The view from @CNN headquarters as I wait… A little adrenaline, a few nerves - first time going LIVE. About to go #OutFront on @OutFrontCNN to talk about the airplane incident I captured at Newark Liberty. Let’s do this. – at Manhattan, NY

...Just saw this UB40 banner. I had it printed at #Skygraphics in Germany with express orders to deliver before July 24, 2008. No ordinary banner. @david_galukande @StellaMporaKhan if you know, you know. @mtnug Delivered it to Kajansi airfield. Nostalgic moments. #Uganda #UB40 – at Edison, NJ

UGANDA DESERVES SOME 'NECESSARY NOISE' — NOT JAZZING FWAAA! In the early 2000s, I owned a short-chassis Mitsubishi Pajero - 2.8 litre, 4M40 diesel engine. At the time, it felt like power, prestige, and proof that life was moving. Had I known what I know now, I might have paused…or at least asked a better mechanic. One morning, somewhere between Kampala optimism and Kabale ambition, the engine taught me a lesson. Just before Mbarara, at that speed bump opposite the Coca-Cola factory, it knocked - then blew. Not coughed. Not protested. Blew. Long story short, I imported another engine from Japan. The 4M40, as I later learned in the honesty of Ugandan garages, had a reputation. Temperamental. Demanding. Foreign, yes - but it did not fail because it was foreign. It failed because something inside its delicate balance had gone wrong. That is the thing about engines. And, as it turns out, about policy bills. A good engine works because its parts trust each other. Pistons do not accuse spark plugs of foreign influence. The crankshaft does not suspect the fuel of betrayal. Everything plays its role within a calibrated system. Once you begin to doubt the very parts that make motion possible, you do not protect the engine - you destabilize it. That is why the #SovereigntyBill started sounding like my old Pajero before Mbarara. It arrived polished, patriotic, and confident. But soon the knocking began: vague language, wide powers, harsh penalties, and a strange detour into private enterprise, money transfers, church donations, and Ugandans abroad being treated like suspicious spare parts. Uganda has long been admired as a relatively open and progressive economy. So when a bill begins sounding like it wants to move sensitive financial oversight from the Bank of Uganda garage to the Ministry of Internal Affairs workshop, even the mechanic at Wankoko pauses. “Owaaye…Enjini eno efudde. Enjini eno erabika eyonoonese.” And now, timely enough, the 'real mechanic' has spoken. He has asked that the bill returns to its actual engine room: sovereignty of policy decision-making - not meandering into private transfers, not frightening churches, not turning diaspora remittances into intelligence reports. But perhaps that question - “why the kelele?” - came, let me say a little late. Because it is precisely that noise - lawyers like @SarahBireete @miriamatembe raising red flags, @BOU_Official Governor putting in a stellar performance against the bill, Hon. @MwesigwaRukuta1 giving a logical beware type explanation, citizens like @benmwine asking hard questions in the @Parliament_Ug committee, diaspora groups like Uganda Global voices and many others refusing to be mislabeled, experts like @PhillipKarugaba pointing out constitutional cracks — that forced the bonnet open. Sometimes, what sounds like kelele (noise) is the engine saving itself. That day near Mbarara, I learned that when an engine knocks, you do not silence it. You listen. So before this legislative '4M40' blows at the speed bump of constitutional scrutiny, the wise thing is simple: keep listening, remove the bad parts, and rebuild only what is necessary. Sometimes, that ka - necessary noise is well deserved. It shows citizens are listening, engaged, and still invested in the country’s engine. Over to you, Parliamentary Committee. Get it right. #SatireIsNotACrime #OhUganda – at Edison, NJ

It’s one thing to regulate the sharing of money. It’s another to let money regulate identity. Because once you start measuring who belongs using thresholds, you’re no longer defining foreigners - you’re negotiating family. – at Edison, NJ

