After watching that TikTok about staying delulu being the only solulu, I could not help but agree that perhaps the only solution to surviving life’s chaos, especially here in Kampala and maybe Uganda at large is a healthy dose of delusion. This might just be the most accurate life philosophy for anyone living in Kampala. If you look clearly , you will notice we run on three things: vibes, Inshallah, and delulu. It is what keeps us waking up every morning to chase that job someone promised to connect us to in 2021, this is a cue not to be that uncle or auntie who keeps collecting CVs and ghosting.
This delulu fuel is what makes your friend continue dating a man who just needs time to figure himself out, or that guy who insists his music career is just one hit away eight years and three singles later, and always needs an urgent 20K. Delusion, as defined by the Oxford English dictionary, is the persistent belief in something false despite clear evidence to the contrary but here, it is a lifestyle.
Kampala’s brand of delusion is endearing, sometimes painful, but always deeply human. It reflects a city that dreams loudly, even when reality whispers otherwise. Those tiny lies we tell ourselves to keep going, to keep shining, and to keep believing that tomorrow will somehow be better. Let’s take a quick pilgrimage through Kampala’s favourite delulus, the sacred beliefs we hold onto despite every warning from logic, the economy, and even God Himself.
Government delulu
Every season, Kampala collectively renews its subscription to hope. It is automatic; no reminders, no expiry date. A friend once told me that the most expensive commodity to sell in Uganda is hope. Be a hope merchant, and you could buy your dream car faster, which could possibly explain why your favourite man of God drives that car. Comrades business is good in the hope industry. Watching government launch initiatives in Uganda is like a recurring TV series; same plot, new cast, same ending. Government delulu always gets us when we believe this time they are serious.
But serious with what exactly, fixing potholes? Reducing corruption? Improving the economy? My friend, that is not seriousness; that is déjà vu. Every season promises to fight corruption, and every year, corruption wins by knockout in the first round. We attend press conferences, cut ribbons, form committees, and take selfies in front of unfinished projects. As for service delivery, eh, the government has mastered the art of aura farming. They arrive with bulldozers, cameras, and promises, dig up the old tarmac, then ghost.
A few weeks later, the only progress is a new banner reading, ‘Road Under Construction’, but the only person working is the guy changing the banner. Still, we line up at rallies, wave flags, and shout slogans, fully aware that we have seen this movie before. But that is the beauty of the Kampala spirit we never stop believing. Political delusion here is not a weakness; it is a national renewable energy source. It powers our resilience, our blind optimism, and our endless ability to say, ‘Maybe this time will be different.’ Stay delulu, comrades it is the only solulu.
Tiers will change a person who does not want to change. The real miracle workers are communication and acceptance, not introduction ceremonies and matching kitenge. And of course, the ‘I would rather cry in a Bentley than smile at Food Hub’ brigade, owedde! I am not saying rich men do not exist, some do, but ask yourself, do you fit their description? You want to marry loaded prince charming but still complain about the price of Sunday brunch. Where exactly will mandem find you? Y’all are confusing God;
He is still recalculating your location. Every Kampala babe is convinced she is destined to marry a rich, six-foot prince charming who will whisk her away to Dubai.It is like a Disney movie, only sponsored by delusion and heartbreak. Standards are good, yes, but maybe trade the unicorn for someone emotionally available, with an actual address and working SIM card. Then there’s the I will only marry from my tribe, ati The men in my tribe are wiser.
Eh! The classic Kampala tradition of marrying within your tribe, religion, or raceas if love requires a clan meeting first. It’s like refusing to try any food beyond your favorite Rolex stand. Maybe, just maybe, compatibility is not written in your surname. Because if you think you will get a perfect life partner just because they are your tribemate, my friend, you are delusional. But stay delusional, it is the only solulu.
‘Next year i will be a billionaire’ Delulu!
