Dear Diary,
Kampala is flirting, suffering, and checking pump prices at the same time.You meet someone. Not even ‘the love of your life’, let’s not get carried away. Just a man you like. The conversation flows. He is funny. He listens. You start to think, ah, maybe God has remembered me in this economy.
Then the question comes. ‘So, where do you stay?’
And just like that, the vibes shift. Because what do you mean you are in Sonde? What do you mean I am in Kyanja? What in the distance are you living in this petrol economy?
Now we are no longer flirting. We are doing transport planning.
Because dating in Kampala today is not about feelings. It is about distance, traffic, and whether this connection can survive Shell prices. You are not catching feelings. You are calculating. ‘Is he worth the drive?’ ‘Is this love, or is this 60K in fuel?’
And suddenly, effort looks different. ‘I miss you’ is cute. ‘Let me come see you’ is commitment. ‘Let me fill the tank’ is true love. Fuel has become a love language. If he wanted to, he would, but does he have fuel?
And the men, oh they have adapted. Everyone now lives ‘just nearby.’
‘Baby, I am close.’ Sir, define close. Because Kampala ‘close’ is a lie we tell ourselves to feel better. It is not backed by distance, time, or economic reality. Last time I checked, ‘close’ still involves traffic, boda negotiations, and a small loan from your savings. And somehow, you are the one being told to come through. ‘Just pass by.’ Pass by with what exactly? Faith? Because my tank is on E and my patience is on reserve.
We are all outside pretending this is sustainable.
Soft life told us to date, to enjoy, to sit in soft lighting and sip something expensive while laughing like life is not hard. But the economy said, ‘Choose wisely.’ Because I am not even going to talk about how fuel has started affecting what we pick on the menu. Whisky now has a fuel hike.
You sit there looking at the menu like you are reviewing a national budget. Prices are up. Your spirit is down. You start asking yourself serious questions. ‘Do I really want this cocktail?’ ‘Or should I drink water and preserve my future?’
Meanwhile the man is looking at the woman across smiling, relaxed, ordering confidently, like fuel has not personally attacked his finances.
And he is thinking, what are you doing? What in the Moet on ice are you ordering? I drove here for you. Now I am paying three sets of fuel, the one in my car… in yours and now the one in your glass. Omuntu agenze where?
Even heartbreak has become expensive. Imagine travelling across Kampala, using your last fuel, just to sit there and be disappointed. No personality. No depth. No pork ribs. You go back home, calculate your losses, and realise this was not a date. This was a financial decision you made under emotional influence.
Kampala is tired. The girls are tired. The men are negotiating. The situationships are now geographically restricted. Long distance relationships have entered the chat, and by long distance I mean Ntinda to Bugolobi. Anything beyond that? You people are committed. God bless you.
And yet… we are still outside. Still flirting. Still hoping. Still saying ‘let’s meet’ like we do not know what it costs. Because the truth is, we still want love. We just need it to make sense.
We want effort that considers traffic. Romance that respects fuel prices. Softness that does not require a full tank every time. Because in this Kampala, my dear, love is not just emotional. It is logistical.
And at this point, if he cannot cross Kampala for you: financially, physically, and spiritually? That is not your man. That is your pen pal.