Uganda loves football. It is our theatre, our rallying cry, our Sunday sermon. From dusty village pitches to the concrete stands of Namboole, the game beats like a drum in the nation’s chest. But for all the passion in the stands, the romance on the pitch, and the banter in our markets and boda stages, Ugandan football is yet to learn the oldest truth in the modern game: passion without packaging will leave you clapping while others are cashing.
Our politics has done football no favours at all whatsoever. In this country, sport is often treated as an act of charity rather than an industry. It sits in the backroom of policy-making, brought out only when the cameras are rolling. The state’s engagement is too often a circus act—arriving with fanfare for photo opportunities and disappearing when the hard, unglamorous work begins. It is not sustained investment; it is political theatre. We have perfected the art of claiming glory we never paid for.
It is the same old playbook: our athletes scrape together resources, sometimes even dipping into their own pockets, to train and travel. They fly to the Olympics, the World Championships, the Diamond League. They return with gold and silver — products of grit, faith, and personal sacrifice. And before the medals even cool, government officials are front and centre, draped in scarves and flag pins, basking in a success they did not build. It is a familiar sight, and nowhere is it more glaring than in football.
Take the ongoing CHAN 2024 campaign. Before the Cranes could even lace their boots, the President publicly promised UGX 1.2 billion for every win. It is the kind of headline figure that turns heads and sends fans into a frenzy. But promises made in the glare of tournament lights are not the same as policy written into the budget. There is no political will to invest in grassroots football—the bedrock of future success—or to legislate the kind of structural sponsorship requirements seen elsewhere. In Egypt, for instance, major investors are required, by regulation, to channel part of their investment into supporting local clubs. This is not optional philanthropy; it is a deliberate strategy to grow the sport from the soil up.
Grassroots football is not a slogan — it is the foundation. It is school competitions, from dusty Primary School grounds to the fierce rivalries of the Uganda Secondary Schools Sports Association (USSSA) games. It is the University Football League, where young players sharpen their talent under the eyes of scouts. It is the hundreds of academies across the country, sanctioned by FUFA, that nurture the dreams of children who might never otherwise touch a real leather ball. My firm belief is that at least 70% of our sports budget should be directed here. Feed the roots, and the tree will bear fruit. Starve them, and the leaves may still look green for a while, but the rot will be creeping from below.
Yet what do we see? FUFA, armed with a sports budget north of UGX 10 billion, pours the lion’s share into the national team. Year after year, the domestic league limps along on leftovers, and grassroots structures are left to survive on enthusiasm and sheer willpower. The Uganda Premier League Secretariat, meanwhile, has failed to create a league product that sells itself. Yes, the government and FUFA deserve blame. But clubs cannot hide behind their failings like children behind a parent’s skirt. Responsibility is a two-way street. The ball has been rolling past their feet for years, and too many have watched it go by without even a chase.
If you want to understand the gulf between our football economy and our neighbours’, look no further than the deal just signed in Tanzania. Young Africans SC, “Wanainchi,” have inked a historic three-season contract with SportPesa worth $8.5 million. That’s over UGX 32 billion. One club. One deal. Put that in perspective: FUFA’s much-heralded 2018 broadcast partnership with StarTimes—covering the entire Uganda Premier League and the Big League—was valued at $7.2 million for ten years. That’s less than $1 million a year for two whole leagues. Yanga SC just secured more money for themselves than our entire top flight and its feeder league combined will get in a decade. If that isn’t a wake-up call, then perhaps we are still asleep at the wheel.
And Yanga are not alone. Their fierce rivals, Simba SC, have their own lucrative sponsorship portfolio, including a headline deal with Betway worth billions of Tanzanian shillings. Azam FC, backed by the resources of one of East Africa’s largest conglomerates, continues to show what corporate muscle can do when paired with a professional football operation. In Kenya, Gor Mahia and AFC Leopards have at various times commanded significant sponsorships from SportPesa and other partners. Even in Rwanda, a smaller football market, sports sponsorship is part of a national strategy, with “Visit Rwanda” emblazoned across the shirts of Arsenal and Paris Saint-Germain in deals worth tens of millions of dollars.
In Uganda, we do have our pace-setters. Vipers SC, with consistent private investment and the ambition to match it, have flirted with the idea of building a brand beyond borders. KCCA FC, with its semi-professional management structure, has demonstrated what can be done with the right blend of leadership and resources. But even they are underperforming relative to their potential in a region where the bar is rising every season.
Our traditional giants—Express FC and SC Villa—should be market leaders, yet they have often looked like ships without rudders. These are clubs with proud histories, passionate supporters, and a place in the national psyche. But history does not pay salaries, and nostalgia does not impress a corporate sponsor looking for brand alignment and visibility metrics. Then there are the newly re-energised NEC FC and Kitara FC. They have momentum, fresh energy, and the chance to write their own modern success stories. But momentum is like a tide—it comes in strong, and if not harnessed, it will just as quickly roll back out to sea. They must invest early in marketing, fan engagement, merchandise, and community outreach, so they become not just clubs, but brands.
The reality is that our shortcomings are visible in the small things. Match days often feel like under-rehearsed school concerts—signage that looks borrowed, lighting that flatters no one, commentary that sometimes sounds like it’s happening in a different postcode. Many clubs have no merchandise strategy, no fan data, no diaspora engagement plan, no content creation teams. In 2025, this is like trying to farm without knowing the seasons. Our neighbours are planting in neat rows with irrigation and fertilizer; we are still scattering seeds and praying for rain.
Football is not just played on grass; it is grown in the soil of organisation, watered by investment, and harvested through professionalism. Until we see the game as an industry and not a weekend pastime, we will keep applauding from the stands while the real trophies—those signed in boardrooms—go elsewhere.
Breaking this drought will require honesty, vision, and a willingness to discard the crutches of blame. The government must legislate for investment in sport, FUFA must re-balance its spending priorities, and clubs must embrace their own commercial responsibilities. We can no longer afford to wait for the stars to align; we must, as the old saying goes, “light our own candle instead of cursing the darkness.” The examples are before us—in Dar es Salaam, in Nairobi, and in Kigali. The question is whether we are willing to lace up, step out, and play the game that really matters.
Because in football, as in life, it’s not enough to dream of goals. You have to score them—on and off the pitch.
