Author: user user

Next year, Uganda will welcome a new HIV drug, a medical breakthrough that promises to give hope in the fight against the epidemic. The twice-yearly injectable drug will be given to people at high risk of infection such as young girls, pregnant women, breastfeeding mothers and other high-risk categories of people, who could include sex workers, long route drivers and fishing communities.

Uganda is among the 10 high-burden countries selected to benefit through the US President’s Emergency Plan for Aids Relief (PEPFAR). This is a remarkable achievement, a milestone that reminds the country of the journey we have taken since the early 1980s when the disease was discovered and the battle launched in the early 1990s to fight the scourge. Uganda has been a global leader in combating HIV, and the arrival of this new drug gives new hope to achieving targets on infection, prevention and antiretroviral treatment.

But while we celebrate this progress, we must not lose sight of a sobering truth: medicine alone cannot end the HIV crisis. The greatest weapon against HIV/Aids has always been, and will always remain, human behaviour. A drug may suppress the virus in the body, but it cannot stop reckless sexual habits, nor can it shield society from the wider consequences of irresponsibility.

Careless sexual behaviour continues to fuel not only new HIV infections but also a rise in teenage pregnancies, unwanted pregnancies, and the spread of sexually transmitted diseases. These challenges place immense social, economic, and emotional burdens on families, communities, and the country at large. The new drug may help prevent the virus, but it will not mend the heartbreak of a teenage mother forced out of school, nor will it heal the scars left by preventable infections.

As Uganda ushers in this new drug, we must redouble our investment in behavioural change campaigns.

Young people, in particular, need accurate information, and practical guidance to help them make responsible choices. Parents, educators, religious leaders, and policymakers must ensure that the excitement around medical progress does not overshadow the fundamental truth: prevention is always better than cure.

The new HIV drug is a gift, one that will save countless lives. But it is not a licence for recklessness.

If we do not pair science with responsibility, we risk undoing the very progress we are celebrating today. Uganda has shown the world that leadership and collective discipline can bend the trajectory of HIV. Let us now prove, once again, that real change begins in the choices we make every day.

During the NRM nomination rally for President Museveni at Kololo, the remarks made by some top leaders about the ongoing teachers’ strike were not only unfortunate but deeply regrettable. For leaders of their stature to trivialise such a serious national crisis by comparing government teachers’ salaries to those in private schools is an insult to our hardworking teachers.

They mock teachers, suggesting that because private schools pay less, government should not pay teachers adequately. That is not leadership. If indeed private schools were the benchmark for government policy, then are these same leaders suggesting that private schools also pay science teachers five times more than arts teachers? Do private schools perpetuate the same absurd salary disparities? And if government schools are as well facilitated as our leaders claim, why don’t the children of our leaders attend UPE or USE schools? This is hypocrisy of the highest order-leaders prescribing for ordinary Ugandans what they themselves cannot consume. It is like giving food to a neighbour that you cannot eat yourself because you suspect it is poisoned!

Let us not forget that striking is a right protected under labour laws such as the Employment Act. Teachers have always given the government ample time and due notice before laying down their tools. They have knocked on every door of dialogue, but instead of being listened to, they are being mocked and ridiculed. What more do we want teachers to do-bleed on the streets before their voices are heard? Worse still, by making such careless remarks during the unveiling of our NRM flagbearer, these leaders were effectively shooting the party in the foot. They sent a dangerous message to teachers and Ugandans at large-that the NRM is insensitive to their suffering.

The real problem in this country is not President Museveni. The problem is the coterie of leaders who surround him, shielding him from the truth. The Bible tells us, ‘You shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free.’ It is only by telling the President the truth that we can build a fairer, stronger Uganda. If we claim that arts subjects are irrelevant, why do we still teach them in our curriculum? The sciences cannot stand without the language of instruction, English. A biology or physics teacher still relies on the English teacher. Primary school teachers-who lay the foundation for all subjects-are paid the same regardless of whether they teach sciences or humanities, yet in secondary schools you find science teachers earning more than their own headmasters. What kind of skewed policy is this?

