From ‘Obuntu’ to ‘Ebintu’: Uganda’s quiet struggle for shared humanity

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OPINION

By Mike Ibrahim Okumu

Last Saturday morning, as the sun rose over a quiet Kampala, a local FM radio aired one of the most thought-provoking radio segments I have heard in years.

Running from 5:30 to 6:00 am, the programme reflected on how our society has gradually shifted from seeking Obuntu (humanity) to chasing Ebintu (things). It was a conversation that struck a nerve, and one that Ugandans across the country need to engage with.

This shift, though subtle, has far-reaching consequences. Where Obuntu once guided us toward empathy, shared responsibility, and community life, Ebintu pushes us into individualism and a never-ending pursuit of material wealth. Today, the symbol of success is no longer a well-raised child or a cohesive neighbourhood—it is often a mansion, a fleet of cars, or foreign school fees.

Nowhere is this transformation more visible than in how we raise our children. Out of the 12 months in a year, our children spend nine months at school. Of the remaining three months, we only meaningfully interact with them on Sundays, if at all. Our workplaces consume us, and in many ways, we have delegated parenting to schools. Worse still, the community no longer steps in to co-parent as it once did. Yet, when a child is poorly raised, the cost is shared by all of us through crime, broken values, or social instability.

This quiet drift has crept into our sense of public duty. Uganda today has more graduates, higher literacy levels, and fewer people considered ignorant. Yet the quality of public service—whether in education, health, or infrastructure—often remains underwhelming.

This is not just a question of money or policy, but one of attitude. Many of us in government and public service have forgotten that what unites Ugandans most is not our tribes or income levels, but the services we share: roads, hospitals, schools, and security.

Public goods exist because no single individual can afford them alone. They rely on government coordination, and in turn, on the integrity of public officials. When Ebintu overtakes Obuntu in public service, we witness the rise of private wealth but the decay of public infrastructure. Estates flourish, but drainage fails. Private hospitals expand, but essential drugs in public clinics run out.

Take healthcare as one example. The cost of specialised medical care today is not a hypothetical burden—it is an open wound. One medical emergency can erase years of savings, forcing families into debt or despair. In such moments, we realise that even the most hardworking household needs a functioning public health system. That is why it is not only a policy issue—it is a moral one.

We are not calling for a return to the past, nor denying the right to aspire. But development should not mean abandoning the values that hold us together. If we are to pass anything of worth to our children, it must be more than land, wealth, or education certificates. It must be a sense of shared responsibility.

Let us begin by reclaiming time for our children. Let us reawaken our sense of duty in the offices we hold. Let us rebuild trust in our communities. And above all, let us remember that Obuntu is not weakness—it is wisdom.

The future of Uganda cannot be built on Ebintu alone. It must rest on a foundation of Obuntu—the quiet strength of a people who choose one another.

The writer is an Assoc. Professor and Dean School of Economics and Fellow of The Uganda National Academy of Sciences (FUNAS)