Gertrude Kamya Othieno: Uganda’s Moral Crisis of Selfishness

Fellow Ugandans. I have heard countless times the phrase “Bannayuganda tebeyagaliza, Ugandans don’t wish each other well. And it’s usually Ugandans themselves who say it. That line has stayed with me. Because when we say “they,” who exactly do we mean, if not ourselves? This realisation has led me to reflect more deeply on our behaviour as a society: our reluctance to support others, our silent sabotage, and our growing discomfort with each other’s progress.

Uganda is awash in religion, culture, and talk of community. But beneath this surface lies a growing cancer: a deep-rooted culture of selfishness. You see it on the streets, in families, in churches, in workplaces, and most visibly, in Parliament. People no longer live by shared values but by one dangerous creed: me first, me only.

This isn’t just about politics. It’s personal. In many offices, talents are sabotaged and information is hoarded. Workers fear taking leave, not out of loyalty, but because if they do, someone else might claim their work or render them disposable. Entire projects stall when a holder of key knowledge is absent. This isn’t loyalty, it’s ego disguised as indispensability.

Even more concerning is the behaviour of senior officers or managers performing clerical work or taking on community outreach roles themselves, not out of efficiency, but because they fear a junior staff member might be recognised or rewarded for the work. As a result, tasks are duplicated, time is wasted, and resources are drained. This internal sabotage, driven by fear of being outshone, keeps institutions stagnant and undermines team morale.

I have explored similar ideas in previous essays, about expired knowledge, a term coined by a millennial Uber driver to describe Uganda’s outdated but still dominant systems; and the view of a Gen Z Uber driver who said, “Uganda isn’t a nation to me, it’s a business platform.” Those words weren’t despair. They were diagnosis.

Nowhere is this selfishness more dangerous than in how we treat our innovators. David Ssenfuka, the herbalist behind a widely claimed cure for diabetes (and cancer), suspended his work after threats and sabotage. Labs refused to collaborate; his research was delayed indefinitely. Rather than rally around his breakthrough, we tore him down because his success reminded us how little moral and institutional support we offer.

And let’s talk politics. As election season intensifies, we see it in full glare: animosity, tribal baiting, violence, all in the name of individual ambition. Leaders aren’t vying to serve Uganda. They’re scrambling for spoils.

The damage is staggering. Despite government programmes, the money rarely reaches the intended beneficiaries. Bureaucrats and politicians gatekeep resources as though they own them. The result? Projects collapse, trust erodes, and poverty persists.

But here’s the contradiction: Uganda is fiercely religious. Churches overflow; mosques are full. We pray, fast, tithe. And yet our moral decay deepens. The more we perform religion publicly, the more morally empty we become. We pray for justice, but steal from our neighbor. We preach unity, but sabotage alliances. We sing Ubuntu, yet sow division.

Contrast this with certain Jewish and Asian communities. Studies show that in some contexts, a dollar circulates within the Asian community for about 28 days, and within Jewish communities for around 19 days, some estimates report up to 30 days. While figures vary, the principle remains: internal reinvestment builds collective gain. This is backed by long traditions like Jewish tzedakah (obligatory charity) and gemach (interest‑free community funds). In contrast, our cultural paradox lets resources and goodwill flow away.

We must stop blaming colonialism. We must stop pointing fingers at “the system” as if we aren’t part of it. Ugandans have normalised selfishness as a survival strategy. We reward cunning, applaud arrogance, and ridicule humility. And we’re teaching a new generation to do the same.

This is not spiritual warfare. It’s moral failure. It’s choices, repeated until they become culture. Unless we change, Uganda will remain a nation where everyone is climbing, but no one holds the ladder.

It’s time to rebuild moral courage:

1. Knowledge sharing in workplaces – ensure no one hoards information that stifles productivity.

2. Protect innovators like Ssenfuka– support breakthroughs rather than crush them.

3. Demand ethical leadership – from pulpits to parliaments.

4. Circulate value like our Jewish and Asian neighbours, invest in our own confidence, businesses, and dignity.

5. Teach real Ubuntu – support another’s success as our own.

Because until we truly celebrate each other’s rise, we risk falling together.

Ciao

Gertrude Kamya Othieno
Political Sociologist/Writer
Alumna of the London School of Economics and Political Science
gkothieno@gmail.com

AFRICA’S STRENGTH IS KNOWLEDGE