As a teacher and as a leader, I say without fear: this policy is unfair, divisive, and poorly thought through. I strongly believe that the President was misadvised, and that there is urgent need for review. Arts teachers, primary school teachers, technical and vocational instructors all deserve better. They deserve equality, equity, and respect.

President Museveni has always stood for fairness and development. It is our duty as leaders to advise the President truthfully and responsibly. Shielding him from reality is not loyalty-it is betrayal. True loyalty lies in telling him the truth so that he can take corrective action. Teachers are not the enemy of the state. They are the backbone of our nation. To undermine them is to undermine Uganda’s future. This strike has come at a time when we are at the beginning of a budget process. It is only wise that teacher’s concerns are well addressed and catered for!

I was on a random call, pitching an idea, confidently sprinkling what I thought were simple, everyday words just with a little Gen Z seasoning. Nothing too wild, you know, a casual low-key solid, maybe a ‘that’s giving strategy,’ or a polite ‘we could finesse this.’ Normal, right? I mean, when you read these things, they make sense. right?

On the other end of the line, my colleague hit me with the dreaded triple shot: ‘Pardon? ‘Pardon?..’Pardon?’ Three in a row, like a DJ scratch. At that point, I was convinced my Wi-Fi had been hijacked by village witches, or my accent had turned mid-sentence. It happens sometimes ever since I watched Peaky Blinders, my tongue occasionally decides to relocate to Birmingham, pit some worra.

Panicked, I left the call, phoned my G to confirm the network, only to find my voice was crystal clear. My bars were full, no buffering. Meaning the problem was not Nabanja’s network. The problem was translation. When I rejoined, I realised the colleague was not hard of hearing, no. They just did not understand my English, which they kept dismissing as Gen Z slang. To me, this idea is giving means the idea is brilliant. To them, it sounded like I was distributing handouts. When I said, we can vibe with this, I meant align. They thought I was organising karaoke night.

That is when it hit me; the workplace is not just divided by job titles. It is divided by generations. A corporate Tower of Babel. CEOs are usually Gen X or Baby Boomers, fluent in ancient tongues languages of KPIs, synergies, strategic pivots, and long-winded PowerPoints that end with actionables no one will action.

Middle managers? Mostly Millennials, who speak a hybrid, half corporate jargon, half WhatsApp group chat. They are comfortable with emojis in Slack, but still hope nobody notices the GIFs hidden in their emails. Then there’s Gen Z, the newest employees speaking in TikTok captions, Snap sounds, meme references, and slang that sounds like puzzles from a Kampala escape room. Same English, different planets.

So maybe my editor was right; we need a dictionary. Boomers searching for the mute button, Millennials still touching base, and Gen Z waiting for everyone to just catch vibes. Uganda already has 65 tribes and 40 languages, did we really need corporate English tribalism too?

Its giving or not giving , ate

Take the phrase ‘It’s giving.’

For Gen Z, this is the ultimate compliment. If a young colleague says, ‘Your pitch is giving world class, and your presentation ate,’ what they really mean is it is fresh, relevant, and impressive. And when they say ‘ate,’ it is not about food you have just delivered a 15/10 performance. Positive feedback, yes, but wrapped in a meme-coded package that needs subtitles.

The other day, we were deliberating on artwork in the Teams chat group. The designer posted his draft, and my comment was short: ‘Bro, it’s not giving!’ Being my peer, he understood and shot back: ‘What more spice can I add to make it cook?’ Perfect. Then, of course, our boss entered the chat. Lost in translation, he warned us to take our personal jazz out of the work thread. Poor lady thought we were actually debating recipes.

