OBITUARY: RAILA ODINGA: THE PERENNIAL NEARLY MAN OF KENYAN POLITICS

When the news broke that Raila Amolo Odinga had died in India on the morning of October 15, 2025, it was as if Kenya exhaled — not in relief, but in recognition. A chapter that had refused to close for nearly half a century had finally done so, not through concession or defeat, but through death. The man who had stood at the threshold of power more times than any other in Kenya’s history — and perhaps in Africa’s post-independence politics — was gone.

For decades, Raila had been the perennial nearly man of Kenyan politics: the revolutionary who came close, the reformer who redefined the system yet was never fully embraced by it, the man who helped make presidents but never quite became one. His career was a chronicle of near-victories and unfinished revolutions — an unending duel with destiny that both ennobled and exhausted him.

The Making of a Contrarian

Born in 1945, the son of Jaramogi Oginga Odinga, Kenya’s first Vice President, Raila inherited not wealth but a legacy of dissent. His father had famously turned his back on Jomo Kenyatta’s administration, accusing it of betraying the promises of independence. The young Raila absorbed that oppositional spirit like mother’s milk.

After studying engineering in East Germany — where socialism, worker solidarity and the architecture of the state fascinated him — Raila returned home with both technical training and ideological conviction. His engineering mind would later show in his politics: pragmatic, systematic, sometimes coldly analytical. But in a political culture driven by tribe and charisma, his rationalism was often his undoing.

He entered politics in the late 1970s, at a time when Daniel arap Moi’s one-party state brooked no dissent. Raila’s agitation for multiparty democracy saw him jailed, tortured and isolated. Yet, like the phoenix he admired, he always re-emerged. Each time, leaner, shrewder — and a little more calculating.

The Politics of Almost

Raila’s story is written in the grammar of almosts.
He almost toppled the one-party state. He almost became president. He almost dismantled the culture of impunity.
But each “almost” came with a paradoxical triumph — because in trying, he shifted the ground beneath Kenyan politics.

In 1997, he ran for president for the first time and came third — but cemented himself as a national figure. In 2002, he famously led the “Kibaki Tosha” movement, uniting the opposition behind Mwai Kibaki. That coalition ended 24 years of Moi rule — yet Raila was soon alienated by the same power he helped deliver.

In 2007, he came closer than ever. The polls were disputed, the results contested, and Kenya plunged into bloodshed. The subsequent peace deal made him Prime Minister, a title that acknowledged his legitimacy but denied him the presidency he believed he had earned.

In 2013 and again in 2017, he ran, rallied millions, and lost — narrowly, contentiously. His refusal to concede earned him admirers for courage and critics for obstinacy. When he was sworn in as the “People’s President” in 2018 in a mock ceremony, it was both defiance and symbolism — an act of protest against an establishment that he believed had stolen his destiny.

Even his handshake with Uhuru Kenyatta that same year — a moment meant to heal the nation — became another “almost.” It promised unity but fractured his opposition base. To his supporters, he had matured into a statesman. To his detractors, he had capitulated.

The Weight of History

Raila’s life was a bridge between Kenya’s liberation generation and its democratic awakening. His father fought colonialism; Raila fought its post-independence mutations — authoritarianism, corruption, ethnic patronage. Yet like many reformers who live long enough, he began to resemble the system he had sought to change.

By the time he sought the African Union Commission chairmanship in 2024, the firebrand had become a global elder, respected abroad even as his domestic star dimmed. His rhetoric softened, his edges rounded by time, but the central tragedy remained: Kenya loved Raila but did not trust him enough to make him president.

Some said it was tribal arithmetic — the Luo vote could never outnumber the Kikuyu-Kalenjin blocs that alternated power. Others said it was his temperament: a man too radical for the cautious middle. But perhaps it was simpler — Raila was the conscience of the republic, and conscience rarely wins elections.

The Nearness of Greatness

To call him “the nearly man” is not an insult but a description of the arc of his life — one that shadowed Kenya’s journey from colonialism to capitalism, from dictatorship to democracy. He stood for ideas that were often ahead of his time: devolution, electoral justice, energy reform, transparency. Yet he was forever caught between vision and viability.

His relationship with power was intimate but incomplete — he was always in its corridors, seldom in its throne room. And yet, in a deeper sense, he was Kenya’s political axis. Every presidency of the last four decades was shaped, challenged, or legitimized in response to him. His defeats defined others’ victories. His persistence gave Kenya its democratic pulse.

Like Sisyphus, he kept rolling the boulder of reform up the mountain, only to watch it tumble back down. But each time, the mountain moved a little.

The Man Behind the Myth

Behind the rhetoric and rallies was a man of surprising tenderness. He loved literature and reggae, football and debate. His marriage to Ida Odinga was a partnership forged in the fires of prison, exile and protest. He doted on his children, especially his late son Fidel, whose death in 2015 marked him deeply.

Raila had a mischievous humour and a gift for reinvention. He could command a rally with thunder and, minutes later, trade jokes in Dholuo with market women. He relished confrontation but valued loyalty. In public life, he carried the gravitas of a prophet; in private, he could be disarmingly ordinary — fond of tea, storytelling and long, unhurried conversations about the destiny of nations.

The Final Campaign

In death, Raila finally accomplished what eluded him in life — a unanimous Kenya. For once, all sides grieved him without reservation. His supporters mourned their unfulfilled dream; his rivals honoured an adversary who dignified politics by his presence.

His passing forces a reckoning: that Kenya’s democracy, though maturing, still owes a debt to those who never quite arrived but cleared the path for others.

