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Evans Sande Ndahura, the writer
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By Evans Sande Ndahura
God save Mother Uganda —
but the chorus is broken,
the anthem corrupted,
the promise stolen.
We used to sing For God and My Country,
but now it is God… and my stomach,
the gospel according to thieves,
the scripture of the greedy.
I stand on the soil Churchill praised,
the Pearl he saw glowing from Cape to Cairo —
sunshine rich,
valleys proud,
hills fertile,
rivers full,
minerals heavy beneath our feet —
yet the people remain light…
with empty pockets,
empty hospitals,
empty futures.
Listen!
This is a country where a thief steals from you,
you report him,
the police arrests him,
and somehow —
somehow!
you, the complainant,
you become the criminal.
And the thief walks out dusting his shoulders like a decorated hero.
This is a land where a patient walks into a government health centre,
diagnosed with malaria,
but told, “No drugs.”
Yet in a private clinic two metres away,
the same drugs appear —
still stamped “Property of the Government — Not for Sale.”
And the nurse cries when I take back what already belonged to the people.
This is Uganda:
Where budgets pass,
but money evaporates.
Where schools exist only in speeches.
Where medicine exists only in ledgers.
Where roads exist only in promises.
Where the Parliament, the State House,
ministries, police, army, judiciary —
the pillars meant to stand,
have become pillars that lean
towards one direction:
the pocket.
Slam this truth:
MPs cutting budgets for human rights like slicing cake —
20% vanished.
Iron sheets meant for survivors of war
roof mansions.
Road funds meant for 5,000 kilometres
die before 1,000 are built.
Billions for Northern Uganda recovery
find themselves talking in private accounts.
Pensioners resurrect from the dead
only to receive ghost payments.
And the President himself, at Kololo, said to the IGG:
"Go slow on thieves.
If you push hard,
they’ll run with the money abroad.
If you handle them softly,
they’ll invest the stolen money here."
My people — listen to that!
Even corruption has been granted citizenship,
tax holidays,
and national ID.
Police?
Number one in bribery.
Justice?
Delayed, sold, postponed, or buried.
Whistleblowers?
Harassed, jobless, jailed,
sometimes never seen again.
The young ask the old,
“What went wrong?”
The old ask the young,
“What went right?”
Both pointing fingers across a burning future.
Robert Greene once said:
“Strike the shepherd and the sheep will scatter.”
But in Uganda —
the shepherds are the wolves,
the wolves guard the flock,
and the flock is taught to keep quiet
or bleed in silence.
But I — I refuse silence.
I refuse to bury truth under fear.
I refuse to swallow corruption like medicine.
I refuse to watch this Pearl fade into dust.
So I stand here,
voice trembling but unbroken,
declaring:
God save Mother Uganda —
not just from poverty,
but from the thieves who built mansions on the nation’s neck.
God save Mother Uganda —
for her children,
for her unborn,
for the truth still breathing in our lungs.
God save Mother Uganda —
from those who claim to save her.
About the Writer
Evans Sande Ndahura is a Ugandan writer, poet, legal researcher, and social commentator whose work confronts the realities of corruption, injustice, and the lived experiences of ordinary citizens. His writing blends storytelling with civic truth-telling, using poetry as a form of resistance and awakening. Known for his emotional clarity and fearless critique, he draws inspiration from personal experiences, society’s broken systems, and the unending hope for a better Uganda.
Torch Media Africa
