UGANDA AIRLINES: POLITICS CANNOT OUTRRUN THE NUMBERS

Every few years in Uganda, a moment arrives that forces us to ask whether we learn from our history or simply enjoy replaying it with new actors and shinier equipment. 

The unfolding saga at Uganda Airlines is one such moment — a national drama that began with the promise of pride in the skies but has ended, for now, in a familiar turbulence of losses, excuses, and rushed decisions. Anyone watching closely knows this storm did not start today. It began on the ground, long before the first cabin crew buckled up passengers on the new Bombardiers.

When government announced the revival of Uganda Airlines, officials spoke with the confidence of people who had cracked the aviation code. 

The business plan, they said, had input from the National Planning Authority (NPA), as if that alone was enough to inoculate the project against failure. But a closer reading of that plan revealed more holes than a kitchen sieve. It projected a break-even in two years — a proposition so detached from aviation reality that even industry veterans chuckled quietly. Airlines, everywhere in the world, bleed before they breathe.

 

Even the most mature carriers take five to seven years before anyone utters the word “profit.” But our business plan seemed less concerned with aeronautics and more with arithmetic designed to loosen the government’s purse strings.

And loosened they were. Long before the first commercial route was opened, the real feast had already taken place. Aircraft had been procured, consultancies paid, systems installed, training contracts awarded, and branding campaigns rolled out. Many of the key beneficiaries of Uganda Airlines’ rebirth vanished as soon as the procurement smoke cleared, satiated and licking their chops while the rest of the country was left to finance the hangover.

In aviation, reality eventually catches up with optimism. Richard Branson captured it best when he said that if you want to be a millionaire, start as a billionaire and open an airline. The industry is a black hole by design: fuel volatility, maintenance complexity, pilot training, aircraft depreciation, seasonal travel trends, global shocks, they all conspire to keep profit a distant dream. Even giants stumble. Kenya Airways bleeds. South African Airways has died and resurrected more times than Lazarus. Etihad burnt through billions chasing global dominance..

If airlines with deep pockets and global alliances struggle, what then of a young carrier in a small market?

Uganda Airlines entered this unforgiving world with enthusiasm but without insulation. Today the numbers are unforgiving. Accumulated losses have surged into the hundreds of billions. Operational costs rise like a jet on takeoff while revenues limp behind. Auditor General reports read like recurring episodes of the same tragedy — ticket fraud here, underutilised aircraft there, bloated staffing everywhere. The Airbus A330s we acquired as symbols of national pride now symbolise something else entirely: long-haul operations that drain more than they deliver. The CRJ900s, meant to anchor regional routes, are from a model already discontinued by the manufacturer. And just when one imagines the bleeding might trigger a sober pause, Parliament has greenlighted an additional sh400 billion as a deposit for new jets — a decision that qualifies as throwing good money after bad. But what does Parliament care? It is not Parliament that must justify this to the taxpayer.

A realistic reevaluation of Uganda Airlines must begin by acknowledging that losses are not an anomaly, they are the default. Even the regional carrier Uganda admires most, RwandAir, has not made a profit in its entire fifteen-year existence — despite disciplined governance, aggressive marketing, global partnerships and a well-aligned tourism strategy. If RwandAir, with all its structural advantages, has never crossed into profitability, on what basis did Uganda Airlines imagine it would break even in twenty-four months?

Yet the question we must confront is not simply whether the airline will ever make money. The deeper issue is the cost of choosing this path. Uganda has sunk trillions into the national carrier — in capitalisation, in procurement, in subsidies, in operational losses, and now in deposits for additional aircraft. 

But what else could that money have achieved? 

It could have transformed our human capital landscape, funding vocational institutes, strengthening teacher training, and scaling STEM programmes that would serve Uganda for generations. It could have repaired the structural cracks in our business environment, smoothing regulatory processes, strengthening SMEs, digitising public services, and lowering the cost of doing business. It could have modernised our creaking infrastructure, from roads and power reliability to turning Entebbe into a true regional aviation hub. And it could have turbocharged our tourism and MICE ambitions, where every shilling invested returns more shillings — unlike the aviation black hole, where every shilling invested demands two more to keep the aircraft in the sky.

Perhaps Uganda Airlines can still be rescued. But only if we stop pretending that politics can outvote economics. Uganda must decide whether it wants a commercial airline or a national symbol kept alive by subsidies and sentiment. It cannot be both. Until we confront the truth, that this project was conceived on flawed assumptions, executed through extractive procurement, and protected by political emotion, we will continue feeding a bottomless pit with no return.

BOU NUMBERS SUGGEST STEADY PROGRESS, THE DEVIL IS IN THE DETAIL

The economy often whispers truths long before politicians ever shout them from podiums. The Bank of Uganda’s December 2025 macroeconomic indicators offer precisely this kind of whisper: a picture of resilience and caution, of macroeconomic stability shadowed by persistent structural questions, brought into sharper relief as Uganda approaches the 2026 elections.

At first glance, the numbers are superficially reassuring. Headline inflation settled around 3.1 percent by December, well within the policy target band—reflecting price stability unseen in many past cycles. The trends show that this is not a sudden anomaly but the continuation of a long-term trend.

In 2012 this column pointed out that the broader concern was that economic growth was outpacing development itself. Growth alone was insufficient because people still lacked basic services: there was just one doctor for every 11,000 Ugandans and nearly 50 pupils per primary school teacher—metrics that spoke of deep structural deficits even while GDP figures ticked upward. This column argued then that

for development to be real, gains from growth had to be distributed into human development—health, education, jobs—not just infrastructure or headline GDP numbers. Fast forward to 2025, inflation is low and stable, but the broader question remains: has this macro stability translated into better human outcomes across the country, or has it merely created a calmer statistical façade?

The answer today is more nuanced. Yes, price stability makes life more predictable than a decade ago, but many of the core challenges that frustrated development back then—limited access to quality healthcare, education gaps, and underpowered job creation, still linger beneath the surface. This echoes the earlier message: economic growth makes the numbers look better; actual development is measured in people’s lives.

Another instructive snapshot from Shillings & Cents’ archive comes from the same early-2010s lens: the 2012 reflection on institutional and market formalization. At that time, the informal economy, estimated to comprise two-thirds of all economic activity in Uganda, was cited as a major drag on development, because so much of the nation’s economic value was “invisible” to formal structures that could mobilise savings and lend for investment. More than a decade later, while digital finance and mobile money have expanded dramatically, a significant share of enterprise remains informal and undercapitalised.