IS ARSENAL FAN TV IN TOWN TO MEET “FOREIGN AGENTS?" There is something deliciously ironic about #Arsenal Fan TV @AFTVMedia - that loud, unfiltered theatre of football emotion - landing in Uganda at the exact moment the country is wrestling with the meaning of “sovereignty.” One can almost picture @ItsRobbieLyle stepping off a @UG_Airlines flight, mic in hand, asking the nation: “Fam… what are we doing?” Never has the word "Sovereignty" been simultaneously so flagrant, and so prosaic, as it is when attached to the word "Bill". It's the prosaics who truly frustrate me. Those who snootily look down their nose on somebody living their life, albeit with passion -as a Ugandan, in the diaspora, while patting themselves on the back for the blameless mediocrity that is their lives. Because, truth be told, this week has felt like a live AFTV episode - only the stakes are not a Ryan Cherki or Haaland goal at the Etihad Stadium, but a law that dares to define who belongs and who doesn’t. As Counsel @PhillipKarugaba putting up a spirited fight before a committee of @Parliament_Ug , calmly dismantling the #SovereigntyBill piece by piece, one could hear echoes of those post-match rants. Not the chaos, but the clarity that sometimes emerges from passion. His question in a prior forum, and presented in a moment of levity -whether loving @Arsenal makes one a “foreign agent” - was not a joke. It was a mirror. If the @premierleague is foreign, if Robbie and his crew are foreign, then what of the millions of Ugandans who wake up at odd hours, jerseys on, hearts invested? Are they suspect too? You can almost hear the AFTV chorus: “This is shocking, blud.” But here’s the twist. Football, like identity, is not a zero-sum game. Supporting Arsenal does not make one less Ugandan, just as living in the diaspora does not dilute one’s roots. Passion travels. Belonging evolves. And sovereignty -real sovereignty - is confident enough to accommodate both. What this Bill risks doing is what Arsenal fans -especially recently, know too well as they chase for the title: mistaking symptoms for solutions. You don’t fix Saliba, Madueke or frankly, Arteta's problems by blaming the fans in the stands. You fix it at the source. Public submissions have - pretty much, now closed. The cameras may dim. But the decision - like a last-minute VAR check - still hangs in the balance. And if there’s one lesson from AFTV, it’s this: the fans always see it clearly in the end. #Ugandans are speaking, loudly and unmistakably: Kill the bill. Because a bad law, like a bad season, cannot be rescued by excuses. It must be rebuilt from the ground up. #SatireIsNotACrime #Uganda – at Edison, NJ

...In Solidarity – at Edison, NJ

....UTCA standing in Solidarity with all #Ugandans against the #SovereignityBill #Uganda @Parliament_Ug | @utcaorg – at Edison, NJ

Slice it however you want… We’re still Ugandan. No, the diaspora does not wear Prada. 🍅 #Ondaba #SayNoToTheSovereignityBill – at Edison, NJ

We are So Uganda! #Ondaba – at Edison, NJ

NO, THE DIASPORA DOES NOT WEAR PRADA… Uganda please, the Diaspora does not wear Prada! We are not strutting down some Fifth Avenue runway, sunglasses on, accents confused, loyalties for sale. No. The diaspora is that stubborn, beautiful mix of Luganda proverbs, Alur pride, Banyankore Kweterana humor, Teso Kere, and Acholi resilience to name a few - served with a side of airport goodbyes and Sendwave remittances. We are Ugandan. Full stop. No designer label required. Now, let me take you back - because Uganda’s policies have always had a way of arriving like an unexpected thunderstorm in 'Jjera-wood' (read: Najjera). On April 18, 1979, after the fall of Amin, banks were heavily looted. Dimes withdrawal became tricky. Banks reacted and said, “My friend, you can only withdraw 5,000 shillings.” You looked at your own money like it belonged to government. Then Obote II gave us the famous “chit system” -where sugar became rarer than a polite boda boda rider in Kyanja. Suddenly, connections were currency, and omuntu wa wansi was left negotiating life like a man buying Rolex without chapati. But even those…even those did not attempt what this Sovereignty Bill is flirting with: the audacity to look at a Ugandan abroad and whisper, “Foreigner.” Foreigner? Me? The same me who supports my kith and kin in Uganda? The same me whose December ticket alone probably funds that car chasing birds at Entebbe’s runway? The same me whose burial plot is already quietly reserved somewhere in Pakadha between my brother Alfred and Francis grave and that barkcloth Mutuba tree? My friend, what flavored shisha are we smoking? This is where the Prada analogy enters, kubanga we must educate each other small-small. “The Devil Wears Prada” whose sequel launch premiered in New York yesterday, taught us that evil doesn’t always look like a monster in the tunnels at Clock Tower. Sometimes it is well-dressed, well-worded, and dangerously convincing. Policies too can come dressed in fine language -sovereignty, protection, order -yet underneath, they quietly rearrange your rights like furniture in a house you built. Today it is the diaspora. Tomorrow, it is anyone who thinks too loudly. My good friend and @SmackObs @PhillipKarugaba said it best in those spirited Uganda Global Conversations sessions moderated by @SmackObs Timothy Gaburungyi and on another space hosted yesterday by @rkabushenga - rights are not seasonal. They do not expire at Entebbe Airport. The Constitution did not say, “All Ugandans are equal…until you board Emirates.” And let us not pretend this is abstract. The kadama sends 500K home - hardware shops smile, contractors eat, boda bodas fuel up, data bundles are purchased, and life…moves. Mwebereremu. You pull one thread, the whole sweater unravels. This bill, my friends, is that small pebble in your shoe. Ignore it, and soon you are limping. Entertained by it, and one day you are crawling. So no, Uganda - The diaspora does not wear Prada. We are not devils in designer suits. We only wear #Ondaba brands. We are your sons, daughters, investors, critics, lovers, so Ugandan, and loudest ambassadors. And if loving #Uganda loudly is now a problem - then perhaps the problem is not us. Kill the bill in @Parliament_Ug. Before it learns how to wear a suit. #StopTheSovereigntyBill #Ondaba #SovereigntyBill – at Edison, NJ