Every boda stage has that one jamma who swears he is one deal away from becoming rich. We are the land of just wait for my container. My friend, that container is now old enough to apply for a NIRA ID. Now do not get me wrong, it is good to lock in. In Uganda, anyone can chase the bag and actually get it. Yes, I said anyone. With real consistency and work, greatness is possible. But the problem starts when you make friends with someone who is genuinely locking in or locked in, and suddenly you also enter delulu mode believing things will ‘just work out’ without doing the actual work.
Kampala’s hustle culture has slowly turned into a fantasy lowkey, everyone has a side gig, a forex account, and a business plan that starts with I know people. But the people seem to be in witness protection because 10 years later, the deal is still maturing. And then there is the crypto cousin, the self-declared financial educator. You ask how it works, and he hits you with ‘you would not understand’, and honestly we also do not understand how you lost all your savings in two months and still have the energy to post motivational quotes. Wealth does not come from group chats and vibes; it comes from sweat, discipline, and a financial plan more realistic than your shein plug. You see, even successful scams need some thorough cooking.
Just study hard, jobs will look for you
‘Let me work hard at school for a great job.’ Ah yes, the classic Ugandan fairytale. The university degree, that shiny piece of paper we were told would unlock doors to corporate heaven. Every graduate in Kampala has that one black folder filled with CVs, certificates, and most importantly dreams. You walk into every interview believing this is your moment. They shake your hand, nod politely, and you leave already budgeting your first salary. You even start practicing how you will say my colleague instead of my G. Then weeks later, silence.
You call HR and they are still processing. My brother, they processed you out the moment you left the building. The delusion continues; I will get a great job because I went to a good university and had amazing grades, Please. The truth is, Kampala’s job market does not just want good grades it wants skills. Communication, adaptability, problem-solving the soft skills no lecturer ever mentioned between PowerPoints. And of course, connections. Because sometimes it is not about what you know, but who your uncle plays golf with. Still, we keep waking up, polishing our shoes, and sending more applications because giving up is not an option.So yes, stay delulu because in this city, no HR can kill faith this strong
‘My friends are my family’ delulu!
In Kampala, friendship is a full-time job with no salary, no benefits, and plenty of emotional overtime. You will lend someone your last 50K, and when it is time to be repaid, they will hit you with, but are you that kind of person? Suddenly, you are the villain for expecting accountability. We love calling everyone my person, my twin, my ride or die. Meanwhile, that same ride or die has been riding your ex and dying to take your gig. Loyalty here has terms and conditions and most people did not read them before signing.
Many Kampala friendships are powered by alcohol and shared trauma. Remove the bottle or the gossip, and suddenly, you are two strangers awkwardly liking each other’s statuses. Yet every weekend, you will find yourselves shouting ‘Squad goals’, while posing for pictures like you are auditioning for Real Housewives of Bandali. Even if the friendship ends in betrayal, at least the photos will slap on Instagram. Still, we keep showing up for brunches, birthdays, and broken promises because in this city, hope is the friendship glue. So stay delulu maybe your next brunch squad will actually have genuine people. Or at least better mimosas.
‘I’m moving abroad soon’ delulu
Ah yes, the national anthem of Kampala dreamers: ‘I am processing my papers.’ Everyone in this city has that one friend who is ‘almost leaving. You ask, which country? or what is the plan ? and they reply, Eh, you will see and we will see from there respectively. In Kampala, everyone thinks life abroad is paved with gold until their cousin sends a photo from outside wearing three jackets in June and eating microwaved beans for dinner. We have been sold this dream that the moment the plane lifts off from Entebbe, problems will melt like sugar in tea.
But truth is, adulting is hard everywhere, only difference is the accent. Life abroad is not as glossy as the influencers make it look either. Behind every soft life caption is a rent reminder, an unpaid invoice, or a broken iPhone screen being held together by faith and a screen protector. Still, this chaos has its rhythm; the boda rides that double as therapy sessions, the katogo that slaps different after a long week, and the small wins that feel like national celebrations. If you have got no clear plan, maybe do not rush to run away. This Kampala hustle, loud as it is, builds muscle financial, emotional, and mental. Because while others are chasing visas, the real jackpot might just be mastering the art of surviving and thriving right here at home. Stay delulu , your breakthrough might be one more chaotic Monday away.