Imagine this , an intern presenting a campaign at a hotel, confidently declaring, ‘This campaign is giving Serena Hotel energy. Or imagine someone saying, ‘That rebrand is giving Full-Figure.’ They mean bold, flashy, maybe even too much. Without cultural context, though, older managers just nod, secretly planning to Google ‘Full-Figure’ after the meeting. This is where the corporate comedy sets in.

To Gen Z, ‘it’s giving’ is like corporate jazz vibes, mood, essence. To Boomers and Gen X, it sounds like handouts, food drives, or NGOs. Millennials? They are stuck in the middle, pretending to understand both while secretly checking Urban Dictionary on the side.

Highkey and lowkey

Then there is ‘lowkey’ and ‘highkey.’ These are Gen Z’s favourite modifiers for subtlety or emphasis. A young colleague might confess, ‘I lowkey think this project is going to flop,’ which simply means they have a quiet concern but are not ready to die on that hill. Flip it, and you get ‘I highkey love the new client proposal,’ meaning they are openly enthusiastic and do not care who hears it.

Translated into corporate: lowkey = ‘I’m informally concerned.’ Highkey = ‘I’m overtly excited.’ But let us be honest, the corporate jargon does not slap the same.

In Uganda’s office life, the applications are endless. For the record, all Gen Zs lowkey hate meetings especially the ones without per diem. Like, can’t you just text your concerns?

Meanwhile, colleagues from earlier generations are highkey obsessed with meetings, the kind where a simple email could have done the job, but now you are trapped at a hotel with lukewarm tea and dry mandazi. When the HR calls for a two-hour wellness session but the Gen Z intern just lowkey just came for the soda and chapati.

Or a manager announces new uniforms, and someone mutters, We highkey look like a choir about to back up Bebe Cool. Even in strategy sessions, the contrast shows. A Millennial will say, We should consider risks cautiously. Gen Z?- I lowkey think this campaign will backfire. A Boomer will say, unsatisfactory proposal.

Gen Z? I highkey feel it . Same message, different wrapping.

Cap , No Cap

‘Cap’ and ‘no cap’ are where the generational gap fully shows itself. For Gen Z, no cap simply means truth or fact, while cap signals exaggeration or outright lies. So when a young colleague says, ‘I can finish this report by tomorrow, no cap,’ they are not being dramatic.

They’re with cap. Promises of salary increments? Cap. Assurances that this financial year we will prioritise staff welfare?

Cap on cap. You start to wonder why HR does not just issue helmets since we are drowning in cap anyway. In everyday office banter, it can get hilarious. That Gen Z intern might whisper to the CFO , about that budget proposal is full cap, boss, even my village SACCOS wouldn’t buy it. Or when IT swears, We will resolve the Wi-Fi today no cap, everyone side-eyes because, let’s be honest, that’s high cap.

Touch some grass

Work-life balance has its own slang, and Gen Z delivers it with touch grass. At first, managers hear this and think we have joined some new agricultural cooperative. But really, it is simple advice; step away from the screen, breathe, and reconnect with reality. Older generations would call it take a break or recharge. Gen Z? Boss, touch grass. Many managers never take leave. They wear exhaustion as a badge of honour. In my 20 years here, I have never gone on annual leave. My brother, that is not inspiration that is an HR crime report.

The unspoken assumption is that we, too, should chain ourselves to the office. But sorry, we didn’t come to suffer. We came to work smart, get paid, and live to do a vibe check on the newest spot in Jinja on a random weekend. When a colleague says, you need to touch grass, they are not telling you to run laps around Kololo. They are reminding you that life exists beyond Microsoft Teams and endless boardrooms. The company does not need martyrs; it needs people alive. Because, honestly, if you collapse at your desk, HR will post ‘Gone too soon’ on WhatsApp and immediately start advertising your position. No cap.

Main character energy

Every office has that one person who walks in like the whole building is their stage. That is what Gen Z calls main character energy. It is not arrogance at least, not always. It is the confidence, presence, and leadership vibe that makes you feel like the meeting was scheduled around you, even if you are just here to give a two-minute update on stationery procurement.

