Africa-Press – Uganda. There’s a funny thing about money when it’s around.
Suddenly, the world looks needy.
Every problem feels urgent.
Every story sounds convincing.
Every hand stretched out deserves attention.
Your heart grows softer, your sympathy multiplies, and your wallet becomes generous without consulting your brain.
That’s usually the day you pass by the ATM and tip the askari with the biggest note in your pocket.
Not because tipping is bad — no, it’s actually good.
But because at that moment, money is flowing and emotions are driving.
You feel loaded.
You feel unstoppable.
You feel like this season will never end.
The danger is that money seasons change.
And they change quietly.
One of the biggest financial mistakes people make — both personally and in business — is spending based on emotions rather than numbers.
When cash is available, we forget that money is seasonal.
We forget that what feels permanent today can disappear tomorrow.
We forget to listen to our budgets, our cash flows, and our convictions.
I learnt this lesson early, long before titles, offices, or Jonakee.
When I was volunteering at UNBS in the chemistry laboratory — before I had a formal job — I had a side hustle.
I used to buy used electronics from university halls of residence.
Phones, external hard drives, small gadgets — whatever could move fast.
Campusers are predictable creatures.
Mid-semester or towards the end of semester, when allowances dried up, adverts would start appearing on notice boards in halls of residence — especially Nsibirwa and Livingstone.
“Phone for sale.
Urgent.
” “External hard drive, cheap.
” “Laptop battery, negotiable.
”
Urgent meant broke.
And broke meant opportunity.
I would buy these items at less than half price and walk them to my friend’s shop at E-Tower in town, sell at a profit, and for a brief moment, feel rich.
And when money came in, spending followed.
I would eat better, sometimes take taxis without thinking twice, and generally loosen up.
But when the money ran out — and it always did — reality returned very fast.
I would walk from Mbuya, pass Spear Motors in Nakawa, cross the traffic lights, go past Shumuk, all the way to UNBS, which at the time was still housed at UIRI near Pepsi Cola.
Sometimes I walked because I simply had no transport.
Other times, I walked deliberately — saving that transport money so I could afford a decent lunch later in the day.
That contrast taught me something powerful very early: there is a dry season and there is a rainy season.
And wisdom is not enjoying the rain — wisdom is preparing for the dry season while it’s raining.
Unfortunately, many people do the opposite.
They behave as if harvest is permanent.
As if cash flows are guaranteed.
As if youthful energy never fades.
As if business will always be good.
That’s how emotions quietly sabotage financial stability.
I saw this again when I started lending and Jonakee began picking up.
Money was coming in, confidence was high, and suddenly I became very generous in public spaces.
Wedding meetings became my stage.
I would sit quietly during fundraising auctions, let people battle it out, wait for the final tipping point — then dramatically double the offer.
Applause would erupt.
Respect would follow.
My name would echo in the meeting.
It felt good.
Very good.
But it wasn’t wise.
At some point, I got a mentor — and mentors have a way of spoiling bad habits.
Systems were introduced.
Discipline followed.
And suddenly, I could not just spend company money fwahhh.
Emotions were no longer allowed to sign cheques.
Numbers took over.
And honestly, that’s when real growth began.
There’s a lie we’ve normalized: that keeping money aside is cowardice.
That saving is being stingy.
That planning for tomorrow means you don’t trust God.
That lie is expensive.
In truth, keeping money for a rainy day is not fear — it’s wisdom.
Even Scripture agrees.
The Bible talks about seasons, harvests, and storing grain.
Harvest is not forever.
Rain does not fall every day.
And manna did not keep overnight.
Planning is not a lack of faith; it’s an understanding of reality.
Statistics tell a similar story.
According to UBOS, over 60% of working Ugandans have no emergency savings at all.
One medical emergency, one delayed payment, one bad month — and everything collapses.
Not because income is too small, but because emotions eat first and budgets come last.
I remember when I decided to take financial discipline seriously.
I downloaded an expense-tracking app on my phone and started recording every expense.
Airtime.
Lunch.
Taxi.
A soda.
Everything.
It became a joke among friends.
People laughed.
Some mocked.
One time we went out, and I was asked to clear the bill.
One of my cousins joked loudly, “First let Jonan note it in his expense app — otherwise he won’t pay.
” Everyone laughed.
I laughed too, though uncomfortably.
But here’s the thing: that discipline changed my life.
Slowly.
Painfully.
Awkwardly.
But permanently.
I became aware.
I stopped spending blindly.
I started asking better questions: Is this emotion or strategy? Is this personal or business? Is this sustainable or seasonal? At first, financial discipline feels embarrassing.
Later, it feels empowering.
Eventually, it feels normal.
As we approach the festive seasons — Easter Holidays, Christmas, Holidays, weddings, parties — money will speak loudly.
Needs will multiply.
Emotions will rise.
Sympathy will overflow.
Everyone will seem deserving.
But here’s the hard truth: if you don’t control your money when it’s plenty, it will control you when it’s scarce.
Spending with wisdom doesn’t mean you stop giving.
It means you give with conviction, not pressure.
It means you listen to your budget even when your heart wants applause.
It means you understand that today’s generosity should not sabotage tomorrow’s stability.
Money seasons change.
Always.
The only question is whether you’ll change with them — or be surprised by them.
Because when money is plenty, everything makes sense.
Until it doesn’t.
