Christmas is around the corner, and for many Ugandans, that means one thing, going to the village. Every year, bus stations and highways fill with families heading home to celebrate. It is not just a journey of distance; it is a journey of belonging.
Yet, every so often, someone questions why people, especially Africans living in cities, feel compelled to build houses in their home villages. Economists argue that this tradition makes little financial sense. The rural house sits empty most of the year, they say. It does not generate income, and the money could instead be invested in urban property or business ventures.
But to interpret this act only through an economic lens is to miss its deeper meaning. For many Africans, building a house in the village is not about financial return, it is about belonging. It is an expression of identity, continuity, and responsibility to one’s roots. In most African cultures, home is not where one lives, it is where one comes from. Philosopher John Mbiti famously wrote:’I am because we are; and since we are, therefore, I am.’ This world-view, known as Ubuntu, reminds us that identity is communal, not individual. A house in the village symbolises that connection.
To build in one’s ancestral home is to affirm, ‘I know where I come from.’ It is a bridge between generations, the living, the dead, and the unborn. The house becomes a place for gathering, remembrance, and reconciliation. It reassures parents that their children will not vanish into the anonymity of the city. It reassures children that they have a home beyond the uncertainties of urban life. This sense of rootedness has profound psychological and social value.
Studies in sociology and wellbeing show that people with strong cultural and familial ties experience greater resilience, stability, and a stronger sense of identity. In societies facing rapid modernisation, such anchors are vital for balance. Even economists agree that this ingredient is pivotal for building things together, even family businesses. Africans have always understood that not everything of value has a price. Some of the most meaningful social acts; kneeling to greet elders, helping a neighbour, contributing to a burial, or hosting visitors, do not have monetary returns. Yet these gestures form the moral fabric that holds communities together.
Kneeling to greet an elder may never earn you a paycheck, but it could earn you respect, trust, or even a good husband or wife. Greeting elders along your village path may not bring you income, but it could earn you their blessing, or even their votes, should you ever run for office. Building a house in the village belongs in the same category. It is an act of loyalty and continuity. It says, I belong here. I value the people who raised me. I will not let modernity erase where I came from.
Building a home in the village is also a mark of responsibility. It signals maturity and accountability, proof that one has not forgotten their origins.
In African thought, success is not fully yours until it benefits others. Wealth that isolates is considered incomplete. This is why even people of modest means continue to build or renovate homes in their villages. Just as communities pool funds to build churches or mosques, often before investing in profit-making ventures, people build homes out of faith, identity, and moral duty. Economists may call this ‘irrational,’ but it reflects a social philosophy that places people above profit and values the eternal over the immediate.
As we prepare to travel home for Christmas, it’s worth reflecting on why that house matters. The world today often measures wealth by accumulation. African traditions measure it by relationship, the strength of family ties, the wellbeing of neighbours, and one’s moral standing in the community. A house in the village, therefore, is not an idle asset, it is a statement of identity and values. It bridges the gap between modern living and traditional belonging. It offers psychological safety, social recognition, and a spiritual sense of completion.
When all is said and done, none of us leaves this world with what we built or earned. Yet what we prioritised here. Relationships, generosity, faith, and community, may well be the true legacy we leave behind. A house in the village may not yield economic profit, but it pays lifelong dividends in dignity, belonging, and peace of mind, and that is worth far more than money.