Raila Odinga’s life invites us to measure success not only by the offices we hold but by the ideas that outlive us. He never became president, but he helped make Kenya more democratic, more self-aware, more restless for justice.

In that sense, the nearly man may, in the end, have come closest of all.

“History is not written by those who win,” he once told a crowd in Kisumu. “It is written by those who endure.”

Raila Odinga endured — and in doing so, etched his name into the very idea of Kenya.

May the man who almost became president rest as a patriot who already became immortal.

DIASPORA DOLLARS AND THE GROWTH STORY THEY TELL

When Patrick left Uganda in 2005, he was twenty-five, restless, and convinced that life had to be better elsewhere. A cousin had lined up a cleaning job for him in Dubai, and though he barely had enough for the ticket, he boarded that plane with a single promise to his mother in Masaka: he would send something home every month. Nearly two decades later, Patrick still keeps his word. Every few weeks, a few hundred dollars trickle through a mobile transfer to Masaka—money that has built a modest brick house, paid school fees, and stocked the small shop his mother now runs.


Patrick’s story is far from unique. Tens of thousands of Ugandans like him—the unsung foot soldiers of the economy—send money home from wherever they can find work: Dubai, Doha, Riyadh, London, Boston, and beyond. Those quiet transactions, repeated millions of times each year, form one of Uganda’s most resilient economic arteries—remittances, the invisible lifeline connecting toil abroad to survival and hope at home.

According to the Bank of Uganda’s September Macroeconomic Indicators Report, remittances reached about US$1.42 billion by mid-2024, a slight dip from US$1.51 billion the year before. Back in 2005, the total was barely US$450 million. That’s a threefold increase in less than two decades. Yet there’s a paradox hiding in those numbers. Even as the dollars have grown, their share in the economy has shrunk—from around 5 percent of GDP in 2005 to less than 3 percent today.

The story is not that Ugandans abroad are sending less, but that Uganda’s economy has grown much faster. In 2005, the country’s GDP stood at about US$8.5 billion. By 2024, it had swollen to just over US$50 billion. The remittance river has deepened, but the la

It’s tempting to think of remittances as a driver of growth, but in reality, they tend to move with growth rather than cause it. Both rise together, but for different reasons. GDP has expanded because of investments in infrastructure, growth in services, and the steady modernization of agriculture. Remittances, on the other hand, have surged because of Uganda’s expanding diaspora and the growing demand for labour in the Middle East.

When global economies hum, remittances surge. When they stumble, they dip. The COVID-19 pandemic offered a textbook illustration: remittances fell to about US$1.06 billion in 2020, from US$1.42 billion the year before. But as Gulf economies reopened, the numbers rebounded. The rhythm of Uganda’s remittance economy beats in time with the global business cycle.

Still, the story is not only about the macro numbers. It’s about what happens when those dollars reach home. The Bank of Uganda estimates that more than 80 percent of remittances are spent on consumption—food, school fees, health care, and housing. On the surface, that sounds unproductive, but in reality, it fuels a powerful consumption multiplier. Every time Patrick’s mother restocks her small shop in Masaka, she keeps suppliers, boda riders, and wholesalers in business. The same money changes hands several times before it fades from the economic bloodstream.

That pattern has helped smooth household incomes and keep rural economies ticking even in hard times. When agriculture falters, remittances keep families afloat. When jobs dry up locally, it’s those overseas transfers that keep consumption steady and the cash tills ringing. They may not show up in the factories or export earnings, but remittances help sustain the quiet heartbeat of the domestic economy.

"Yet for all their importance, remittances have not been fully harnessed. The Bank of Uganda’s reports show that only a small fraction of these inflows find their way into productive investment—the kind that creates jobs or expands manufacturing capacity. Most of the money ends up in land or housing, which store value but rarely generate broad economic activity.

If just ten percent of the annual inflows—about US$140 million were channelled into investment vehicles like diaspora bonds, voluntary NSSF schemes, or SACCO-backed funds, Uganda could unlock a new stream of domestic capital. Those remittance inflows could help finance small businesses, agro-processing, or renewable-energy projects. The potential is there; what’s missing is structure.



Still, remittances perform one quiet but crucial role: they strengthen Uganda’s external position. The September BOU report notes that, year after year, these inflows help plug the current-account deficit and stabilize the exchange rate. Alongside tourism and gold exports, remittances are among Uganda’s top three foreign-exchange earners. When export earnings falter, diaspora dollars keep the central bank’s reserves cushioned.

But new risks are emerging. The shift of Ugandan migrant labour from traditional destinations like the UK to Middle Eastern countries has made inflows more vulnerable to foreign policy shifts. The planned UAE visa restrictions in 2026 could disrupt one of Uganda’s fastest-growing remittance corridors. A small change in migration policy there could ripple through Ugandan households here. It’s a reminder that the remittance economy, though resilient, is not invincible.

The relationship between remittances and GDP is best described as symbiotic. Stronger domestic growth fuels migration and hence remittances; remittances, in turn, sustain consumption and stabilize the economy. The causation runs both ways, but the weight of influence leans toward GDP driving remittances rather than the reverse.

Still, the indirect impact is profound. Remittances help families invest in education, healthcare, and small businesses—building the human capital and social stability that growth ultimately rests on. They keep the economy resilient, lubricating it through hard times. In that sense, they are not the engine of growth, but the oil that keeps the engine from seizing.

