One of my favourite ways to connect with people is through their language, especially when learning how native speakers describe the world around them. A colleague once shared that the fastest way to learn a language is to start with the obscene words. Not a good idea!

I have found that nothing beats everyday conversation for learning a new language; not even Duolingo. Listen closely when people switch into their mother tongue, then ask what certain words mean.

On this learning journey, I have found words that made me pause and think, “Of all the sounds, how did we settle on this one?” Not because they’re bad words, but because of the linguistic shock they create. This fascination has actually made learning easier. It helps me appreciate each language’s unique personality, reminding me that what sounds normal to one community can sound wonderfully unexpected to another.

Here are a few Ugandan local language words that live rent-free in my head.

Okuyunja Etooke in Luganda
Okuyunja etooke is Luganda for harvesting bananas (Matooke), a word I first picked up from Kibijigiri’s Omulilwano.

What struck me wasn’t just the word itself, but what it reveals about Luganda. Where another language might lump the action under words like okusala, okuteme, or kukungula, Luganda preserves the distinction. It recognises that harvesting matooke isn’t just cutting down; it’s a specific act with its own identity.

Omuyiwa in Lusoga (Pronounced Muyigha)
During my time in Busoga, I was always intrigued whenever people used the word Muyiwa, a Lusoga word for witch doctor.

For a word tied to mysticism, fear and the supernatural, Omuyiwa sounds out of place. Without context, I would have assumed it belonged to a cheerful uncle in some village rather than someone believed to commune with unseen forces.

Obwitta in Lusiki
Obwitta or obwita is a Lusiki word (and also used in Lusoga) for cassava flour meal. And no, it is not millet bread.

The name has always entertained me because of its unfortunate resemblance to okwita, the Lusoga word for “to k*ll” or “to execute.” You’d expect a staple meal to sound nourishing and inviting. Obwitta sounds like something that should come with a warning label.

Lusiki is spoken in parts of Namutumba District. I have good friends from there, so I can assure you the meal is far less dangerous than its name suggests.

One of the things I enjoy about local languages is discovering how the same dish acquires entirely different identities. What Lusiki and Lusoga speakers call Obwitta is Atapa in Karamojong and Obusuma among the Luhya and Samia. Of the three, only Obwitta manages to sound mildly threatening.

Nyaanya in Lusamia
I learnt this word in 2014. In Lusamia, nyaanya means to chew; chewing food.

What throws me off is the sound. Nyaanya sits too close to ‘granny’ in my head, especially with Swahili’s nyanya meaning grandmother. The connection is harmless, but it refuses to leave my mind.

Gweno in Japadhola
Gweno is the Japadhola-language word for chicken.

Gweno sounds less like a chicken scratching in a compound and more like a creature that commands respect. The first time I heard it, I was convinced they meant goat.

Alakara in Karamojong
One of the few Karamojong words I have learnt so far is Alakara, which means thank you. Every time I hear alakara, my Swahili instincts betray me. My brain reaches for haraka, the Swahili word for fast, as if I am being rushed through the thank-you.

What words have made you stop and think, “Why does that sound like that?” Drop them in the comments. I’m collecting them.