The December macroeconomic indicators show modest private credit growth and a stable shilling, but that stability exists alongside an economy where informal businesses still struggle to access affordable credit, dampening the potential boosts from stable inflation and exchange rates.

Yet not all old narratives remain static.

The shift in Uganda’s economic structure is perhaps best captured by the transformation in the relative role of services, industry, and agriculture, a theme that Shillings & Cents explored in reflections about Uganda’s “uneven transformation” over the 2010s. Back then, services barely outpaced agriculture and manufacturing was a modest part of GDP, with real risk that growth might bypass large swathes of the population tied to the land or small enterprise.

By 2025, the story has changed enough to be visible in the Bank of Uganda data: the Composite Index of Economic Activity (CIEA) shows broad-based expansion across sectors, and private sector engagement in services and trade has strengthened. Growth has shifted slightly away from agriculture into services and light manufacturing, and digital transactions and formal financial participation have widened compared with a decade ago.

But the phrase “uneven transformation” still applies. Even as macro indicators improve, low inflation, a stable exchange rate, and rising activity, the underlying structural tensions remain. The import bill, for example, surpassing US$ 4.1 billion

in recent quarterly data, reflects stronger demand for capital and intermediate goods, but also highlights Uganda’s dependency on foreign inputs due to limited domestic industrial capacity. This echoes the old development concerns: industries that could absorb agricultural output and turn it into higher-value products are still underdeveloped, leaving Uganda with a persistent trade imbalance.

Moreover, the reserve cover remaining around three to three-and-a-half months’ imports reminds us that despite progress, the economy lacks a deep buffer against external shocks. In an election year this matters greatly: financial markets reward stability, but thin reserve buffers can quickly sour sentiment if political uncertainty rises.

What the historical Shillings & Cents examples make clear is that Uganda’s progress is neither linear nor guaranteed.

The 2012 debates about whether growth was accompanied by genuine development still echo through policies today; the persistence of a large informal sector continues to constrain credit and investment; and the structural connection between agriculture, industry, and exports remains too weak. Yet the fact that macroeconomic indicators are calmer now than they were in the early 2010s does indicate real progress in institutional stability and financial management.

The approach of 2026

thus finds Uganda in a place it has struggled to reach before—a moment where macro stability exists alongside tangible, if uneven, structural change. If the country can leverage this combination, stable prices, a dependable exchange rate, broader economic activity, and growing formalisation of finance, into deeper structural reforms in agriculture, industry, and human development, then the next decade could mark the long-sought pivot from growth to broad-based development.

UGANDA’S WEALTH INEQUALITY: MORE THAN STRUCTURAL

When Oxfam reported last week that one percent of Kenyans control 78 percent of the country’s wealth, there was a sharp intake of breath across the region.

Inequality is not news, but such a naked statistic hits differently. Kenya—East Africa’s economic powerhouse, with deeper capital markets, a broader tax base, a stronger middle class, and a culture of data transparency still finds itself staring into an abyss of wealth concentration. And if this is Kenya, what on earth might Uganda’s distribution look like? Our guess, if we ever bothered to measure it, is that the disparity would be even more dramatic.

Uganda’s structural foundations were laid in a way that almost guarantees a tight concentration of wealth at the top. Our economy still leans heavily on low-value agriculture and a vast informal sector, both of which struggle to accumulate capital.

Infrastructure gaps from roads that dissolve every rainy season to electricity that flickers like a hesitant flame, more difficult than it should be. A farmer may produce, a trader may hustle, but reaching the customer remains a heroic enterprise.

Our business environment does us no favours either.

The World Bank’s past Doing Business reports have consistently shown how tortuous it can be to start a company, secure permits, enforce contracts, or even understand the tax code. Add to that a human capital challenge skills mismatches, limited vocational training, uneven education outcomes and you begin to see how productivity is throttled at the source.

Then, of course, there is corruption: the ever-present shadow tax on everything. It quietly inflates costs, diverts resources, distorts incentives, and erodes trust. In such an environment, those with access to capital, networks, land, and privileged information inevitably pull ahead—and then accelerate. Once inside that circle, the compounding begins. Wealth grows faster than the economy itself, while the majority labour twice as hard only to remain pinned to subsistence.

But to blame structure alone is to miss the full picture. There is a more intimate layer to Uganda’s inequality one woven out of personal financial behaviour. Give two Ugandans the same income, and watch where they end up ten years later. One budgets, saves early, invests regularly, keeps records, buys assets, steadily builds. The other spends in the moment, postpones saving, dreads paperwork, relies on expensive borrowing, and treats financial planning as something to attempt “when things settle”. Over time, these behaviours carve out chasms that no government programme can bridge.

This is where the global lesson becomes clear: eliminating wealth inequality is utopian. It does not exist anywhere, not even in Scandinavia—the poster child for equality. Norway, Sweden, and Denmark boast some of the world’s lowest income inequality numbers, with Gini coefficients in the mid-20s to low-30s after taxes and transfers. But shift the lens to wealth, and the picture sharpens in uncomfortable ways.

In Sweden, the top 10 percent control between 60 and 70 percent of all wealth, while the top 1 percent hold more than a third. Across Scandinavia, the top 0.01 percent command nearly five percent of national wealth, numbers eerily similar to those of unapologetically capitalist economies like the United States.

"The welfare state flattens incomes, yes, but accumulated capital continues to compound in the hands of those who started early, invested wisely, and stayed disciplined. Even the world’s most equal societies cannot iron out the wealth curve. Which brings us back home.

If we were to hazard a breakdown, structural factors—poor infrastructure, weak business environment, corruption, limited industrialisation, and lagging human capital might explain 60 to 70 percent of our disparity. But the remaining 30 to 40 percent? That is personal. It is behaviour. It is habit. It is mindset. And unlike the structural issues, this part can change today—without a parliamentary vote, a budget allocation, or a donor conference.

Kenya’s 78 percent statistic is frightening, yes. But it is also clarifying. Inequality is not exclusively a national problem to be solved in boardrooms and government offices. It is a household problem, shaped by the roads we build and the habits we keep. By the markets we regulate and the budgets we maintain. By the schools we run and the savings we protect.