For policymakers, the task is to transform sentiment into strategy. The Bank of Uganda has already moved in this direction with efforts to improve data collection, reduce transfer costs, and formalize remittance channels. The next step is to design financial instruments that turn diaspora affection into domestic investment—remittance-linked savings products, diaspora investment funds, and tax incentives for overseas Ugandans who invest back home.

"Uganda’s GDP may have outgrown remittances as a share of output, but it has not outgrown their importance. Each dollar that Patrick and others like him send home is more than a financial transaction—it’s a story of trust, responsibility, and invisible nation-building.

The diaspora may not appear in national budgets or corporate boardrooms, but in countless living rooms across the country, their money keeps lights on, stomachs full, and children in school. Those dollars may not move markets, but they move lives. And in the long ledger of Uganda’s economic history, that might count for even more.

UGANDA 2026: BETWEEN PROTECTING GAINS AND BETTING ON A RESET

Uganda heads into the 2026 polls with two frontrunners manifestos framing two very different economic agendas.

The ruling National Resistance Movement (NRM)of President Yoweri Museveni has staked its ground on Protecting the Gains. The National Unity Platform under Robert Kyagulanyi Ssentamu, Bobi Wine, is calling for A New Uganda Now.

The NRM’s document reads like a long ledger of growth. It starts in 1986 with a collapsed economy and the black market as the main avenue for trade, then traces the rise to a $66 billion economy today.

Museveni divides this journey into five neat phases—recovery, expansion, diversification, value addition, and entry into the knowledge economy. His promise is to push Uganda into the next phase, a $500 billion economy built not on raw exports but on processed goods, automobiles, vaccines, ICT, and a unified East African market. It is a story of continuity, of the same formula—peace, infrastructure, value addition, applied with consistency and patience.

The NUP manifesto is cast in a sharper, more urgent tone. It describes an economy weighed down by food insecurity affecting over half of households, debt that has climbed to sh116 trillion, and youth unemployment that leaves more than half of under-30s without work or training. It paints corruption as the single greatest threat to national progress, siphoning off ten trillion shillings a year.

The response is a reset: ten million jobs in the next decade, a nationwide school feeding program to fight hunger and boost agriculture, protection of land rights, and a strategy to harness the diaspora as a source of remittances, investment, and skills. Where the NRM offers continuity, the NUP offers rupture.

Yet when one reads more closely, there is an interesting admission embedded in the NUP document.

While railing against corruption and inequality, it does not dismiss the fact that Uganda has grown under NRM rule. It nods quietly to that reality but then moves quickly to the argument that growth has not been fairly shared. Its emphasis is less on how to grow the economy than on how to spread its fruits through aggressive social programs. School feeding, jobs targets, and land redistribution all speak to fairness, but they rest on an economy that still needs to be grown. How that growth will be engineered is the thinner part of the NUP story.

The NRM has the opposite problem. Growth is its strongest suit: roads, dams, and industrial parks are there to be seen. But it is weak on equity. The numbers show expansion, yet for many households the benefits remain out of reach. Income gaps persist, youth unemployment remains stubborn, and corruption continues to hollow out the very institutions meant to deliver services.

The manifesto leans heavily on the idea that growth will eventually trickle down, that if the economy is made bigger, distribution will take care of itself. But after nearly four decades, Ugandans are entitled to ask whether growth without fairness is enough.

The two documents thus circle the same dual challenge—how to grow and how to distribute, but approach it from opposite ends. The NRM promises to grow and assumes equity will follow; the NUP promises equity but is less convincing on how to sustain growth. Museveni’s vision is anchored in infrastructure and industry, betting that prosperity will eventually filter to the ordinary household. Kyagulanyi’s vision is anchored in social programs and redistribution, betting that equity will unlock growth by energising the population.

For the voter, the decision is not abstract.

It is about whether the boda rider in Kampala sees fuel prices ease, whether the farmer in Bushenyi gets a fairer price for bananas, whether the graduate in Gulu finds work, and whether the taxpayer in Mbale feels their shillings are not stolen but spent on schools and hospitals. Protecting the gains may feel safer, but it risks leaving too many behind. Resetting may feel fairer, but it risks overpromising on resources that may not exist.

The 2026 election, therefore, is not just about growth or equity, but about the uneasy balance between the two. NRM offers continuity in growth but is still learning the politics of distribution. NUP promises distribution but has not fully spelled out the mechanics of growth. Between protecting gains and betting on a reset lies Uganda’s contested path to prosperity—an old story retold, but one that each generation must decide anew.

THE BEGINNING OF THE NEXT BILLION SHILLINGS

Recently a few friends met to celebrate my friend, Jack who had achieved  a billion shilling net worth.

The commemoration was called when Jack filling in his personal balance sheet statement, discovered he had crossed the billion shilling mark, in first assets he held and in his net worth, the difference between his assets and liabilities.

It was a small gathering of like minds to celebrate Jack’s milestone, but also as two others in the party had already crossed the psychological barrier, to share experiences on their own journeys.

No notes were taken, below are my recollections from the meeting.

1.       First mindset change, action, then the manifestation

It was in his thirtieth year that he got his revelation. That being rich is not for only a select people with superior genetics or born with a silver spoon in their mouths or in hitting the mythical jackpot. He looks back now and is embarrassed to have labored under this misconception for so long.

The book “Retire Rich, Retire Young” by Robert Kiyosaki was the blinding light that struck him down on his road to Damascus. The enduring lesson from the book he learnt, is that it is not how much you earn but how much you keep and that if you want to be rich or conversely you are poor because of your spending habits.