In corporate terms, it us called executive presence. But let us be honest executive presence doesn’t quite capture the flair of someone entering a boardroom with TED Talk hand gestures and PowerPoint slides that transition like a Netflix trailer. That as main character energy. Our offices are full of them.

The manager who takes a sip of bottled water before making a point, as if they are about to drop the national budget. The intern who greets everyone with Good morning, team! as if they own the Wi-Fi. The colleague who dominates the Zoom screen, unmuted or not.Some take it too far; they mistake main character energy for Kardashian energy, turning every staff meeting into a personal reality show. Others master it perfectly, balancing confidence with results, so the team actually benefits from their spotlight.

Vibe check

Vibe check might sound like a nightclub ritual, but in Gen Z office culture, it’s a quick scan of team morale or energy. No long reports, no surveys, no HR workshops just reading the room. In a traditional office, managers rely on formal tools: performance reviews, one-on-one check-ins, or those dreaded employee engagement surveys that nobody fills honestly.

Gen Z cuts through the bureaucracy with a simple: ‘Vibe check, are we good?’ In Uganda’s workplace, this could happen mid-meeting. A colleague pauses the PowerPoint to whisper, Kamanda, the vibes are low. Translation; everyone is tired, hungry, and praying for samosas. Or when deadlines pile up, an intern drops ‘The vibes are stressing,’ which is basically a mental health SOS. It may sound casual, but a vibe check often catches what spreadsheets can’t: team burnout, low morale, or that one colleague plotting to resign silently.

Fam, Delulu, Flex, and Rizz in the Office

Take ‘fam.’ This is not about blood relatives it’s a casual, inclusive way of saying team. A young colleague might write on Slack, ‘Fam, we’ve got this deadline,’ which sounds warmer than the classic, ‘Dear all, kindly note.’ . Then there is ‘delulu.’ Short for delusional, it is perfect for those unrealistic expectations we all know too well. Like when management says, ‘This year, profits will triple without increasing the budget.’ Gen Z shrugs that is sheer delulu.

‘Flex’ is another favourite. It is showing off achievements, skills, or perks. Someone casually saying, I was in Nairobi last week for a client meeting, is not just updating you they are flexing.

In older speak; highlighting achievements.

And finally, ‘rizz.’ Short for charisma, it is all about persuasive charm and people skills. That colleague who convinces the client to sign despite shaky numbers?

High rizz. In traditional corporate language, these qualities already exist team spirit, overconfidence, showcasing results, and interpersonal influence. But Gen Z, as usual, delivers them with vibes, memes, and just enough sarcasm to keep the office awake.

Kampala Central parliamentary aspirant Suzan Kushaba has petitioned the World Bank over what she described as the illegal approval of commercial developments along the Nakivubo Channel, warning of environmental damage and disruption to livelihoods in the city’s central business district.

In a letter dated September 19, Kushaba asked the World Bank country office to intervene, citing government ministries, Kampala Capital City Authority (KCCA), Parliament, and private developer Hamis Kiggundu of Kiham Enterprises Ltd as responsible for irregular approvals.

‘On behalf of a section of Ugandan business community in Downtown Kampala and other city dwellers. we are petitioning your honorable office to prevail over the government of Uganda,’ she wrote.

She argued that the construction deprives many traders of livelihoods, worsens traffic congestion, and blocks storm water flow during rainy days.

‘Without following the legal requirements. the political team illegally gave out Nakivubo Channel to Kiham Enterprises to erect commercial buildings at the expense of other Ugandans,’ she claimed.

The World Bank previously financed the 1999 Nakivubo Channel Rehabilitation Project with a $19.15 million loan.

Its environmental impact study had recommended measures such as widening the channel, planting trees, realigning its course, and setting up an escrow account for maintenance.

