Most of you are out here wrestling for what’s on the plate, while the real ones are locking down the kitchen and the garden. You’re fighting over scraps while the owner of the farm decides who eats tomorrow. That’s not hustle. That’s blindness.
The late Herman Basudde sang it in Enimiro Yo Ku Buganda. He wasn’t talking about farming. He was talking about legacy and planting trust. While you argue over today’s fish, the wise man is digging trenches, planting seed, and guarding the water source. Stop eating. Start owning. Kale nolaba obukolwa nga buzanyila musili ogwakuteganya.
A lazy mind loves confusion. Disorder is a coward’s office. You think twisting situations makes you sharp? Welimba, Ssebo Sseremba Luswata, my young brother, that’s a white lie. In business, trust builds empires. Tricks build enemies. You can’t lie your way into a harvest. “Snoring in darkness while the noon is scorching” won’t pay your rent. Wake up.
You can never out-reason the man who put the platter on your table, Mukasa.
And remember this: The one who fetches firewood often doesn’t eat the food it cooks. That’s the game. If you don’t own the fire, the pot, or the maize, you’re just labor. Stop being firewood. Become the owner of the flame.
From the books—Reality Check,
Betrayal in the City—Mosese says, “When the madness of an entire nation disturbs a solitary mind, it is not enough to say the man is mad.”
These books can teach, banange. When everyone’s fighting for the plate, the system stays broken. Boss, Mulili, and Tumbo ate the country while the youth fought for crumbs. If you only chase what’s visible, the real thieves control the kitchen. Stop clapping for the plate. Audit the pantry.
Ngugi wa Thiongo’s Devil on the Cross—I learnt in the “Devil’s Feast” that the rich don’t eat food. They eat people. They roast workers, boil farmers, and drink the sweat of the poor.
This is what my favorite shrine attendant told me in Kifuuta: If you’re only fighting for a salary, a tender, or a deal on the table, you’re on the menu. The real players own the slaughterhouse, the cold room, and the distribution. Own the means, or be the meat.
Trust is the kitchen. Wisdom is the garden. Character is the title deed.
If you’re still plotting how to eat your brother’s portion, don’t be surprised when you starve next season.
I don’t do games. I do gardens.
Build with me, and we eat for generations. Play me, and you won’t even smell the smoke.
Ennimiro yo ku Buganda, togyerabira—“Don’t forget your garden on the hill.”
Because when famine comes, the plate will be empty. But the garden feeds kings.