2.       Start where you are with what you have

He has worked all his adult life. Never been without a job. So his salary is what he had to work with to build his wealth. Following the lead of American investor Warren Buffett he started investing on the Uganda Securities Exchange (USE) with occasional forays into the Kenyan market – Kengen and Safaricom IPOs. Buffet has accumulated his wealth, more than $150b at last count by investing in companies with enduring competitive advantage and holding them forever.

Investor is a daunting word but for as little as sh10,000 one can buy shares on the USE or sh100,000 allows you to buy government bills and bonds. More than half of Jack’s networth is in the stock exchange and bond market.

3.       What is not tracked cannot be improved

Jack has been tracking his balance sheet – record of his assets and liabilities, since 2005. A cursory perusal of it shows from how far he has come. From the modest beginings – in 2005 and five he had sh70 million in assets all said which included his NSSF savings, home and shares, the billion shilling networth seemed far away.

Tracking his number was of immense importance because he could maintain his commitment to shift more and more of his income towards investment and away from consumption. In the period during which he lapsed, his progress stalled and when he got back into tracking his wealth did, as if by magic, his fortunes improved.

What you do not track cannot be improved.

4.       There will be no “Big Deal”

For many of us we are waiting for the “Big deal” and then we will get rich. A cursory look over Jack’s balance sheets shows that if he had waited for that big deal to get rich he would still be living large, with nothing to show for it.

Therein lies the crux of many of our problems that we see improved living standards as the most manifest sign of progress, when it is actually the often unseen accumulation, be it of cash, securities, business or real estate that really makes the difference. When we are engaged in ostentatious consumption people see us and that gives our ego a boost, as opposed to accumulation of assets which is not easily seen by the untrained eye.

Consistent savings with NSSF and building of his share portfolio is what made the difference. Even the appreciation in the value of his home did not grow as fast either over time. As they say consistency beat intensity all the time.

5.       A billion shillings is not all that

Jack did not set out to accumulate a billion shillings. His target is freedom, financial freedom which can underpin all other freedoms. He was commemorating it because it was a recognizable milestone. As he put it, it is like he is on a journey to Entebbe from Kampala and he has only reached clock tower. Not to downgrade the achievement but there are still many potential pitfalls ahead, but at least the road ahead is looking decidedly clear.

He confessed he still runs out of money and does not yet live the way he has dreamed of, but he is on his way and God willing with a few more years, he will surely live the life he has dreamed of.

A final lesson. Jack is not a finance professional so what he achieved was not because of any special skill that he has. He has learnt a lot along the journey, but a lot of what Jack has done is down to financial commonsense: spend less than you earn, save or invest the difference and repeat until rich.

 As one of the billionaires around the table always says, the gap between knowledge and action is what prevents many of us progressing financially.

 

UGANDA 2026: THE MORE THINGS CHANGE THE MORE THEY STAY THE SAME

With the completion of presidential nominations on Wednesday, Ugandans can look forward to an election which, while some things have changed a lot, still remains the same.

The faces on the ballot may be shuffled, the slogans refreshed, but the underlying script is familiar. President Yoweri Museveni, in power since 1986, strides into the race seemingly in rude health, his endurance itself part of the message. The point is never lost on his supporters: that after nearly four decades at the helm, he can still outlast, out-organise, and out-think those who come against him. For many Ugandans, this reliability—some call it fatigue, others call it stability—continues to be a powerful electoral pitch.

Yet the opposition has not always been a sideshow. 

In 2021, Robert Kyagulanyi, the pop-star-turned-politician, mounted the most formidable challenge Museveni has faced in two decades. Not only did he come in a strong second nationally, but his National Unity Platform pulled off a bloodbath in central Uganda, ejecting every single cabinet minister on the ballot. It was a rout the NRM had not suffered since the days when northern Uganda was decisively opposed to Museveni’s government in the late 1990s and early 2000s. That wave, however, was not enough to dislodge the president from State House, but it signalled a generational shift: the urban and peri-urban youth, restless and wired, had finally found a voice.

Across the aisle today, though, the opposition is once again hobbled before the first vote is cast. 

Kizza Besigye, Museveni’s long-time nemesis and once his personal physician, has spent nearly a year in prison. The charge, treason, has yet to solidify into an actual case, but his absence is tangible. It speaks to a pattern as old as these elections themselves: opposition heavyweights removed from the field, whether through legal limbo, intimidation, or attrition.

Justice Minister Norbert Mao recently said what many whisper in private: that Uganda’s transition from Museveni will not be achieved through the ballot. Coming from a senior government insider, this admission is less a slip of the tongue than a declaration of how tightly the levers of power are held. For the opposition, whose strongest card has always been moral outrage—corruption, human rights abuses, economic injustice—it is a devastating verdict. Even if you overcome fear and apathy, even if you pack stadiums and win the memes, the game may already be rigged.

Yet elections are about who shows up, and here lies the opposition’s greatest weakness. 

The Electoral Commission’s own record shows turnout sliding: nearly 70 percent in 2006, down to 59 percent in 2011, a slight recovery in 2016, then just 57 percent in 2021. That meant five million registered Ugandans did not vote at all. By-elections in Kampala have sunk lower, to as little as 14 percent turnout. And this abstention is not neutral: Museveni’s rural, older base turns out consistently; it is the youth, urban, opposition-leaning voter who shrugs and stays home.