FRIDAY NIGHTS: WHEN WE OWED YOU NOTHING! There was a time in the 80s, when #Kampala weekends had a clear destination, and they still do - and if your stars aligned, your shoes pointed straight to Chez Joseph on Kimathi Avenue. Opposite @KCCAUG , the place stood like a nightclub and a social sorting hat rolled into one. You didn’t just enter - you qualified. Money helped. Connections helped more. Confidence? That was your wildcard. This was the most popular hangout joint for the youth back then. Inside, the formula was sacred: blue, red, yellow bulbs… a mirror ball spinning like it had secrets… and at the far end, the DJ box - where DJ Telematch (Mukiibi) conducted the night like a high priest of vinyl. When he dropped a track, it was no longer a dance floor -it was a declaration, like he did one night when he dropped 'Jack the Groove' by Raze. But before all that glory and celebration0? Survival. Because not all of us arrived fully funded. Some of us passed by the shadows of the old Ministry of Labour building - near that legendary old abandoned trench - now Workers House, that looked deep enough to swallow your future - where a quiet economist of the night sold K. Yes, Kasese (Waragi). A glass. Maybe a Fanta or a Mini would set you on the path to happiness. Add lime. Suddenly, the world made sense -and more importantly, you had courage capital. Then came “Footsubishi” - our hybrid transport system. Meanwhile, the chosen few rolled in -borrowed or “temporarily reassigned” father’s car - packed like a matatu of ambition. Driver brings the ride. One friend brings the entrance fee. Another negotiates with the kanyama at the gate. Teamwork made the nightlife work. Inside? Ah. You bought one beer at 11pm - and nursed it like an investment portfolio till 1am. Holding that bottle wasn’t thirst. It was status. You danced not because you had much - but because, for those hours, you lacked nothing. Then the morning came, uninvited but inevitable. You walked back up Kimathi Avenue, eyes red, spirit undefeated, past the early church goers, the saints at Christ the King Church. They stared. You stared back. Under your breath: “Why are you looking at me?” Their eyes said “Bambi.” Yours replied -without words - Do I.O.U? Not today. Because Friday night had cleared all debts. At least until next weekend. To #HappyFridays #Uganda Video courtesy: Mad shots – at Edison, NJ