Uganda will never eliminate wealth inequality. No society ever has. But we can blunt its harshest edges. And the quickest lever available to us is not a new policy framework or an ambitious reform blueprint it is a quiet revolution in personal financial behaviour across millions of Ugandan homes.

BOOK REVIEW : THE ART OF SPENDING MONEY

Morgan Housel has established himself as one of the most influential financial thinkers of the 21st century. His breakout classic, The Psychology of Money, became required reading for anyone trying to understand the human side of finance. Later came Same as Ever, his second exploration into how timeless patterns shape behaviour. Now, with The Art of Spending Money, Housel delivers his third book—arguably his most intimate and philosophical yet.

"Where many personal-finance books focus on earning, saving, and investing, this one asks the harder question: What, exactly, is money supposed to do for your life?...

It is a deceptively simple inquiry that unravels into deep psychological terrain.

At the centre of Housel’s argument are four emotional traps that distort how we spend and, ultimately, how we live: envy, comparison, identity, and insecurity. These forces are more dangerous than bad markets or bad luck because they work silently—inside our stories, our egos, our fears.

Envy, he writes, is a game with no finish line. You envy someone’s lifestyle today, only for someone else to leap ahead tomorrow. The standard of success keeps shifting like a mirage. In Uganda, where visible consumption often becomes a proxy for achievement, this insight is particularly relevant. Envy converts money into a scoreboard, not a tool. And once you fall into that trap, no amount of earning can bring contentment.

Comparison is just as insidious. Social media, public life, and even family gatherings have become arenas for comparing incomes, cars, schools, houses, holidays—even children’s performance. Housel warns that comparison doesn’t just distort spending; it distorts purpose. Instead of asking, “What do I want?” you begin asking, “How do I keep up?” This is how financially disciplined people slide into lifestyle inflation and, eventually, debt. It is how long-term goals get derailed by short-term temptations disguised as status.

Identity

forms the third trap. For many people, money becomes a canvas on which they paint who they want the world to think they are. In our own context—where titles, neighbourhoods, and brands are deeply symbolic—this is a cultural truth. Housel’s caution is simple but profound: when your identity depends on money, your identity becomes fragile. The moment the money falters, the self-image collapses. True wealth, therefore, is internal before it is external.

Finally, insecurity—the quiet force behind most reckless spending. Housel notes that people often buy things not because they need them but because they want to feel respected, admired, included, or important. But insecurity is a bottomless vessel. No amount of spending can fill it. In fact, the more you rely on money to soothe emotional wounds, the more financially unstable you become. What looks like overspending is often emotional self-medication.

Where Housel truly excels is in clarifying the complex relationship between money and happiness. He does not pretend money is irrelevant. Money can buy comfort, options, dignity, and time, especially in a society like ours where financial instability is often tied to emotional stress. The ability to educate your children, support your parents, choose better healthcare, avoid debt traps, these are real sources of happiness.

But money cannot buy the deeper, more durable forms of joy: purpose, belonging, trust, identity, self-respect, or love. It cannot buy inner quiet. It cannot buy a meaningful life. It cannot buy the ability to sleep peacefully at night. Money is an amplifier: it magnifies who you already are. If you are grounded, money expands your freedom. If you are chaotic, money multiplies the chaos...

For Ugandan readers—professionals, traders, teachers, students, and hustlers alike, this book is a mirror. The emotional traps Housel describes are universal. You cannot budget your way out of envy. You cannot save your way out of insecurity. You cannot invest your way out of comparison. You must think your way out.

The Art of Spending Money is not a manual; it is a meditation. A challenge. A provocation. It forces you to ask: What do I want my money to do for me? Until you answer that honestly, no salary, no business, and no investment strategy will give you peace.

With this third book, Housel has completed a kind of philosophical arc. And after finishing it, I intend to revisit Same as Ever, if only to round off my understanding of his growing body of thought and the worldview he is quietly shaping.

This is the rare personal-finance book that doesn’t just teach you how to spend. It teaches you how to live.

FSDU DRAGGING UGANDA OUT OF THE FINANCIAL STONE AGE

Uganda has never truly been a poor country.

What we have always been is an under-aggregated one—a place where money exists in fragments, scattered across households and hidden in the folds of everyday survival. Anyone who has lived here knows the choreography. Coins dropped into tins. Notes folded into kaveera and tucked under mattresses. A cow or goat standing in for a savings account. Family lending circles filling the gaps left by formal finance.

"Our people save, and often with remarkable discipline. What they have lacked are the mechanisms to turn that saving into something larger than the sum of its parts...

Scattered money is powerless money. It cannot compound. It cannot be intermediated. It cannot fuel investment or finance growth. It simply sleeps. And when money sleeps, the country sleeps with it. This is the quiet crisis at the heart of our development challenge: not the absence of resources, but the absence of aggregation.

That is what made Financial Sector Deepening Uganda’s (FSD) 10-year journey is worth more than ceremonial applause. At a recent event to commemorate the annivessary speaker after speaker underscored the organisation’s role in building the infrastructure, trust, and systems required to aggregate Uganda’s fragmented savings into national capital.

Central bank governor Michael Atingi-Ego, reminded the room that the financial sector we see today, more inclusive, more digital, more resilient, did not emerge by chance. It is the product of deliberate policy, thoughtful regulation, and patient collaboration.

He described the national payment switch, the central data hub, eKYC, digital supervision and other reforms as “the digital nervous system of our credit ecosystem,” the architecture that allows money to move safely and efficiently. Without such a nervous system, aggregation simply cannot happen. Money remains stuck in the micro-spaces of household life; it never graduates into productive capital.

Finance permanent secretary Ramathan Ggoobi, recounted walking into a bank as a young man, hoping to open a savings account, only to be asked whether he “really had money” (he did not name the bank).

 It was a humiliation delivered casually, but one so many Ugandans know intimately. He used the story to illustrate a larger point: the financial system was never built for the majority. And without inclusion, aggregation is that much harder. Money outside the system cannot help the person who owns it, nor can it help the country that needs it.

Together, these two voices captured the twin truths of Uganda’s financial evolution: that systems build trust, and trust builds inclusion. And inclusion is the gateway to aggregation.

