Africa-Press – Uganda. Uganda’s politics has become an expensive circus, where the main campaign tool is not policy but cash. The recently concluded NRM internal elections at Kololo laid it bare.
Videos circulated online showing envelopes and bundles of money changing hands—not for parliamentary or ministerial posts, but for voluntary party positions that come with no salary, no fuel card, no government perks.
Yet millions were poured into securing them.
Why? Because in Uganda, politics has turned into the costliest badge of prestige.
To contest for Parliament, campaign spending ranges between Shs300 million in smaller districts to over Shs1 billion in urban constituencies. In Kampala, candidates sometimes part with Shs2 billion or more to outmuscle rivals. Few of these funds go into billboards or manifestos.
The bulk is sunk into “mobilisation”: facilitation for boda-boda riders, envelopes for village chairpersons, youth groups, school fundraisers, sacks of sugar, rice, and, above all, the notorious transport refund.
One boda rider in Mukono summed up the unwritten contract: “Boss, we know that money is not free. But at least we eat it before they forget us.” Voters expect handouts upfront; politicians, in turn, know service delivery will not be the measure. Everyone plays the game.
On paper, the numbers can look appealing. An MP’s monthly net pay is about Shs25 million—roughly UGX 300 million a year, or Shs1.5 billion over five years. If you spent Shs600 million to win, the arithmetic suggests a profit.
But reality is harsher. Each funeral in your constituency requires at least Shs1 million. Weddings call for Shs3–5 million. School fundraisers, hospital bills, and constant “boss, airtime” requests swallow income. By mid-term, many MPs confess they take home less than a bank manager.
Then comes the lifestyle tax. A Toyota Premio becomes politically embarrassing. Honourables are expected to drive Land Cruisers or Range Rovers, usually bought on credit. Renting in Najjera or Kyaliwajjala is unacceptable; the unwritten rule is to own in Muyenga, Munyonyo, or Naalya. Mortgages eat into pay, loans pile up, and suddenly half of an MP’s salary disappears before it lands.
One first-time MP reportedly took out a massive loan to buy a Muyenga house, saying “Honourables cannot rent.” By year three, bailiffs hovered. Banks line up to lend because MPs’ salaries are guaranteed, but the MPs themselves end up living on credit. It is little wonder many quietly backed extending the parliamentary term from five to seven years. Publicly, the reason was “service delivery.” Privately, it was about buying time to recover campaign debt and survive the prestige treadmill.
The opposition is no safer. NUP and FDC candidates in Buganda and Wakiso pour in millions. One youthful aspirant sold family land in Busukuma to finance his campaign, only to lose. Today, he rents a single room in Kawaala, still railing on Facebook about “voter betrayal.” But come the next election, new hopefuls will step forward, convinced their fate will be different.
Politics in Uganda increasingly resembles gambling. In business, Shs10 million can buy stock and return a profit. In politics, Shs100 million can vanish in a week of rallies. Even winners spend the next five years being drained by community demands. Losers are left with auction notices and unrecoverable land.
The ripple effects are visible. Parliament’s parking lot glitters with luxury cars, most financed by loans. Former MPs, once powerful in their constituencies, have been evicted when their five years expired and collateral was called in. Voters shrug: “We ate his money.” The Honourable fades into debt.
Social media mirrors the cynicism. TikTok fills with clips of politicians distributing goats and chicken. Comment sections mock them: “Let’s eat now; after elections, we’ll suffer.” Facebook memes say it plainly: “During campaigns, politicians bring us money. After campaigns, we bring them problems.”
So, is politics in Uganda worth it? For a select few, yes. Those who leverage influence into tenders, contracts, or business deals may see a return. But for the majority, it is a treadmill of debt, public pressure, and fleeting prestige. Politics has become Uganda’s most expensive investment—one that pays in short-term applause but leaves a legacy of debt once the sirens fade.
Power bought with cash is like roadside soda: sweet for a moment, but it leaves you thirsty soon after.
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