THE SOVEREIGNTY BILL SWEEPIN' THE CLOUDS AWAY? On a sunny day, a Ugandan should be allowed small luxuries -tea, memory, perhaps even a quiet hum of Sesame Street’s “Sunny Day, sweepin’ the clouds away…” -without the intrusion of legal uncertainty. Yet increasingly, even the most ordinary acts are beginning to feel less ordinary. And today, that feeling is no longer hypothetical. With the Protection of Sovereignty Bill 2026 now formally tabled before @Parliament_Ug, what was once policy speculation has crossed into legislative reality. The conversation has shifted - from “what if” to “what now.” A Ugandan living abroad, sending school fees home, supporting relatives, or offering commentary on national affairs, may now have to confront a more complex question: at what point does engagement with one’s own country become regulated activity? Because under the proposed Protection of Sovereignty Bill 2026, that boundary appears to be shifting. The bill defines a Ugandan residing outside the country as a “foreigner.” This is not symbolic language; it is a legal position. And once adopted, it reframes how everyday interactions - financial, social, and even expressive - may be interpreted. Support that has long been understood as familial -medical assistance, tuition, rent, food - can, under a stricter regulatory framework, be recast as cross-border financial flows. Categorised. Reportable. Potentially subject to authorisation. The implications are not abstract. When ordinary behaviour is recoded in regulatory terms, it introduces friction. Senders hesitate. Recipients become cautious. What was once instinctive - helping family, contributing to community life, participating in national conversation -becomes conditional. And now that the bill sits within the formal machinery of Parliament, that hesitation is likely to grow - not because the law has changed yet, but because its possibility suddenly feels real. This is where the issue moves beyond legal drafting into lived experience. Uganda’s diaspora contributes roughly 9.3 trillion Uganda shillings annually in remittances, sustaining households, supporting education, and supplementing healthcare. These flows are not peripheral to the economy; they are embedded within it. Any framework that complicates or discourages them, even unintentionally, risks consequences that extend far beyond compliance. The question, therefore, is not whether sovereignty matters. It does. The question is how it is exercised. How does a country safeguard its interests without narrowing the space for its own citizens to participate, contribute, and remain connected? At what point does protection begin to resemble distance? Because if reform results in a climate where support feels suspect, where expression feels measured, and where belonging appears conditional, then the long-term cost may not be captured in policy language - but it will be reflected in behaviour. Fewer risks taken. Fewer voices heard. Fewer hands extended. Because if the outcome of reform is a climate in which support feels suspect and engagement feels risky, then the cost may not be immediately visible - but it will be felt. If this was crafted to catch a few, it risks casting a shadow over all of us. Call it, the Hydra Effect! And no - this won’t be one of those “Sunny days, sweepin’ the clouds away…” moments. Even Big Bird would pause and wonder what exactly is going on. Because it is, frankly, embarrassing - that those entrusted with steering a nation would table such measures for such small battles, as though tomorrow will never come. It does - and memory of our actions remains remarkably permanent. We can do better. Video: @nbstv #SovereigntyBillUg | @pwatchug – at Edison, NJ

I REMEMBER THE SOUNDS Not the speeches. Not the politics. Just the sounds. A low, distant rumble -steady, unhurried -like something important was on its way and had no intention of turning back. Our garage door would tremble ever so slightly, as if it, too, was trying to listen. That was April 1979, before we even needed the radio to tell us anything. Years earlier, in the 70s, Uganda had its moments of grand theater. Idi Amin stood at the center of it all -confident, commanding, playing host to the world in a way that made even distant events feel like they were happening in our own compound. For us children, though, that was just background scenery. Our world was simpler: watching convoys pass, counting vehicles, marveling about Simba Battalion, watching paratroopers jump over Kampala, inventing stories about where they were going. Then, suddenly, the story changed. April 11, 1979. The voice of then Lt. Col. David Oyite Ojok came through Radio #Uganda -clear, measured, almost too calm for the weight of the moment. Amin was gone. Kampala had fallen. “I bring you good news. On behalf of the Uganda National Liberation Front......” That word landed differently depending on who you were. For us, before that, there was movement. Real movement. We had walked -northwards - towards Bukolwa Parish in Katikamu Sub-county, Luwero District. Not a small family stroll, no. This was a full procession of humanity. Bags on heads, children half-walking, half-carried, and that quiet understanding that you keep moving because everyone else is moving. Along the road, you’d see sights that, even now, feel like scenes from a film. Fiat 131 Mirafioris, and Fiat Campagnolas -ordinary cars on any other day -now wearing mud and branches like hurried disguises. A twig here, a patch of earth there, as if the car had tried to blend into a forest and only halfway succeeded. From the windows, the occasional barrel of a gun would appear, a 'kikompola' somewhere, then disappear again as the vehicle sped past. Not dramatic. Not cinematic. Just…there. And always, that sound in the background. The steady approach of the Tanzania People's Defence Force (TPDF). You didn’t need to see them. The ground told you. The air carried the message. As a child, I didn’t have the language for any of it. I wasn’t thinking about regimes or geopolitics. I was thinking about the distance to Bukolwa, about keeping up, about why adults suddenly spoke in shorter sentences. About where we would eat something on the way, while we drank water from ponds. But some things stayed with me. The rumble. The road. The quiet urgency of it all. And Bombo town before. And later, Bombo town when it was totally demolished. Obliterated. Yesterday marked 47 years since that day. Those times. And when people say “liberation,” I nod. Because yes -it was. But in my memory, it isn’t a headline or a speech. It is a feeling. A vibration in the ground. A long walk north. And a child, somewhere in the middle of it all, trying to make sense of a country that had changed overnight. ...and the quiet realization that even the mightiest can 'borrow' a Fiat Campagnola, cover it with branches, smear it with cow dung, and hope nobody notices they are running. That was fourty seven years ago, a day in April of 1979. – at Basking Ridge, NJ