This is the context in which FSD Uganda’s work over the past decade becomes transformative. Through policy support, a steady push for innovation, and an insistence on evidence-based dialogue across the sector, financial inclusion has risen from 29% to 68%. Beneath that statistic lies a more meaningful shift—billions of shillings have migrated from mattresses, secret tins, and informal networks into the formal economy, where they can be intermediated, lent out, invested, and multiplied. Ugandans who were once spectators to the monetised economy are now participants in it.

At the same time, FSD has worked to widen the channels through which aggregated money can flow. The Mastercard Foundation, supported Recovery Fund has channelled credit to over 130,000 micro and small businesses, 70% of them women-led enterprises that have always had the energy and ambition, but rarely the capital. The Deal Flow Facility, now mobilising over $8.2 million for growth-stage firms, is pushing opportunity closer to investment, turning potential into financing reality. Both initiatives reflect the same principle: aggregation is not only about savings—it is also about aligning capital with the ventures capable of driving structural transformation.

"Uganda’s entrepreneurs have never lacked drive. What they have lacked are mechanisms linking that drive to finance. FSDU has helped build those mechanisms.

This work becomes even more urgent when set against Uganda’s long-term economic ambition. Vision 2040, reinforced by government’s tenfold growth agenda, requires private-sector credit to expand from sh27 trillion to more than sh270 trillion. It is an audacious expectation—and it is only possible if Uganda aggregates its savings at scale. Household savings, SACCO deposits, pension surpluses, remittances, mobile money balances, investment capital, these must be pooled into channels capable of financing agriculture, manufacturing, technology, renewable energy, and the logistics systems of a modern economy.

This is why Project Okusevinga, reducing the minimum investment in government securities to sh10,000, is so consequential. It democratises investment. It makes wealth-building a mass-participation activity. If embraced, it could shift Uganda from a cash-based culture to a savings-and-investment culture within a decade.

Obviously there is still a lot of work to be done. Emma Mugisha, FSDU’s Board Chair captured the moment aptly: the first decade was about building the pipes; the next must be about filling them. Uganda now has the rails -- digital, regulatory, institutional, required for national aggregation. What remains is to build the culture, trust, and usage that turn infrastructure into impact.

Uganda is not poor. Uganda is under-aggregated. And FSD Uganda’s first 10 years show what becomes possible when a country begins to solve that problem—quietly, steadily, one account, one business, one innovation, one empowered citizen at a time. The task of the next decade is simple but profound: to turn aggregation into transformation.

POSTBANK REBRAND SIGNALS UGANDA BANKING INDUSTRY’S COMING OF AGE

My father told me how, as a young man, he would deposit money at the Post Office, the precursor to PostBank, in Nairobi, then jump on the train and withdraw the same funds days later in Kasese by simply showing his passbook. No computers. A surprisingly efficient way of transferring money across the region in the 1960s and early 1970s.

That story captures the trust, reach, and quiet efficiency that defined the old postal banking system. And it is this same spirit that came alive again at the beginning of November when PostBank opened its 59th and newest branch in Luweero town, hard on the heels of the bank’s rebrand to Pearl Bank.

The two events were symbolic of both expansion and transformation, a bank that once helped knit East Africa together by train and paper now positions itself to do the same through fibre optics and mobile networks.

It is easy to see how the rebrand opens the possibility to recapture that regional ambition, this time fused with digital capacity and renewed national purpose.

"The new name signals far more than a cosmetic change of colour from blue and yellow to the royal purple and orange of the Pearl. It represents a maturing institution and, by extension, a maturing banking industry in Uganda...

When PostBank was spun off from the old Uganda Post & Telecommunications Corporation twenty-seven years ago, it inherited a modest mandate: to preserve the savings culture that post offices had cultivated among ordinary Ugandans. For years, it operated as a small, government-owned lender serving rural and low-income customers. But as Uganda’s economy expanded and technology redrew the boundaries of finance, the bank evolved into a credible national player.

Its story mirrors that of Uganda’s wider banking sector.

The 1990s were years of cleanup and stabilization. The 2000s saw consolidation and cautious expansion. The 2010s ushered in a digital revolution led by mobile money and agency banking. And now, in the 2020s, the focus is on integration—of people, systems, and regional economies.

That ambition is no small matter. For years, one of the quiet frustrations of Uganda’s commercial expansion across the region has been the absence of a strong homegrown bank with regional reach, an institution capable of doing for Ugandan capital what KCB and Equity Bank have done for Kenya. As Ugandan firms push into South Sudan, the DRC, Rwanda, and Tanzania, they often find themselves banking with Kenyan or multinational institutions. The emergence of

Pearl Bank, with its deep national roots and growing technological sophistication, may finally begin to fill that gap.

Its mission remains anchored in inclusion. Over the past decade, the bank has become a crucial partner in government’s drive to bring millions of citizens into the formal economy. Its integration with national programs such as the Parish Development Model (PDM) has turned it into a key artery for channeling development funds to rural households and cooperatives. What was once a logistical maze of forms and ledgers has become a streamlined, digitized process linking parishes, SACCOs, and individual accounts in real time, through the banks’ Wendi digital wallet.

This has not only expanded access to finance but also restored confidence in public financial systems, an achievement that resonates deeply in a country where mistrust of government banking once ran high.

This unique position, halfway between commercial and developmental banking, has made the Bank the institutional bridge between state aspirations and citizen livelihoods. It has shown that inclusion, sustainability, and profitability are not mutually exclusive goals. The success of this hybrid model reflects a larger truth about Uganda’s banking evolution: that stability and innovation can coexist when trust, technology, and governance are aligned.

Within the broader industry, this new development signals a new phase in Uganda’s financial maturity. Two decades ago, state-owned banks were dismissed as bureaucratic relics. Today, they are proving commercially viable and strategically vital. The bank’s steady profitability, expanding branch footprint, and disciplined management reflect a sector that is not just growing but professionalizing. The industry’s key indicators, capital adequacy, liquidity, and asset quality are stronger than they have ever been. Non-performing loans have stabilized, deposits continue to grow, and local institutions are beginning to look beyond Uganda’s borders with confidence.

The bank’s evolution also mirrors changing economic priorities. With agriculture still employing seven in every ten Ugandans, the Bank’s support for structured agricultural financing has become central to its growth strategy and to national development. The shift from transactional to developmental banking—supporting farmers, small businesses, and women-led enterprises—illustrates a deeper understanding of what banking must mean in an economy still finding its industrial footing.