Uganda’s demography should be the opposition’s ace card: nearly 80 percent of citizens are under 30, most with no memory of the insecurity of pre-1986. Their complaints are contemporary—joblessness, rent, the high cost of living. If they voted, the arithmetic would tilt overnight. But abstention means those numbers remain theoretical. Outrage without turnout is theatre. And in that vacuum, the man who casts himself as the steady hand on the tiller sails on unperturbed.

So, as the 2026 contest looms, the paradox endures. The memes may be sharper, the candidates younger, the rallies noisier. But the rhythm is the same. Museveni, healthy and unbowed, strides into the race. His strongest historical challenger is in prison. His newest rival, Kyagulanyi, carries the scars of a 2021 campaign that rattled the regime but failed to break it. And a government minister has already told Ugandans what many fear—that ballots may not be the vehicle of transition.

For the opposition, the mountain is therefore twin-peaked: convince Ugandans that change is necessary, and convince them that voting is still worth it. Because in the arithmetic of abstention, silence does not punish the incumbent—it protects him. Unless Uganda’s youthful majority decides to break that silence, 2026 will look less like a turning point and more like a roundabout, circling back to the same place Uganda has been for thirty years.

NSSF'S SAVINGS GAP, A MIRROR OF UGANDA'S LABOUR MARKET

Every September, the National Social Security Fund (NSSF) makes headlines with declarations of double-digit interest rates, record asset growth, and triumphant milestones. This year, the figure was 13.5 percent—its highest payout in almost a decade. At sh26 trillion in assets under management, the Fund has cemented its place as the single largest financial institution in Uganda.

Yet behind the numbers lies a quieter, more sobering story: the yawning disparity in member savings. It is a gap so wide that it tells us as much about the structure of Uganda’s labour market as it does about the Fund’s own progress.

The Tale Told by Account Balances

For every Ugandan who retires with a comfortable balance in the hundreds of millions, there are dozens who have saved barely a million shillings after decades of work. Many accounts have less than 1 million in savings—barely enough to cover a medical emergency, let alone sustain retirement. Meanwhile, a small minority of contributors—corporate executives, senior civil servants, managers in banks and telecoms—hold balances running into hundreds of millions.

To be fair, this includes figures of the thousands of workers entering the job market for the first time or very recently.

This is not simply about individual discipline. It reflects the brutal duality of Uganda’s labour market.

Here’s a visual illustration of the savings disparity among NSSF members (using indicative, not official, data).

• Left bars (blue): percentage of members in each savings category.

• Right bars (orange): percentage of total savings held by those members.

It shows the classic skew: while most members have balances below sh5m, the bulk of savings is concentrated among a small minority with over sh50m.

A Market of Two Faces

Take a boda rider in Masaka. He may have registered for NSSF at some point, perhaps while working briefly for a logistics company. But today, as a self-employed operator, no contributions flow into his account. After five years, his balance is still below a million shillings, stagnant and eroded by inflation.

Contrast this with a mid-level banker in Kampala. Every month, his employer remits 15 percent of his salary. Over twenty years, his account grows steadily. With interest compounding at 10–13 percent annually, his balance crosses the 100-million-shilling mark.

The savings disparity within NSSF, then, is a mirror of the larger economy—where a small minority enjoy the stability of formal contracts and regular salaries, while the vast majority hustle in informal or precarious work with no safety net.

Why the Voluntary Window Matters

In 2021, Parliament amended the NSSF Act to allow voluntary contributions. For the first time, Ugandans  like market vendors, mechanics, freelance journalists can put money directly into the Fund. On paper, this was a revolution: an opportunity to democratise retirement savings, bridge inequality, and make NSSF relevant to the millions who operate outside formal contracts.

The numbers so far,  are eye opening. By mid-2025, SmartLife, the voluntary savings window, had mobilised just 27 billion shillings from about 33,000 savers since the launch in November last year. A drop in the ocean compared to the size of Uganda’s informal workforce but a powerfuiul indicator of things to come as the product gains traction.

Why such low uptake? Part of it is awareness—many Ugandans simply don’t know they can save voluntarily. Part of it is mistrust—public institutions still carry the baggage of opacity and inefficiency. And part of it is cultural savings are often seen as communal (SACCOs, burial groups, clan associations) rather than individual.

Aggressive Marketing is Needed

If NSSF is to close the savings gap, it cannot rely on legislation alone. It must market the voluntary window as aggressively as telecoms market airtime bundles. Picture adverts in taxi parks, campaigns on boda stages, roadshows in trading centres. Imagine a trusted voice in the community showing how a weekly contribution of just sh10,000 compounds into millions over a decade at double-digit interest.

The Fund should also tailor its products to the realities of informal workers. Flexible micro-savings, daily or weekly contributions through mobile money, and lock-in periods designed around school fees or harvest cycles could make voluntary savings more relatable.

This is not charity. It is strategy. If the Fund wants to hit its ambitious goal of covering 50 percent of Uganda’s working population by 2035, the frontier is not the corporates or ministries—it is the kiosks, farms, boda stages, and salons.

The Bigger Picture

The disparity in NSSF balances is more than a statistical curiosity; it is an economic risk. A society where only a minority retires with dignity while the majority slide into old-age poverty is one sitting on a time bomb. It increases dependency ratios, strains public health budgets, and erodes the promise of national savings as a driver of investment.

By mobilising the informal sector through voluntary contributions, NSSF can transform this risk into opportunity. Imagine if even half of Uganda’s 18 million workers contributed as little as sh10,000 a month. That would not only deepen the Fund’s asset base but also strengthen Uganda’s capital markets, reduce reliance on foreign capital, and enhance financial inclusion.

