Street vending, bend-down boutiques, and the usual market days are some of the small experiences any Ugandan can relate to. It does not matter what caste of society one hails from; the batembeyi are some of Uganda’s internal economic pillars, from a consumer’s point of view.

If you are a street vendor in Kampala, your picture is usually rather bleak; haggling with customers on a daily basis, the taxman is always against you, and the ever-growing tension that KCCA is raiding you any moment. All that is usual, and yet again, the government is against you. On 5 February 2026, a “cleansing” and decongestion of Kampala was once again announced; two weeks of sensitisation first and enforcement after.

And just like that, the city returned to a script we all know too well. If there is one thing Kampala does consistently, it’s the usual cat-and-mouse game, where the authorities play cat and vendors forever the mouse. It’s not the first time; KCCA clears “its” streets, and then slowly, inevitably, they fill up again. It’s always the same story…

Walk through downtown Kampala on any normal afternoon and you will soon realise that the human traffic alone can feed a small economy. Office workers rushing for whatever reason, students squeezing coins for cheap fits, alongside mothers comparing tomato prices…Kampala city has it all.

Simply put, where there is movement, there is money, and for many hustlers out there, this is prime business ground.

For many young people in Uganda, street vending is not some rebellious act against order; it’s simply survival math with minimal capital; a basin of mangoes, a stack of second-hand shirts, a spreading of phone chargers, and pretty much anything you can get your hands on. No rent contract, no security deposit, no electricity bill… just your goods and your feet… and the energy to haul your cargo and run like your wallet depends on it. Well, because it does.

Youth unemployment remains a quiet but constant pressure cooker, where every young person eventually realises that the years are catching up on them, but there’s nothing to show for it. Even with education, a supposed “key to success,” modern Uganda does not favour books alone. Graduates face unemployment, connections are currency and the only way to go is to jump into the hustle culture wagon, where, as you might suspect, the street becomes the most accessible marketplace. Not glamorous or stable, but immediate.

And that is the tension.

Government seeks order, clear pavements, unclogged drainage channels, organised transport stages. Pedestrians want space to walk without stepping into the road. Formal shop owners want customers inside arcades instead of buying from someone under an umbrella at half the price.

But the city’s unemployed youth want to eat.

So Kampala performs this ritual every few years. Vendors are told to vacate, enforcement begins, goods are confiscated, and streets look neat for a while. Then rent deadlines hits, school fees knock, and slowly, cautiously, the vendors return.

Relocate… To Where?

The official line is rarely “stop trading forever.” It is “relocate to gazetted markets.” On paper, that sounds reasonable–markets, stalls, and structure exist.

But relocation is not just about space. It is economical.

Street vending survives on proximity to human traffic. That is the entire business model. If you move a fruit seller from a busy junction to a market tucked behind three buildings, you have not relocated their business; you have reduced its visibility, and visibility is income, after all, you can’t buy what you don’t know exists.

Then there is rent. Many markets require daily or monthly payments. Even modest stall fees can feel heavy when your capital is small and your profits fluctuate. A street vendor may operate on margins so thin that paying rent before selling feels like gambling with borrowed money.

And for some, relocation is not simply expensive; it is intimidating. Formal markets come with politics, informal gatekeeping, and internal competition from internal competition. On the street, your only requirement is courage and a good spot.

So when the order says “move,” the unspoken question remains: move where?

Besides, the intent is usually to “decongest the city.” but really, decongestion for whom? It is easy to frame this as government versus vendors. But the truth is messier.

Arcade shop owners argue that they pay high rent and taxes, while street vendors operate outside that burden. Pedestrians complain about blocked pavements. Drivers point to the chaos around junctions. Environmentalists highlight clogged drainage channels that worsen flooding during heavy rains.

These are real grievances, but there is also quiet convenience.

Many of us who complain about congestion still buy from the street because it is cheaper, faster, and closer. The city criticises vendors in the morning and shops from them in the evening.

So who benefits from decongestion?

The formal businesses likely see clearer storefronts. Pedestrians gain walking space. The city projects order. But the vendor, often operating at the edge of survival, pays the immediate price.

Confiscated goods are not just items; they are capital, school fees, rent and even supper.

Perhaps the real story is not about whether vendors should be on the streets, but why the streets remain their most viable option.

If unemployment were lower, would the pavements still be crowded with fruit sellers? If market spaces guaranteed equal foot traffic, would vendors resist relocation? If rent structures matched the realities of micro-trading, would enforcement feel less like oppression and more like transition?

Kampala is growing. It wants to look modern, organised and investment-ready, but modernization without livelihood pathways is simply cosmetic.

A city cannot decongest poverty by pushing it around corners.

And so, time clicks away as vendors weigh their options. Some will attempt to relocate, some will wait it out, and some will disappear for a season and quietly returning when enforcement softens.

For many of them, the street is not defiance, but the only market that said yes.