At the same time, the bank’s investments in financial literacy have helped demystify banking for millions of Ugandans. From women’s groups in rural trading centres to youth cooperatives in small towns, finance is being redefined not as an intimidating institution but as an everyday tool of empowerment. In the long term, this cultural shift may be the most enduring dividend of all.

As government and the private sector deepen integration within the East African Community and the African Continental Free Trade Area, Uganda will need financial institutions capable of supporting its businesses across borders.

My father’s passbook, stamped by a teller in Kasese, was proof of a simple but powerful truth: that trust sustains commerce. Half a century later, that same trust—rebuilt, digitized, and scaled, is what underpins

Pearl Bank’s next chapter.

The trains have been replaced by servers, the queues by mobile apps, but the mission is the same: to connect people, move money, and fuel growth across borders.

MTN’s METAMORPHISIS FROM AIRTIME SELLER TO FINTECH ENGINE

There was a time when MTN Uganda’s performance could be summed up in three words: subscribers, airtime, and coverage. As recently as 2020, as this column observed, the real story was hidden beneath the surface of the mobile-money revolution.

The country’s mobile-money platforms were already moving sums equivalent to half the national GDP—“a silent banking system that doesn’t sleep” even as telecoms continued to measure success by call minutes. MTN was then a strong, cash-generating voice business standing at the edge of a digital frontier it was yet to fully claim.

Fast forward to 2025 and the transformation is ticking along impressively.

The company’s third-quarter performance

underlines the scale of that metamorphosis. Topline revenue rose 15 percent to sh 2.2 trillion, powered by double-digit growth in both data and fintech. Data revenue jumped 22 percent, while fintech climbed 18.6 percent, together contributing almost half of total income.

Voice, once the company’s dominant pillar, grew just 4 percent. Profit after tax surged 23 percent to sh 295 billion. The board rewarded shareholders with an interim dividend of sh 10.5 per share, the largest since the company listed in 2021—a clear statement that the new digital engines are not only humming but also highly cash-generative.

MTN’s current business model has little in common with the one described in this column’s early reflections on Uganda’s telecom boom.

 The company has moved from selling airtime to selling access—to data, to transactions, to platforms. It has poured more than sh 350 billion this year into network upgrades, adding 125 new sites and strengthening its 4G footprint, building what one might call the “digital highways” of Uganda. Each new tower now carries more data than voice, and every new smartphone becomes a tollgate through which MTN collects its share of the digital economy.

Fintech, through MTN MoMo, has evolved into the company’s heartbeat. With more than ten million active users, MoMo has become a daily necessity for Ugandans—paying merchants, sending remittances, settling bills, and increasingly, saving and borrowing. It is not merely a payment platform but an informal financial system, quietly eroding the boundaries between telecommunications and banking. In 2017  we wrote, “mobile money is the real central bank of the people.” That observation feels prophetic now.

Across the border, Safaricom’s half-year results released on the same day as MTN released their Q3 results, offer a crystal ball into MTN’s possible future.

The Kenyan operator’s M-Pesa mobile money platform accounts for 43 percent of service revenue

, and data for another double-digit slice. Voice is no longer king there—it is an afterthought. MTN Uganda is following the same arc, though its story is still in the rising chapters. Where Safaricom processes nearly a billion transactions a month, MTN’s volumes are in the hundreds of millions. The gap is the opportunity, and the dividend signals confidence that management intends to close it.

The data narrative mirrors the fintech journey. Safaricom’s average user consumes roughly twice as much data as Uganda’s, but the trend lines point upward. MTN’s capital spending is laying the groundwork for that growth, ensuring capacity before the demand wave crests. As smartphones become cheaper and apps infiltrate every aspect of life—from learning to trading—Uganda’s data appetite will grow. The paradox is familiar: prices may fall, but usage will more than compensate, pushing revenues and margins higher.

What distinguishes MTN’s story is not just that it has pivoted successfully; it has done so while preserving profitability and a disciplined dividend culture. The sh 10.5 per-share payout, up 61 percent from last year, is a declaration that this transformation is not a gamble but a sustainable model. The company’s strong cash flows, even amid inflation and currency headwinds, have allowed it to fund expansion and still deliver attractive returns—a balance few Ugandan listed firms manage.

Looking ahead, MTN’s trajectory will hinge on execution. Safaricom’s example shows that the next phase lies in opening up ecosystems—through APIs, partnerships with banks and fintechs, and seamless integration into everyday business. MTN has the reach, the trust, and the infrastructure. What remains is to build the bridges that turn scale into depth.

 For investors, the dividend is a reward; for the economy, it is a signpost. The digital dividend has arrived—and this time, everyone gets a share.

MTN UGANDA LIFTS DIVIDEND TO SH10.5 AS PROFIT AND DATA REVENUE SURGE

MTN Uganda has announced an interim dividend of UGX 10.5 per share, up from UGX 6.5 last year, reflecting robust earnings growth and strong cash generation. The payout—totaling about UGX 236.7 billion—marks the telecom’s highest interim dividend since its 2021 listing, underscoring confidence in its expanding data and fintech businesses.

Chief Executive Officer Sylvia Mulinge said the dividend mirrors “resilient execution of the Ambition 2025 strategy and our focus on disciplined cost management and digital growth.”

Financial Highlights (Nine Months to September 2025)

Metric	9M 2025	9M 2024	Change YoY
Service Revenue	UGX 2.20 trillion	UGX 1.91 trillion	+15.3 %
Data Revenue	UGX 663 billion	UGX 542 billion	+22.4 %
Fintech Revenue	UGX 573 billion	UGX 483 billion	+18.6 %
Voice Revenue	UGX 790 billion	UGX 758 billion	+4.2 %
EBITDA	UGX 1.15 trillion	UGX 985 billion	+16.8 %
EBITDA Margin	52.3 %	51.4 %	+0.9 pp
Profit After Tax	UGX 295.3 billion	UGX 240.7 billion	+22.7 %
Capex (Ex-leases)	UGX 352 billion	UGX 340 billion	+3.5 %

Source: MTN Uganda 9M 2025 Earnings Release

Strong Operating Momentum

MTN’s performance was powered by sustained smartphone uptake, expanding 4G coverage, and growth in the fintech ecosystem. Data revenue rose 22 percent as the company modernized its network and upgraded 125 new sites, while fintech services benefited from higher mobile-money transaction volumes and merchant payments through MoMo, which now serves over 10 million active users.

