating project farmers and staff, there was a shared sense of enthusiasm at the prospect of winning the grand prize of UGX 40 million.

This was especially true for Milikiyodi Bithakuma from Mahongo sub-county, who has taken part in every edition of the Marathon since its inception in 2022, running the full length of 42 kilometres, with a diverse group of farmers from 8 other sub-counties including Kabatunda, Buhuhira, Rugendabara, Maliba, Bugoye, Kitswamba, Rukoki and Kyarumba.

The marathon was more than a test of endurance. It provided an opportunity for these farmers to network with runners from across Uganda and beyond, exchanging experiences and ideas on tree growing, environmental conservation, and climate action, but above all, to have fun together.

Muhindo Amos, a coffee and cocoa farmer from Kyondo sub-county; Kusemererwa Geoffrey, a farmer from Kitswamba sub-county; Biira Maliiza Kapau, a 56-year-old tree farmer from Mahango sub-county; and two teenage girls, Muhindo Clovia (17) and Kiiza Winfred (15), from the same sub-county, couldn’t contain their excitement upon receiving silver medals on completing the 21-kilometre route.

Speaking to journalists after the race, Swizin Bwambale, chairman of the Mahango farmers group, thanked  ECOTRUST for its continued commitment to supporting farmers beyond conservation activities. Kimera William, a farmer coordinator from Kyarumba Banywani, echoed the same sentiment, noting the strong relationship between the Kasese farmers and the organisation, and its willingness to stand alongside the communities it serves.

As evening fell, the atmosphere in Kasese shifted from athletic competition to community celebration. Local performers entertained crowds before renowned Ugandan musicians; Cindy Sanyu and Pallaso took the stage as headline acts. Cindy Sanyu’s energetic performance drew enthusiastic cheers from fans while Pallaso kept revellers dancing late into the night.

For the organisation, participation in the Rwenzori Marathon has become an annual celebration of national heritage and a platform to promote much-needed awareness around the realities of climate change in a landscape of vital ecological significance. ECOTRUST continues to support more than 29,000 smallholder farmers in Kasese district through initiatives focused on climate change mitigation, livelihood improvement and biodiversity conservation.

There is a particular kind of silence that follows a golden age, not the silence of rest, but of confusion. Uganda’s music industry is currently trapped inside that silence. A country that produced Jose Chameleone, Bebe Cool, Bobi Wine and Radio & Weasel, and which gave the world Eddy Kenzo, now seems to be struggling to produce a single song that outlasts the TikTok-sound craze. The reasons are not mysterious. They are structural, economic and heavily political.

In this article, we look at one of the industry’s most persistent problems: the strained relationship between artistes and promoters, and the financial pressures driving them further apart, ultimately threatening the very relationship many artistes and promoters rely on for their livelihoods.

In most mature music economies, the relationship between promoters and artistes is governed by binding contracts and enforceable rights frameworks. In Uganda, it is largely proximity to political power and the ability to shout louder or stay silent longer.

Take Abbey Musinguzi, commonly known as Abitex Promotions, a huge music events promoter in Uganda. His philosophy, as observed over years, is one of artiste disposability. Many artistes argue Abitex is shrewd and financially tight-fisted; when an A-list artiste, say, Jose Chameleone, rejects a performance fee as inadequate, he does not raise the offer. He finds three B-list artistes for the price of one, then quietly circulates an instruction through the promoters’ association: do not ever book Chameleone. Let him feel the desperation of an empty calendar. Belittle the artiste financially, own him, pay him what you think he deserves, and destroy his bargaining power.

Ugandan artistes, including Chance Nalubega and Weasel, Alien Skin, and Pallaso, all claim to have experienced this machinery. On one or two occasions, he has even publicly called them ‘off-layers.’

Spice Diana’s story within the system is not a collection of incidents. It is a pattern, and the recent Bukomansimbi episode is only its latest chapter.

Spice Diana has spoken publicly and repeatedly about promoters undermining her, refusing to pay after performances, calling fellow promoters to discourage bookings, questioning her relevance, and working to make her appear commercially unviable.

However, to understand why Ugandan promoters play cat and mouse with artistes, you first have to understand what they are walking into every time they organise a music event. A concert in Uganda is not, by default, a profitable venture. It is a high-stakes gamble staged in an environment designed to make losing money easier than making it.

The cost structure alone is punishing. A promoter must secure a venue and various licenses, hire a PA system and production crew, pay for police security, print and distribute tickets, run media promotion across radio, TV and social media, and then pay the artiste’s booking fee, often partially upfront. None of these costs warrants a successful event. They are committed expenses. And then, yawzzaahhh…URA comes knocking.

URA taxes 18% of gate collections from entertainment events. This is not a profit tax; it is a revenue tax, taken from ticket sales before the promoter has had a chance to offset the costs incurred. Musa Kavuma of KT Promotions says: “There are times when you have not yet made a shilling, but URA is already at the gate demanding tax.”

In a bid that will bite artistes deeper and sour their relationship with promoters further, an additional 6% withholding tax on payments to local artistes was recently approved in April 2026, with promoters required to deduct it at source on behalf of URA. Fundukululu hitmaker, Phina Masanyalaze, like most artistes, has called this “insane,” arguing that the industry cannot be milked before it is fed.

This is the context in which artiste fee negotiations happen. A promoter is not sitting across from an artiste from a position of financial strength. In many cases, they are sitting across from them already counting potential losses, trying to manage the single largest controllable variable in their budget: the artiste.

This should not excuse coercion, cheating or blacklisting. But it explains why the pressure to suppress artiste fees is so constant, and why the promoter’s first instinct when an artiste pushes back on their offer is not generosity; it is the search for a cheaper replacement.

The more troubling issue is what happens when that pressure is the norm. The financial justification for low fees hardens into an attitude that artistes are replaceable and their bargaining power is something to be broken. Yet promoters and artistes depend on each other. A promoter needs artistes who can attract audiences that will bring a return on their investment, while artistes need promoters who can put them on stages and get people through the gates.

They can, but the financial risk and logistical burden that comes with putting on a show can be just as daunting.