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The Baganda believe in three fundamental manifestations of life:

1. Katonda: The natural instinct to create.

2. Liso Dene: The natural instinct to observe and analyze.

3. Kintu: The natural awareness of the self as separate from the other.

According to the Baganda, the first man—Kintu—represents the moment in evolutionary history when humanity first became aware of its separation from the rest of nature.

Liso Dene represents the realization by Kintu that man is incapable of separating himself from nature; that man and nature are one eternally creative force: Katonda.

Ultimately, Kintu, Liso Dene, and Katonda are three manifestations of the singular essence of Buganda.

We shouldn’t try to translate Buganda spirituality into scripture. It is simply not compatible with traditions like Hebrew, Christianity, or classical mythology. Most of Buganda spirituality is fundamentally mathematical modelling. One needs a strong intuition for probabilities to make sense of even the mildest Buganda spiritual forms, such as Mayembe. However, we must also be careful not to confuse this with the kind of modelling around the behavior of light that is done in physics.

A true Muganda spiritual leader is capable of listening to the wind, which can only interact with one's body through the sense of touch(and dreams), not sight. This important difference is why Buganda forms are incompatible with scribbled sigils and spells, including scripture.

The ways of the Baganda can, however, complement scripture. A Muganda who also reads the teachings of Jesus the Christ, Prophet Mohamed, or The Buddha/Krishna is likely to create and coexist in a harmonious environment and society. But a Muganda who abandons their ancestral ways to rely on scripture alone will ultimately be mentally(and therefore spiritually) overwhelmed by the contradictions within that scripture.

People talk about wealth transfer, pointing to Wall Street and banking practices that unfairly take from the poor to fill the pockets of the rich. But I am coming to believe that mass entertainment is actually the biggest wealth transfer trap there currently is. I watched Odyssey twice in the cinema. The film was not bad; some could even fairly say it was a good film. But how can anyone justify spending $250 million on that picture? I know Ugandan directors who could make such a film (or an even better one) for less than $25 million. We have to talk about these Hollywood budgets, their impact on global culture, and whether they are just a sophisticated form of money laundering.

The biggest counterargument for why it is okay to make such a film is that it grossed almost a billion dollars, making it profitable for investors. Yet, in truth, more than $100 million was spent marketing it. A significant portion of that was poured into TikTok and other advertising platforms to create the illusion that everyone is watching the film, and therefore, it is important that you do, too. The consequence of such advertising is that many poor people will spend the little money they have to sit in a theater for two hours to consume mediocre wisdom that isn't even compatible with their environments.

Having the ability to spend huge sums of money to induce the masses—especially poor people—to hand over their cash is simply not right. Using the force of wealth to impose your culture on others is colonialism. This kind of scheme, whether pulled with Odyssey or other mass-marketed juggernauts like Coca-Cola and Drake, significantly widens the global wealth inequality gap. Just because it is doable doesn't mean it is acceptable. Paying influencers to pretend they enjoyed a film—or worse, paying them to convince themselves they enjoyed it—is a form of corruption. The guys at the the printer need to direct some of that money to Africans so that we can also grow our cultures. The fact that there are no laws against this kind of mass marketing doesn't mean it is right. Don't do it.

Tokola Lubaale Bamweyana nga Dungu akyabanja. Omuganda alya ku muyigo. Mu luggya osobola okulima n'okulunda eddagala, naye emmere y'Omuganda ya kuteega buteezi. Keera ku makya oyingire eddungu. Yigira ku baganda bo ne bakitaabo okuwanga akatego.

Tetulina kigambo "copy" mu Luganda, kuba omuyizi ayongerako ebibye ku by'ayasoma ng'awanga akatego ke. Okuwanga akatego akanaakusobozesa okutwala enyama ewaka buli kiro, ekyo Kabaka wo Dungu ky'akubanja. Era ekyo bw'oba nga tonnakikola, okusamira Bamweyana ojja kugwa bugwi ddalu.

Oba mu njogera yaffe ey'e Kampala: Just genda okole, blood.