Operating profit margins improved to 52.3 percent, reflecting cost discipline and digital-channel efficiencies. Management said cash flow remained strong, supporting both network investment and the enhanced dividend payout.

Dividend Signals Confidence

The UGX 10.5 payout—representing a yield of roughly 6 percent at current market prices—confirms MTN’s standing as one of the most consistent dividend payers on the Uganda Securities Exchange. Analysts view the increase as a vote of confidence in continued double-digit growth despite inflationary pressures and a weakening shilling.

Chief Financial Officer Andrew Bugembe noted that prudent capital management allowed the company to balance expansion and returns. “We are maintaining investment in our network while delivering attractive shareholder value,” he said.

Strategic Focus and Outlook

MTN Uganda continues to position itself as a digital-services leader. Beyond mobile data and MoMo, it is scaling broadband and enterprise connectivity to tap corporate and home-internet demand. The rollout of rural coverage and 5G-readiness initiatives remains central to its strategy.

Mulinge said the outlook remains positive: “We anticipate sustained revenue momentum as we deepen customer value through affordability, innovation, and service quality.”

Investor Takeaway

With profit up 23 percent and a record interim dividend, MTN Uganda has cemented its reputation as the exchange’s blue-chip bellwether. Its twin growth engines—data and fintech—continue to offset slowing voice revenues, providing resilience in a tight economy. For investors seeking both yield and growth, MTN remains the benchmark counter on the USE.

LOOKING BACK ON UGANDA’S UNEVEN TRANSFORMATION

The phrase “You cannot see the forest for the tees” comes in handy at times like these.

 

Living in Uganda the tendency is to focus on all that is wrong, especially with the economy. A cursory look back in history can be a real eye opener.

 

According to the Bank of Uganda Statistical Abstracts

(2010, 2020, and 2024), Uganda’s economy has changed more in the last fifteen years than in the previous three decades. Anecdotal evidence is that the skyline has grown taller, the roads busier and money moves faster.

 

Yet beneath the hum of new malls, banks, and mobile money agents, much of Uganda still bends to the rhythm of the hoe. That is the paradox of Uganda’s transformation — rapid growth built on a fragile rural base.

In 2010, agriculture contributed about 24 percent of GDP, manufacturing under 10 percent, and services nearly half. The typical Ugandan was a smallholder farmer, working a patch of land, selling surplus in the nearest market, and depending on rain for survival. Industry revolved around agro-processing — coffee hulling, sugar milling, breweries, grain grinding and the financial system barely touched the countryside. Credit was limited, expensive, and mostly directed toward importers and traders in Kampala.

By 2020, Uganda’s economy had taken on a new shape. Services had risen above 50 percent of GDP, manufacturing had expanded to around 15 percent, and agriculture had slipped slightly below 23 percent. The country was urbanizing fast; mobile money had turned the phone into a bank, and Kampala’s skyline hinted at a new prosperity.

But beneath the surface, the imbalance persisted. The farms that fed the factories still struggled with low yields, limited financing, and poor access to markets. Credit flowed to real estate, trade, and consumption, while agriculture — employing three-quarters of Ugandans  remained underfunded...

By 2024, the transformation looked complete on paper. Services now contribute more than 55 percent of GDP, manufacturing holds steady between 12 and 15 percent, and agriculture hovers around 25 percent. GDP has tripled since 2010, and private sector credit has reached 20 percent of GDP — the highest in the country’s history. Kampala is busier than ever, real estate booming, and consumption rising. But three out of every four Ugandans still depend on the land for their livelihood. Uganda has modernized, yes, but only in patches. Growth has been faster than transformation.

Nowhere is this clearer than in agro-industry, the bridge between the farm and the factory. In 2010, food, beverages, and tobacco made up about a third of all manufacturing. By 2024, their share has dropped to a quarter, even though output has tripled. The change reflects diversification — Uganda now produces more steel, cement, plastics, and tiles but also a weakening link between agriculture and industry.

The backbone of our industrial economy, the farm, is still too weak to carry the weight of growth. Factories depend on consistent, quality raw materials, yet agriculture remains largely rain-fed, fragmented, and under-financed. When the rains fail, milk deliveries fall, coffee cherries rot and processors stand idle. Our industrial structure, for all its progress, still rests on soft soil.

Uganda’s next phase of growth depends on strengthening that foundation.

The farms must feed the factories. The country cannot industrialize without first revitalizing agriculture. This means putting knowledge back into the hands of farmers through functional extension services. For two decades, the collapse of extension has left millions of farmers without guidance on soil management, pests, or post-harvest handling. Rebuilding that system supported by digital tools and field officers could raise productivity across the board.

It also means investing in water. Less than three percent of Uganda’s arable land is irrigated, leaving farmers at the mercy of the weather. Climate change has turned rainfall into roulette, where one bad season can wipe out entire harvests and cripple agro-processors downstream. More irrigation from smallholder drip systems to valley dams would stabilize output, smooth supply chains, and make agriculture a dependable industrial partner.

And it means facing up to the land question. Uganda’s land tenure system, a web of overlapping claims and insecure titles, discourages investment. Farmers cannot use land as collateral, cannot expand production easily, and often hesitate to make long-term improvements. Simplifying the system while protecting customary rights would unlock credit and encourage commercial farming. An aggressive titling drive would be ideal.

Yet even as production improves, Uganda must think carefully about demand. We can’t build a strong industrial base on exports alone. The first market for Ugandan goods must be Ugandans themselves. The numbers are telling we consume less than a tenth of the coffee we produce and process less than 20 percent of the milk we collect. The same pattern holds for fruits, beef, and eggs.

Strengthening domestic consumption is not only patriotic; it’s strategic. Every cup of locally roasted coffee, every packet of milk sold in Gulu or Masaka, builds a stronger base for exports. “Buy Ugandan, Build Uganda” should stop being a slogan and become a serious industrial policy.

One promising avenue for this is school feeding. Properly designed, a national school feeding program could create a guaranteed market for milk, eggs, beef, maize, beans, and vegetables — stabilizing incomes for farmers and processors alike. It would also nourish the next generation while driving local production.