Conclusion: Bridging the Gap

The NSSF has come far, from a distrusted institution in the 1990s to a financial giant today. But its next frontier is not higher interest payouts or bigger real estate projects. It is closing the gap between the banker with 200 million on his account and the market vendor with 200,000.

That means making the voluntary window visible, accessible, and trusted. It means marketing savings not as an abstract retirement concept, but as a practical, life-enhancing tool.

The Fund’s slogan could well be: “If you can buy airtime daily, you can save daily.” Because until that gap closes, the NSSF story will remain incomplete—a tale of growth for the few, not security for the many.

NSSF’s FUTURE LIES BEYOND THE TRILLIONS

Later this morning the interest that NSSF will pay on members’ savings for the 2024/25 financial year will be announced.

A double digit interest payout is not an unreasonable expectation going by the year’s performance.

I still remember when the Fund’s assets first crossed the one trillion shilling mark back in 2004. It was headline news at the time, proof that Uganda was finally building local savings muscle. Two decades later, the 2024/25 results tell a story that borders on the surreal: Assets Under Management surged 17.5 percent from sh22.1 trillion to sh26 trillion, revenues crested sh3.5 trillion, and the cost-to-income ratio fell to 7.9 percent, a level global asset managers would envy. The temptation is to treat these numbers as the final destination.

But in truth they are only scaffolding. The real story is not how much NSSF has, but what it can do with what it has.

Strip away the polite phrasing at the Annual Media Dialogue that happened recently, and what you see is a de facto sovereign wealth fund. With eight in every ten shillings of its assets in fixed income, NSSF is underwriting government spending, stabilising the shilling, and backstopping the bond market.

No bank, no insurer, no private investor comes close to wielding this kind of financial clout. But if all the Fund does is mop up government paper and occasionally dabble in equities and real estate, then it remains a glorified bondholder. The real test of Vision 2035 is whether NSSF can evolve into a nation-builder, deploying its capital in ways that multiply growth, expand opportunity, and deepen trust...

This is where Hi-Innovator comes in. Tucked away from the headline slides of AUM and compliance ratios, the program may be the Fund’s most transformative play. For the first time, NSSF isn’t just investing in bricks, bonds, and blue chips—it is seeding Uganda’s entrepreneurial DNA.

The genius of Hi-Innovator is leverage. A shilling put into a government bond earns a predictable coupon. A shilling put into a start-up that cracks logistics, agritech, or fintech can multiply value not only for the Fund but for the economy at large. Every successful enterprise that grows out of Hi-Innovator expands the tax base, creates formal jobs, and ironically, produces the very contributors who will help NSSF hit its ambitious 50 percent coverage target by 2035. This is not philanthropy. It’s strategy. By nurturing tomorrow’s employers, NSSF is tackling its biggest structural headache: a formal sector that’s too narrow to sustain pension growth.

There is also the political economy at play.

Every September, when the Minister declares the Fund’s interest rate, millions of Ugandans lean in. That number is more than a return; it is a signal of trust. But what if trust was anchored not just in payouts, but in impact? Imagine a boda rider saving through Smartlife Flexi, knowing his contributions are not only compounding for retirement but also funding a fintech that makes his daily hustle more efficient. That is how the Fund moves from custodian of savings to custodian of hope.

The published Vision 2035 targets are bold: sh50 trillion in assets, 50 percent workforce coverage, and 95 percent customer satisfaction. But the unwritten vision is more radical. It is to turn Uganda’s pension fund into a development engine—mobilising savings not just to park in paper, but to ignite enterprise, innovation, and national transformation. Hi-Innovator is the wedge that makes this plausible. It bridges the gap between trillions passively managed and trillions actively shaping an economy. It is where savings morph into seed capital, where passive investors become active nation-builders.

The Fund has proven it can count the money. The next frontier is whether it can make the money count. By blending the predictability of bonds with the dynamism of entrepreneurship, NSSF can create a hybrid model—one that secures members’ retirement while laying the foundation for a more inclusive, innovative economy...

With the mechanism for collecting and investing savings now firmly set, the only thing that can let workers down is a failure of governance—mismanagement, short-term political interference, or corruption eroding the trust built over decades. That is the real risk.

But if governance holds, the unseen prospect is immense: not just in the sh26 trillion already managed, nor even in the sh50 trillion targeted by 2035, but in the ripple effects of every shilling channeled into a start-up that grows into an employer of hundreds, maybe thousands. That is the real multiplier.

The 2024/25 results confirm NSSF’s financial muscle. But the true measure of its future will not be the size of its balance sheet, but the scale of its imagination. If Vision 2025 was about building financial muscle, Vision 2035 must be about flexing it—transforming savings into the seed capital of a new Uganda.

NSSF ANNOUNCES RECORD 13.5 PCT INTEREST

Finance Minister Matia Kasaija set the room alight when he announced that the National Social Security Fund (NSSF) will pay its members an interest of 13.5 percent for the 2024/25 financial year. 

This is the highest rate the Fund has reported since the 15 percent of 2017/18.

In a country where inflation averaged just under four percent, the number is not just generous, it is transformative. It is the highest rate in four years, eclipsing last year’s 11.5 percent, the 10 percent in 2022/23, and the 9.65 percent declared in 2021/22. Only the pandemic-era payout of 12.5 percent comes close. For millions of Ugandans saving with the Fund, it is a moment of vindication.