Kushaba questioned whether these safeguards had been observed. She accused city authorities of proceeding without a certificate of environmental impact assessment, a clear working plan, or competitive bidding.

She called on the Bank to halt financing to KCCA ‘until they rectify the anomalies in this project,’ and demanded compensation for traders whose goods were lost to flash floods linked to the developments.

The World Bank did not immediately react to Kushaba’s petition and KCCA spokesperson Daniel Nuwabine declined to comment on the accusations.

On August 22, KCCA itself ordered a halt to works along Nakivubo Channel, citing public concerns over safety and legality. The directive was dismissed, and construction defiantly went ahead.

The controversy has already drawn parliamentary scrutiny. Speaker Anita Among directed a committee inquiry into how KCCA was bypassed, raising questions about Kampala’s urban development policies.

President Museveni, however, endorsed the project in an August 2 letter to the Prime Minister and senior officials, describing it as imaginative and instructing its facilitation.

For Kushaba, the matter now rests with the World Bank. ‘We want guidance about this contentious project likely to impact the climate of Kampala,’ she wrote.

Whereas the World Health Organisation (WHO) recommends that every developing country should secure blood donations equivalent to at least one percent of its population annually, Uganda continues to fall short of this benchmark.

According to the 2024 Uganda Bureau of Statistics (UBOS) population report, the nation’s 46 million people translate into an annual requirement of approximately 460,000 units of blood. Yet, despite this demand, students remain the backbone of the system, contributing around 70 percent of Uganda’s blood supply.

Students’ spirit of patriotism

At Kitebi Secondary School in Rubaga Division, Kampala, a group of students above 17 years donated nearly 500 units of blood during a two-day drive.

The event, organized by SICPA Uganda in partnership with the Uganda Blood Transfusion Service (UBTS) and the school’s administration, reflected a strong gesture of solidarity.

For many students, the act of giving blood was both patriotic and transformative.

Milly Harriet Namata, the school’s prime Minister, praised her peers, saying, ‘It is not something simple and is a fear to many of the youth. However, those who come forward are not only heroes but also patriotic. I urge all students to dedicate themselves to this programme as a lifelong practice, because through it we are contributing to saving the lives of mothers, children, and accident victims.’

Blood donation is everyone’s responsibility

William Mugisha, Principal Blood Donor Officer at UBTS, emphasized that the responsibility must be shared:

‘Let blood donation be a spiral in a way that everyone rises up and understands that there are people in need. If we do it together, it becomes a renewed promise, because blood donation is continuous.’

As Uganda’s population grows, so does the demand for blood.

UBTS has set a national target of 460,000 units this year to meet WHO recommendations. To achieve it, the organisation is exploring government, public, and private partnerships to increase adult participation. During drives, professionals provide counselling and thorough screening to ensure donor safety and maintain the highest standards of blood quality.

Mugisha reminded,

‘There is no pharmacy for life. Blood must come from healthy human beings between the ages of 17 and 60.’

A shared national duty

Hospitals across Uganda face persistent shortages, particularly during emergencies such as road accidents, maternal complications, and surgeries. Children with severe malaria and patients battling cancer are also critically dependent on timely donations. Without wider adult participation, experts warn that the system risks collapse.

Susan Kitariko, General Manager of SICPA Uganda, reinforced this message:

‘Every donor is a hero, and every drop counts. Blood cannot be manufactured or bought, it must come from people willing to give a part of themselves to others.’

Kitebi Secondary School is a leading example. Over the years, the school has donated more than 10,000 units of blood across multiple drives. Guest of honour, Headmaster Hajji Muhammed Kamulegeya pledged continued support, saying, ‘We shall be available if you need more support to be able to save lives.’

To honour participants, donors received tokens, fruits, and branded T-shirts. Both UBTS and the school administration were also recognised for their role in sustaining the national supply.