Ne bw'onoonnywa waragi, oba n'ofuna ebikazi, oba n'okuba amasadda, oba n'ovuga mmotoka za mpaka, oba n'okuba omupiira, oba n'obba ssente z'omuwi w'omusolo, oba n'okyunnya banno, oba n'oyingira struggle, oba n'osiiba mu kkanisa, oba n'ogenda mu ssabo—bw'oba tokoledde sanyu lyo, ogenda kusala waya.

Any form of pleasure you indulge in that you've not earned is only going to cost you your mental health. It is just a law of nature.

If you look at Oscar-winning films or study the Western giants of clinical psychology—like Freud, Jung, or Bowlby—you'll notice one recurring obsession: everything traces back to the parents. It is almost a given that the true origin story of the human psyche, and by extension our most complex villains, is simply a reaction to parenting or "daddy issues."

But applying this strictly Western model to Uganda misses a profound cultural reality.

For a massive demographic of Ugandans—especially the ones who grew up to become today's corporate leaders, politicians, and elites—childhood was not spent on a couch at home. It was spent in a boarding school.

While early infant attachment happens at home, the true crucible of character, socialization, and ego-formation for many of us happened away from our parents. The foundational figures shaping our psychology were not just moms and dads. They were the strict matrons, the authoritarian patrons, the unforgiving teachers, and—most importantly—the peers.

When you spend nine months of the year in a dormitory from a young age, you inevitably develop an involuntary structure to your ego. You learn institutional conformity, the brutal realities of social hierarchy, and survival tactics not as a reaction to parental love, but as a reaction to a highly structured, communal ecosystem. You learn early on that sucking up to the privileged—the prefects, the wealthy, the well-connected—buys you safety and resources. This is the exact psychological training ground for the sycophancy, patronage, and corruption that later infect our adult institutions.

So, how do you write a relatable yet complex villain in a Ugandan drama?

You cannot just copy Hollywood tropes or rely solely on imported psychoanalysis. We can't just put the Ugandan Tony Soprano on a therapist’s couch and ask, "Tell me about your mother."

To understand the true psychology of a Ugandan antagonist, we have to ask: "Who was your dorm prefect? What did you have to do to survive in the dining hall? How did you compensate for your dyslexia?"

The true drama of the Ugandan psyche doesn't just live in the family home. It lives in the dormitories. It is time our stories reflected that.

When I go on LinkedIn to post, I never read beyond the first post. Usually, the first one I see is something someone I know liked. The next, which I only get to see half of, is an ad. I exclusively use the web version on my computer because I don’t want to forget that I am working when I browse social media.

They’re trying to emulate the academic incentive system. But as we know from all the teachers on LinkedIn complaining about how their students are cheating on exams with AI, such a system will only turn their platform into a septic tank of AI slop.

The entire academic incentive system is built around encouraging students to prove that they know something. The actual subject matter may not actually matter, but the system basically rewards students based on how well they can demonstrate their knowledge of a certain concept or action. So, for social media platforms that take themselves too seriously—like LinkedIn, Substack, and X (maybe? It's been a while since I was there)—they borrow this same academic incentive structure. They attempt to reward creators for content that, in one way or another, functions just like a high school exam: Do you or do you not know what you’re talking about?

That is why the AI slop on LinkedIn and Substack, especially, is just lame. It feels like plastic vomit. Meanwhile, similar slop on platforms like Reddit feels a lot more like organic garbage. Overall, this kind of system that optimizes for some kind of objective "Truth" or standard actively discourages more speculative and creative kinds of content creation.

That is why I am building Pyepa: the algorithm that is just the best. Really, the very best (in Trump’s voice). If you know people with money, connect me—my company is looking for funding.

Otherwise, if you know whether LinkedIn is hiring for their product team, send the job post my way. I have some ideas on how they can make their platform better for people like me.

Educated people arguing about which dead white thinker was more persuasive than another. Our kids will laugh at us when we tell them that once upon a time, that is what we considered as intelligent.