Like I said, this is not a technical issue people. You ever go to a party where the host says, “Pick the music!” and every time you crank your song, someone pulls the aux, tosses on their playlist, and serves you soda like it’s a consolation prize. Welcome to Ugandan elections.

Every time the internet shuts down in Uganda, we’re expected to believe it’s an accident. Like the Wi-Fi tripped over a power cable (why would you even say that, are we a joke to you?). Like the signal simply got tired. Like data woke up one morning and said, “You know what? Not today.”

No press conference. No timeline. No law cited. Just vibes and a statement that reads like it was written by someone allergic to accountability. For security reasons. Whose security? Because it’s never the people who lose money, visibility, or safety when the internet disappears.  Certainly not the boda guy whose business depends on mobile money, or the student submitting an online application, or the journalist whose livestream just evaporated mid sentence. Somehow, it’s always the same invisible “security” that needs protecting right when citizens are talking too loudly.

This pattern is not folklore. It’s documented. Uganda has repeatedly shut down or restricted internet access during elections and protests, according to Access Now . But the real issue isn’t just the shutdown. What we don’t get is a clear, public, adult explanation. Just “investigations ongoing.” Always ongoing. Never concluded. Like a Netflix series that refuses to end. It’s the audacity to do it without explanation and expect gratitude.

Then come the rallies. Political concerts, really. Same setlist, different year. Jobs will come. Corruption will end. Youth will be empowered. The economy will rise. Clap if you believe. Dance if you’re desperate. Vote if the machines work.

Oh yes, the machines.

Voting machines that fail like they were powered by hope and prayers instead of electricity. Results that take longer than a university strike. Ballot stories that sound like urban legends but somehow repeat every election cycle. International observers including the European Union Election Observation Mission  have pointed out persistent issues with transparency and electoral fairness. Locally, the response is always the same. We’re told, say it with me “Investigations ongoing.” But accountability? That part is still buffering like the internet. Uganda’s favorite phrase. Investigations ongoing is our national hold music. No beginning or end.

Police brutality? Investigations ongoing.

Journalists assaulted? Investigations ongoing.

Protesters beaten? Investigations ongoing. Human rights organizations like Human Rights Watch  and Amnesty International  have documented these patterns for years. But inside the country, accountability moves slower than a government website on 2G. Again, investigations ongoing. No season finale.

And when young people complain, the elders arrive with trauma receipts.

“We lived through coups.”

“We survived worse.”

“You don’t know suffering.”

Okay. Respectfully…so what?

Trauma is not a leadership strategy. Survival is not a development plan. The fact that previous generations endured chaos does not mean the current generation must accept stagnation with a smile. They fought for their future then. Why are we being told to wait indefinitely for ours?

Uganda’s youth are constantly marketed as the future but treated like a software update nobody wants to install. We’re told to innovate, but not decide, to vote but not question, to be patient but not powerful. “You are the future.” But when it comes to shaping that future, government roles, parliament, decision making rooms, it’s suddenly, “You’re too young. Too loud. Too online.”

Over 75% of Uganda’s population  is under 35, yet leadership spaces from parliament to key government roles look like a retirement reunion. The youth are expected to inherit a country they are not allowed to redesign.

The system feels like a rigged arcade game. The joystick doesn’t work. The screen glitches. The same players own the high score. But Ugandans keep inserting coins anyway. Coins of  hope, faith and “maybe this time.”

And humor is how we refuse to break. We joke because screaming gets you arrested. We meme because protesting needs permission. We laugh because silence would suffocate us faster than tear gas. Humor is our illegal assembly. We say “we move” while being politically immobilized.  We laugh at pain because being serious in this country is expensive and sometimes dangerous.

Still, we hope. Recklessly. Hope that participation won’t always be mistaken for rebellion, that youth won’t just be campaign posters and social media aesthetics, that leadership won’t keep aging while the population stays young and  that one day, the internet won’t go dark everytime power feels threatened.

Ugandans are not offline because of a technical issue.

We are offline because power is uncomfortable with witnesses.

But we are watching. We are documenting. Oh yes the revolution will be televised!  We are laughing loudly.

And we are still inserting coins into a broken machine. We are not  naive, somewhere beneath the glitches, we believe the game can be rewritten.

 

As usual, yours in the struggle and hope!