But it is a double-edged sword. Uganda’s government has a dreadful record of paying its suppliers on time. Domestic arrears, as this column has warned before, have spiraled out of control, strangling businesses and draining confidence. If school feeding contracts become yet another unpaid promise, they could bankrupt the very processors they were meant to help. To make such programs work, the state must first fix its payment discipline. Otherwise, a well-intentioned idea could collapse under the weight of government debt.

Beyond the domestic market, Uganda must also push harder to sell its products abroad. The East African Community has been a good start — our milk, sugar, and grain already find buyers across the region but it’s not enough. The African Continental Free Trade Area (AfCFTA) opens a much larger frontier, and beyond that lie the Middle East, Europe, and Asia. Government must invest in trade diplomacy, quality standards, and export infrastructure to turn Uganda’s raw produce into globally competitive brands.

The goal should not be to export coffee beans and bulk milk, but to export roasted coffee, branded dairy, and packaged foods. That’s where jobs and real value lie.

AUTOMATE DRIVER LICENSING TO END UGANDA ROAD CARNAGE

It starts, as it too often does in this country, with twisted metal and wailing sirens. Two buses, an Isuzu and a Tata, collided head-on along the Kampala–Gulu highway, killing sixty-three people on the spot. The news travelled fast — from the police’s terse press statement to the morning talk shows and WhatsApp groups filled with images too horrific to share. For a few days, Uganda mourned. Then, as we always do, we moved on.

But we shouldn’t.

Because the real tragedy on our roads is not just the crashes themselves, but our acceptance of them as normal. According to police data, more than 5,000 Ugandans died on our roads last year, while another 17,000 were left seriously injured. That’s a seven percent rise in deaths and a staggering 36 percent rise in serious injuries compared to the previous year. On average, fourteen people die every single day on Uganda’s roads — the equivalent of a full taxi of lives wiped out before sunset.

Now think about that. Every day, fourteen families begin new lives defined by loss. Every day, fourteen breadwinners vanish from the economy, leaving behind dependents, unpaid loans, and unfinished dreams. And every year, according to studies, road crashes drain an estimated 4.4 trillion shillings from the economy — about five percent of our GDP. That’s more than the national budget for agriculture or education. We are quite literally driving ourselves to poverty.

The official reports like to call it “human error.” It sounds polite, even inevitable. But when over 80 percent of crashes are caused by human error, what it really means is that we have an entire licensing system that has failed to separate skilled drivers from lucky ones...

Take a boda-boda rider weaving through traffic with a passenger, or a bus driver barreling down a narrow tarmac at 120 km/h — you’ll often find they have licenses that were bought, not earned. The testing process itself is still largely manual, with all the weaknesses that come with it: corruption, inconsistency, and human bias. A few thousand shillings can turn a failed test into a pass. A nod from the right officer can put an incompetent driver on the road.

We have made it easier to buy a license than to earn one, and now we are paying for it — in blood, broken limbs and national income.

 The real scandal isn’t that Ugandans drive badly — it’s that the state allows them to. The current testing regime, in its paper-and-pencil simplicity, was designed for a different era. It can no longer guarantee competence in a country where traffic has multiplied, vehicles have become faster, and the stakes far higher.

A modern transport system cannot be built on guesswork. And yet, every day, thousands of new drivers are churned out by an opaque, corruption-prone system that tests neither knowledge nor reflex. The result is visible in every roadside wreck.

The solution is obvious, but long delayed: automation. We need to take the testing process out of the hands of corruptible humans and hand it over to machines that don’t take bribes or play favourites.

Today fully automated, intelligent driver testing systems that evaluate drivers scientifically rather than emotionally are available.

It starts with something as simple as ensuring that every applicant passes a genuine physical fitness test. Machines can now assess vision, color perception, hearing, reflexes, and coordination — no need for dubious doctor’s letters.

The theory exam, too, can be digitized — a computer randomly generating questions on traffic law, ethics, and road safety, complete with facial recognition to prevent impersonation. And the practical road test? That’s where the real magic happens. Smart vehicles equipped with sensors, cameras, and GPS can measure precision in braking, reversing, hill starts, and cornering with an accuracy no human examiner can match. Every maneuver is scored automatically and transmitted to a central command center that oversees all testing centers across the country in real time. No envelopes. No favours. Just results.

For the first time in a long time, a Ugandan driver’s license would mean what it’s supposed to mean — that the holder actually knows how to drive.

But this is about more than safety. Automation will create jobs for ICT technicians, data analysts, and exam supervisors. It will reduce government costs, improve transparency, and even generate revenue through testing fees. Uganda could become a regional center of excellence for driver testing, setting a benchmark for East Africa.

Most importantly, it would restore public trust. Imagine renewing your license knowing the process is fair, efficient, and incorruptible. Imagine the ripple effect of competence — fewer crashes, lower insurance costs, healthier workers, and a calmer, saner traffic culture.

This is not a futuristic fantasy. The technology exists today. What’s missing is the will to implement it.

 

BOOK REVIEW: MIRIAM'S MILLION SHILLING JOURNEY

Buy the book HERE

There comes a moment in every young Ugandan’s life when the thrill of graduation gives way to the harsh mathematics of survival. Rent. Transport. Airtime. Lunch. “Adulting,” as the younger generation calls it, comes wrapped in bills, deductions, and the quiet anxiety of realizing that a million-shilling salary is not the fortune it once seemed.

That’s where Miriam’s Million-Shilling Journey begins — not in wealth, but in that most relatable of realities: a payslip that promises the world and delivers far less. Miriam, fresh out of campus, steps into her first job with hope as bright as her new office blouse. But when PAYE, NSSF, and the company provident fund have taken their share, her take-home of Shs 600,000 feels more like pocket change than a paycheck.

Enter her retired uncle — part philosopher, part financial whisperer, who doesn’t so much lecture her as guide her, gently but firmly, through the labyrinth of personal finance. His is the wisdom of years spent watching people earn more than they ever imagined, only to die broke. He teaches her, and by extension the reader, that wealth has less to do with the size of your income and more to do with how you deploy every shilling.

