Besides looking for love in the wrong places and kutema esingo while at it, and our celebrity couples on pillow mbisi, this year Uganda laughed and mourned in the same breath, where joy, grief, outrage, and celebration shared the same timeline without shame. This was the year where institutions wobbled, power figures lost balance, and silence became suspicious.
Clarifications made situations worse, slogans turned into memes, and screenshots officially replaced affidavits. Uganda showed us, once again, that we process pain with humour, confront chaos with sarcasm, and survive uncertainty by turning it into content. We grieved publicly, loved cautiously, and laughed shamelessly. Weddings shocked us, scandals fed us, and investigations were outsourced to Wi-Fi and data bundles. This wrap is not just a collection of stories, it is a reflection of the mood. 2025 was exhausting, unforgettable, and unmistakably Ugandan.
First, for the fallen soldiers of 2025. For the names we typed with shaky fingers. For the lives that logged off forever. For the candles lit quietly in sitting rooms, churches, timelines, and hearts. This year took people from us loudly, suddenly, and sometimes cruelly. This year reminded us that death in Uganda is never private. It is communal, online, and deeply emotional. When Cedric Ndilima Babu’s health struggles and death eventually became public, the country did not respond with one voice; some offered prayers, others offered silence, and many offered anger.
His association with power made people forget he was first human. The GoFundMe became a referendum on politics, privilege, and broken systems. Compassion competed with resentment, and resentment spoke louder. It was a harsh mirror of how tired and angry the country has become. The anger on the Timeline, got us asking ,where is the love ? Then there was Ravij Ruparelia. Uganda mourned, yes, but also performed grief the only way we know how: with stories, exaggerations, and timeline distractions. Everyone suddenly knew him. Everyone had a memory. Ravij was remembered as he was: comfortable in his privilege, unashamed, kind in his own quiet way. These deaths exposed us, abantu banyivu they also reminded us that beneath the politics, the memes, and the bitterness, loss still lands the same. Same story goes for DJ Bushbaby.
The thunderous slap
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