The numbers behind the announcement tell a story of resilience and scale. NSSF’s income grew by 11 percent to sh3.51 trillion, up from sh3.18 trillion the previous year. Interest income surged to sh2.88 trillion, dividends from regional equities rose to sh238 billion, and real estate contributed 16.6 billion. These gains more than compensated for losses from currency fluctuations and a write-down on the UMEME stake. 

Chief Executive Officer Patrick Ayota described the result as “a year of disciplined execution, strong returns from fixed income, and a rebound in regional markets.” In his words, the Fund had kept its promise to beat inflation by at least two percentage points.

The Fund’s assets now stand at sh26 trillion, well above the 20 trillion shilling target set for 2025. Contributions crossed sh2 trillion for the first time, showing that more Ugandans are trusting the system with their savings. 

Membership has climbed to 3.4 million, with both mandatory and voluntary savers playing their part. Smart Life, the voluntary savings product, is drawing in low-income earners who had previously been left out of the formal safety net. 

“Our Smart Life product is evidence that saving is no longer a preserve of the formal worker. Everyone can and should build their financial security,” Ayota said.

Beyond the immediate excitement of the payout, the larger transformation lies in what the Fund is becoming. NSSF is no longer just a retirement scheme. Its Vision 2035 is anchored in expanding membership to 15 million Ugandans, growing assets to 50 trillion, and rolling out products that speak to a wider view of social security. Health insurance, estate planning, social investments, and support for enterprises under the Hi-Innovator program are all part of the mix. 

NAMCO, the partnership aimed at integrating farmers into savings through stronger market access, points to an even bigger ambition: reshaping Uganda’s savings culture.

For the economy, the Fund has become indispensable. It holds nearly a quarter of government domestic debt and more than a trillion shillings in local companies. That kind of presence means NSSF is both a stabilizer and a catalyst. When it invests, jobs are created, capital markets deepen, and confidence spreads. When it pays out, members spend or reinvest, circulating wealth back into the economy.

The 13.5 percent rate will raise expectations, and rightly so. Whether it can be sustained in a volatile regional environment will depend on governance, diversification, and discipline. But for now, savers can smile. 

NSSF'S IMPROVED GOVERNANCE HAS BEEN THE KEY TO ITS SUCCESS

On Monday, 22 September, the National Social Security Fund will once again announce the interest rate on members’ savings at its annual members’ meeting.

The number will grab the headlines, as it always does, but the real story lies behind the figure—how the Fund has managed to keep growing, the pressures it faces, and whether it can keep faith with the millions of Ugandans who look to it for security in old age.

The growth has been undeniable. From the Sh1 trillion milestone it first crossed in 2011, the Fund has now raced toSh26 trillion in assets under management. That trajectory alone has changed the national financial landscape. 

NSSF is no longer a quiet collector of payroll deductions; it is one of the largest investors in the region, a market mover in bonds, equities, and real estate. For members, that scale should be comforting—proof that their savings are being nurtured. But with size comes new questions about where the Fund is headed, and whether its growth is being matched by the prudence needed to safeguard it.

Much of the Fund’s success has come from its dominance of the domestic bond market. Month after month, NSSF steps into Bank of Uganda auctions and soaks up treasury bills and bonds, securing safe, predictable returns. 

With yields hovering between 14 and 17 percent, members have enjoyed consistent double-digit interest rates, comfortably above the ten-year average inflation rate. The pledge to always deliver at least two percentage points above 10-year average inflation has been kept, and in a country where few investments beat inflation, that is no small feat.

The mid-term access provisions introduced in recent years have tested the Fund’s ability to balance inflows and outflows. Members over 45 with at least ten years of contributions have rushed to withdraw part of their savings. Benefit payouts have at times outstripped contributions, yet the Fund has kept its commitments without losing ground. 

Liquidity has held, investment income has remained strong, and operational efficiency has improved. The turnaround time for processing benefits has been cut to under ten days, while administrative costs have been held below one percent of assets. Members can now track balances and file claims online, a far cry from the opacity of years gone by.

Beyond bonds, the Fund has tiptoed into equities and real estate. Holdings in MTN Uganda and Safaricom offer regional exposure, while projects like Lubowa and Temangalo signal ambition in bricks and mortar. Yet these ventures also raise uncomfortable questions. Housing units priced far above the reach of the average saver suggest a Fund that builds for others, not its own members. Equities provide diversification but remain a small sliver of the portfolio. In truth, the heavy lifting is still done by government debt.

And here lies the danger. Uganda’s domestic debt has ballooned past Sh56 trillion. NSSF is one of its largest creditors. That creates a concentration risk—too many eggs in one basket. A sovereign default is unlikely, but the pressure on government finances is real, and the Fund’s reliance on government paper ties its fortunes to the very borrower it cannot refuse. Members should be clear-eyed about this: the returns have been good, but they rest on an increasingly fragile fiscal foundation.

Governance is the other pressing concern. Over the last two years, the Fund has endured parliamentary probes, wrangles between ministries, and public controversy over management practices and bonuses. These are not trivial squabbles. They are reminders that the biggest risk to the Fund is not inflation or real estate volatility but weak stewardship. The mechanisms for collecting and investing savings are strong. What can undo NSSF is interference, capture, or short-term populism.

Looking ahead, the Fund stands at a crossroads. With Sh26 trillion in assets, it is one of East Africa’s largest pools of long-term capital. Managed wisely, it could finance infrastructure, energy, and regional ventures that transform the economy while earning robust returns for members. It could deepen voluntary savings products to reach the informal sector, giving millions outside formal employment a path to retirement security. It could realign its housing strategy to deliver genuinely affordable units rather than gated enclaves for the few. And it could hardwire transparency into its DNA so that members understand not just the size of their fund, but the risks and choices behind it.