Coming Home Real Fast… and Not Asking for Directions 😄 As of this very moment, the @NASA_Orion spacecraft is slicing through space at a cool 135,660 miles from Earth -basically halfway between “we miss you” and “you better start boiling matooke.” This isn’t just speed. This is orbital mechanics behaving like a Kampala Subaru on an Expressway mission - except guided by physics, not vibes. Powered by the precision of the @NASAArtemis Program, Orion is currently riding gravity like a seasoned diplomat -leveraging the Moon’s pull in what scientists call a free-return trajectory. In simpler terms: even if you fell asleep at the controls (don’t try this at home), the laws of physics would still bring you back. Respect. Now let’s put this into Ugandan context: At that distance, you’re not just “far from home”—you’re in that territory where even your aunties stop asking when you’re visiting and start saying, “Eh, this one has gone international for real.” And the speed? Orion is re-entering Earth’s neighborhood at over 24,000 mph. That’s not just fast—that’s “blink and you’ve skipped three districts” fast. It’s the kind of velocity that turns atmospheric entry into a controlled fireball… scientifically referred to as plasma heating, but culturally we might call it “returning with serious energy.” So as Orion barrels home, remember this: While we’re here debating fuel prices and traffic on Jinja Road, humanity is out there casually doing lunar flybys and deep-space navigation like it’s a weekend errand. Uganda, my people -this is your reminder: Curiosity is not optional. The universe is moving. Fast. GO NASA, and somebody tell Kyankwanzi, we are no longer just eating macaroni… we are tracking spacecraft. The Orion spacecraft returns home tomorrow, splashing down off the coast of San Diego in California. cc @NatashaWri65195 #OrionReEntry – at Edison, NJ

KALINAKI, I’M NO LONGER SCARED OF SOHO - LET’S GO FINISH THAT STORY. There are men who write stories- and then there are those who quietly become part of a nation’s story. @Kalinaki has done both, with a pen so precise it rarely needed raising. Retirement, in his case, feels less like an ending and more like a well-edited transition. Because #DanielKalinaki was never just working; he was always thinking -shaping, refining, and often arriving at conclusions the rest of us were still circling. My memories of him don’t begin in boardrooms, though that is where his legend is anchored. They begin much closer to home -literally. Bukoto Brown Flats. Neighbours. That quiet proximity that turns acquaintance into friendship, and friendship into a kind of unspoken understanding. It is there, in those ordinary corridors of life, that I came to know the man behind the bylines. From there, the rhythm extended naturally - football, conversation, and those familiar meets where the English Premier League became both entertainment and metaphor. Just Kicking in Kisementi was one such constant. Not for the place, but for the company, the laughter, and the kind of debates that somehow moved from midfield tactics to matters of state without missing a pass. Then London, 2008. The Market Porter, a pub on Borough High Street near London Bridge. With @SheilaKulubya alongside us, Southwark briefly became an extension of Bukoto. The conversation - effortless, layered, precise. #Uganda, media, society. As a loyal supporter of Manchester United, Daniel spoke with the calm assurance of a man familiar with both triumph and rebuilding -again, not entirely unlike the country he so keenly observed. What stood out was not volume, but clarity. #DK never needed to own the room; he simply steadied it. Easygoing in manner, exacting in thought. A friend, yes - but one who never blurred the lines between warmth and principle. In London, he suggested we visit the ever vibrant, eclectic, and lively district of Soho in central London known for its intense nightlife, premier West End theaters, and diverse dining. I grew jitters at the time, misreading the moment entirely. That, Daniel, remains unfinished business. As @nickopiyo aptly put it, Kalinaki is a fine thinker, a public intellectual, a writer of many drafts of history. True. But perhaps his greatest legacy lies in the people he shaped, the standards he set, and the newsroom culture at @DailyMonitor he built. Uganda will celebrate the editor, super columnist, author, and the former General Manager. I will remember the neighbour, the friend, the steady mind next door. And those memories at Just Kicking, and a pub in Southwark, London. Daniel, the story isn’t done. We still owe Soho. – at Edison, NJ

…From the thunder and glory of the Apollo program to the bold new frontier of the @NASAArtemis program — the baton is passed, the legacy ignites. With a roar that shakes history awake, Orion spacecraft atop the mighty Space Launch System doesn’t just launch… it announces humanity’s return to the Moon. LIFTOFF. Legacy meets destiny. #ArtemisIILaunch #NASA #MissionToTheMoon #Launch – at Edison, NJ

Getting ready to leave Earth behind -one final round of suit pressure checks, one steady breath, and eyes set on the Moon. The @NASAArtemis crew stands on the edge of history, counting down to liftoff —weather permitting. #ArtemisLaunch #NASA – at Edison, NJ