Miriam’s story isn’t just a parable — it’s a mirror. The narrative unfolds in short, digestible chapters that could easily be read on a taxi ride or lunch break, each one building from the last. She begins by automating her savings, learning the discipline of “paying herself first.” Her uncle’s advice to treat each shilling as a worker that must bring home more shillings echoes like a drumbeat through the book. The result is a rhythm of small, steady progress: a SACCO contribution here, a side hustle there, an investment in a bond, then her first tentative steps onto the Uganda Securities Exchange.

The book’s genius lies in its simplicity. There are no intimidating spreadsheets or jargon-filled lectures. Instead, it takes global financial wisdom — the kind you find in bestsellers about the wealthy — and translates it into everyday Ugandan experience. You don’t need an MBA to understand it; you just need a willingness to start where you are.

By the time Miriam begins her journey into real estate and diversifying her income, you can almost feel the reader’s own confidence grow. The story cleverly mirrors the financial growth curve it preaches: slow, patient, and cumulative. Each page builds the mental muscle of clarity — that quiet but powerful understanding of where your money goes, why it matters, and how to make it work for you.

At just 50 pages, Miriam’s Million-Shilling Journey

packs a surprising punch. It comes with a companion workbook and practical work plans, turning theory into habit. For teenagers, young adults, and anyone ready to escape the paycheck-to-paycheck treadmill, this little book offers more than financial advice — it offers perspective.

It doesn’t promise riches. It promises discipline. And in that, it delivers something even more valuable — peace of mind.

Verdict: A clear, relatable, and proudly Ugandan guide to mastering money — one shilling at a time.

BOOK REVIEW: THE ENDURING ENTERPRISE

AUTHORS: DEVIN DECIATIS & IVAN LANSBERG

Every family business in Uganda has a story. A beginning in sweat, sacrifice, and a little faith. A father who opened a shop in the 1980s with one bale of sugar. A mother who built a salon from her veranda. A son who took over and turned it into a supermarket chain. The story of enterprise here is never just about money; it’s about continuity, the stubborn determination to hold the line through good times and bad.

That spirit is at the heart of The Enduring Enterprise by Devin DeCiantis and Ivan Lansberg — a book that could easily have been written for Uganda. It explores how family firms in the world’s most turbulent regions survive and even thrive where others collapse. Their secret? Knowing what to hold onto, and what to let go.

Balancing Legacy and Change

DeCiantis and Lansberg argue that enduring businesses are built on adaptive continuity. They never lose sight of who they are, but they aren’t afraid to reinvent how they do business. The values stay — integrity, thrift, service but the tools evolve.

Uganda’s long-standing business families understand this instinctively. The Mukwano Group expanded from soap to plastics to real estate. Roofings turned steel into an ecosystem of industries. The lesson? Change what you must, but never forget what made you. Continuity without adaptability leads to extinction; adaptability without values leads to chaos.

Trust as Currency

In places where institutions are fragile and contracts unreliable, trust becomes the real currency. The book shows how, in frontier economies, relationships are the scaffolding of survival.

That truth rings loudly in Uganda. The trusted supplier in Kikuubo, the loyal driver who’s been with the family for twenty years, the cousin managing the warehouse, they are all part of the same invisible capital that keeps the business upright when banks tighten credit or policy shifts overnight.

DeCiantis and Lansberg call this relational capital. You can’t list it on a balance sheet, but lose it and you lose everything. Ugandan entrepreneurs would do well to guard it  by honouring their word, paying on time, and mentoring the next generation of trustworthy partners.

Resilience Beats Efficiency

Western business schools preach efficiency — cut costs, go lean, automate. But in frontier economies, the book argues, efficiency can be fatal. Lean systems collapse at the first shock.

Ugandan entrepreneurs already know this. The prudent trader in Owino keeps a stash of emergency stock. The factory owner keeps an old generator in storage. The family transport business maintains two trucks even when one would do. That “inefficiency” is actually strategy, what the authors call stabilizing slack.

In a world of rising uncertainty — climate shocks, currency swings, unpredictable taxes, resilience, not efficiency, is the true competitive edge.

Governance: From Founders to the Future

What kills most family businesses isn’t competition. It’s conflict. DeCiantis and Lansberg point out that the failure to plan for succession is the biggest threat to continuity. When founders pass without clear governance, families fracture, and assets scatter.

Uganda has seen this story too many times — thriving companies that collapse within a year of the patriarch’s passing. The cure, the book insists, is simple but seldom practiced: write it down. A family constitution, clear ownership rules, and a plan for leadership transitions can save decades of hard work.

Governance doesn’t kill family spirit; it protects it. It turns inheritance into stewardship.

The Frontier Mindset

Perhaps the most inspiring insight from The Enduring Enterprise is the idea of the frontier mindset, the ability to turn uncertainty into advantage.

Frontier businesses, the authors say, grow strong because they operate where nothing is guaranteed. They learn to improvise, diversify, and adapt.

That mindset is Uganda’s natural terrain. Whether it’s a family in Lira turning sunflower farming into an oil brand, or a Kampala trader pivoting from imports to local manufacturing, success comes from embracing the chaos, not fearing it.

Ugandan entrepreneurs are already masters of contingency — making payroll when the power’s off, finding customers when the shilling tumbles. The authors’ advice is to systematize that agility. Train teams to pivot. Keep backup suppliers. Build businesses modularly so one part can survive when another fails.

Purpose as a Survival Tool

What keeps family enterprises going through hardship is not just money, it’s meaning. The authors show how enduring families tell their story again and again, binding generations through shared struggle.

In Uganda, that story is everywhere. The grandmother who sold cassava to pay school fees. The father who rebuilt after Amin. The son who registered the business formally so the next generation could inherit it cleanly. These stories are not sentiment; they are strategy. They create identity, loyalty, and purpose.

Families that remember their story endure because they know why they began and for whom.

Lessons for Uganda’s Family Enterprises

From DeCiantis and Lansberg’s global examples come lessons tailored for Uganda’s own economic frontier:

• Govern early — don’t wait for crisis to decide who runs what.
• Preserve buffers — liquidity is resilience; never run too lean.
• Professionalize — let competence, not birth order, guide leadership.
• Diversify wisely — stay close to your core but spread your risk.
• Protect your reputation — trust is the most expensive asset to rebuild.

These may sound like old wisdom — because they are. But in a world as uncertain as ours, old wisdom is modern strategy.