The irony is that the most difficult part has already been done. The savings collection systems are in place, the investment frameworks are tested, and the habit of paying interest reliably has been entrenched. 

The only thing that can fail now is governance. If the Fund falls to politics, insider capture, or weak accountability, then all those trillions will mean nothing. Growth without governance is a mirage.

So as members gather on Monday, they will no doubt cheer the double-digit interest rate that will be announced, if the performance of the Fund and past trends are to go by. But they must also look beyond the number. 

The real question is whether NSSF can continue to grow with prudence, resist the pressures of its own success, and remain faithful to the simple promise that matters most: to protect and multiply the hard-earned savings of Ugandans. If it can do that, then the future of the Fund—and of its members—will remain secure.

THE USE'S QUIET BULL: WHERE THE SMART MONEY IS MOVING

The Uganda Securities Exchange is beginning to hum again. August 2025 did not set any records for turnover — in fact, trading volumes eased to sh7.7 billion from July’s  sh10.8 billion. But look closer and you’ll see something more important: both the All Share Index and the Listed Companies Index climbed, 5.6 perspetcive and 6.6 perspective respectively. In other words, prices are rising even as activity slows. That’s not speculation. That’s conviction.

I remember an old hand at the exchange once telling me: “Paul, the USE does not reward noise; it rewards patience.” True to form, the market is now rewarding those who stuck with banks, telecoms, and even a few brave souls who bet on pharmaceuticals. This is not just my reading of the market, but also drawn from the SBG Securities Market Performance Report, August 2025, which has tracked the shifts in liquidity, index movement, and company-specific developments.

Banks: The Bedrock of the USE

Stanbic (SBU) has become the exchange’s workhorse. Up nearly 11 percent in August and 44 percent this year, it’s backed by profit growth of 18 percent and a return on equity north of 26 percent. At a PEG of 0.33 and a dividend yield approaching eight percent, it is almost the definition of growth at a reasonable price.

Bank of Baroda (BOBU), for years the neglected cousin, has come roaring back. Its PEG of 0.04 is absurdly cheap — a sign that the market has still not fully priced in its recovery. Throw in a dividend yield of 6–7 percent and you have an old-school income stock suddenly dressed up as a growth play. DFCU, though still carrying governance baggage, offers a PEG of 0.18 and a dividend that makes it hard to ignore for those who like contrarian bets.

Telecoms: Growth with Cash in Hand

If banks are the USE’s bedrock, the telecoms are its growth engine. Airtel Uganda and MTN Uganda both grew profits at close to 30%, and they reward you with dividends of 5–7 percent. Their PEGs hover around 0.35, telling us their prices are still not running ahead of their growth. Investors holding these two are not just betting on Uganda’s future digital economy — they’re already being paid to wait.

QCIL: The Dark Horse

Quality Chemicals (QCIL) is the quiet revolution. Profits are up more than 80 percent this year, giving it a PEG of 0.13. That’s ridiculously cheap for a company proving it can scale. Dividends are modest for now, but for the patient investor, this is the counter where growth today becomes cash tomorrow.

 

The Stragglers

Umeme’s numbers are what happens when story runs ahead of fundamentals: a P/E of nearly 59, negative profit growth, and no dividend comfort. Uganda Clays and New Vision remain in survival mode — they look cheap but are actually expensive when you measure in opportunity cost.

PEG + Dividend Yield Ranking

Counter	P/E	Profit Growth	PEG	Dividend Yield	Verdict
BOBU	4.70	110%	0.04	~6–7%	Deep Value + Income
QCIL	10.42	82%	0.13	~2–3%	Exceptional Growth Value
DFCU	2.68	15%	0.18	~4–5%	Undervalued
SBU	6.05	18%	0.33	~7–8%	Growth + Income Star
AirtelU	10.10	29%	0.35	~5–6%	Growth + Dividends
MTNU	9.81	28%	0.35	~6–7%	Growth + Dividends
Umeme	58.76	-3.6%	n/a	<2%	Overvalued
UCL	-8.53	Negative	n/a	0%	Loss-Making
NVL	0.20	Negative	n/a	0%	Value Trap

So, How Would One Allocate a Portfolio?

If I had UGX 100 shillings to put to work today on the USE, guided by PEGs and dividends, here’s how I’d spread it:

• Banks (SBU, BOBU, DFCU) – 40 shillings
  The safest balance of income and growth. Stanbic as the anchor, Baroda for value, and a smaller tilt to DFCU for contrarians.
• Telecoms (Airtel, MTN) – 30 shillings
  Both are growth-plus-dividend engines. Split evenly.
• QCIL – 20 shillings
  The growth bet of the next 3–5 years. Modest dividend now, but strong upside.
• Speculative/Opportunistic – 10 shillings
  This is where you tuck away a small stake in laggards (UCL, NVL) if you believe in turnarounds, or simply hold cash for better entry points.

Final Word

The USE in 2025 is no longer a market of sleepy counters. It is quietly rewarding those who study not just prices but growth, dividends, and valuations in tandem. PEG ratios show us clearly where value still lies — in banks, telecoms, and QCIL. The rest, for now, are lessons in patience or caution.

DISCLAIMER: The author owns shares on the USE. Analysis based on the SBG Securities Market Performance Report – August 2025, Crested Towers, Kampala.