SICPA Uganda’s blood donation drive at Kitebi SS is consistent with its broader social responsibility footprint. In 2024, in Bugiri district and neighboring areas, the company partnered with the National Water and Sewerage Corporation to install public stand taps, bringing clean water access to underserved villages. The initiative also included the commissioning of water points and sanitation facilities at Ndifakulya Primary School, benefiting more than 1,000 pupils and staff.

Kitebi student donor, Flavia Namujju, summed up the spirit best:

‘Donating is a two-way effort, you lose something, but you become richer by saving countless lives.’

At the second National E-Mobility Expo, young technicians in overalls were putting the final touches on a passenger bus body.

The vehicle, designed, constructed, and assembled at the Kiira Motors Corporation (KMC) plant in Jinja, rolled out on September 18, 2025, marking the company’s 15th unit at the plant.

Inside the sprawling workshop, tucked between sugarcane fields in Kagogwa Village, Kakira Town Council in Jinja, it was a hive of activity.

Some technicians fitted metallic sheets onto frames; others fastened them with clips and screws.

The factory, officially opened last year, has so far produced 15 vehicles, which brings the total to 54 vehicles since Kiira was incorporated in 2018, 37 electric and 17 diesel, according to Kiira Motors Corporation public affairs manager Shaban Senyange.

For a plant that has attracted $120m (Shs415.2b) in government equity funding, 54 units in seven years is a drop in the ocean for a company that seeks to anchor the agenda of a country seeking to lead East Africa’s e-mobility drive.

Lofty targets, harsh reality

Kiira has promised 2,500 units in the midterm, scaling to 5,000 and eventually 10,000 annually by 2030.

But the promise remains stuck in neutral, hampered primarily by financing gaps.

Joseph Muvawala, Executive Director of the National Planning Authority, thinks government must step in with at least $140m (Shs484.4b) to move the project into commercial operations.

At current capacity, he argues, Kiira must raise production tenfold, at least 500 units annually, to achieve efficiency.

‘If Kiira does not give us 500 units, we are finished. Whoever is looking for money must know this,’ Muvawala says. At factory prices, with Kayoola EVS buses (35-90 seaters) priced at Shs200.7m to Shs311.4m, such volumes could bring in between Shs100.3b and Shs155.7b a year, stabilising Kiira’s revenues.

The current reality paints a picture of a company way below its targets. The Auditor General’s report for June 2024 shows Kiira targeted Shs197b in revenue but managed only Shs2.3b, just 1.2 percent of its goal.

This makes it difficult to operate an efficient cash flow without depending on government remittances.

Deeper challenges

Government has sweetened the environment with tax exemptions, a 10-year income tax holiday, relief on construction materials, and duty-free importation of EV inputs, but the environment remains tough.

On the whole, this has made the cost of owning and operating Kiira-produced electric buses more competitive.

However, the challenges go beyond manufacturing and cost. Auditor General Edward Akol, in a December 2024 report, flagged governance gaps.

Kiira is operating without a fully constituted board. Of the 11 members appointed in 2021, only two remain, the executive chairperson and the chief executive officer, leaving a critical oversight vacuum.

Henry Muguzi of the Alliance for Finance Monitoring says such challenges are common in state-run enterprises.

They actually cast doubt on Kiira’s ability to meet export commitments, including 3,000 buses for Nigeria and 100 for Tanzania, both of which have previously issued letters of intent.

What is at stake

The stakes are high. Electric vehicles offer over 78 percent energy savings and 46 percent lower maintenance costs compared to fuel-powered cars.

For Uganda, the macroeconomic benefits could be transformative: the country spends Shs7 trillion ($2b) annually on energy imports and Shs2.5 trillion ($730m) on vehicle imports.

If Kiira can overcome its governance and financing bottlenecks, its buses could power not just e-mobility but also economic independence.

If not, the dream of anchoring Uganda’s e-mobility revolution risks stalling before it leaves the garage.