The Kingdom of God will reach Kampala tomorrow than today,
if a camel can pass through the eye of a needle at night, while eating with both hands.
That’s how hard it is to find honesty in this profession that was sworn to build and to defend.
Here comes the new breed.
And the old breed, bleeding, watching the new breed feed on Blackberry and blackmail.
Walking with a screwdriver instead of a law journal.
Mechanics of drama. Not officers of the court.
They have stripped credibility to level -02 and sold the pieces for airtime.
I have written it. I have taught it:
Anything less than experience is smoke in a basket.
In engineering bids, we are stripped naked first:
Bid Security. General Experience. Specific Experience. Performance Guarantee. Advance Payment Guarantee.
5 checks. 5 locks. 5 questions.
Before 1 shilling dares to move.
But when you go to a lawyer, you’re already bleeding.
Your life is on the theater table, and the lights are too bright.
83% of them become legal pedestrian surgeons.
They make the first cut, pause, check their phone, and walk out.
Leaving you open.
Because you’re desperate, they whisper with a smile:
“We are filing in the Supreme Court and Court of Appeal at the same time. Owulide e’vumbe tubamaze.”
For a matter that cannot even survive LC2 court.
They speak Latin. Then Greek. Then English with a borrowed accent.
All to bus you past the Temple of Justice and drop you at the Hospital of Gospel Academy.
No diary. No file. No strategy.
Just vibes, big words, and a bill.
That’s why the wise have studied law diplomas.
Not to practice. To protect themselves from practice.
WHAT DOES ETHICS SAY ABOUT LAW?
The oath is not poetry. It is fire.
Competence. Candor. Confidentiality. Diligence. Loyalty.
The elders in Kifuuta called it: “Amazima tegaagwa.”
Truth does not fall.
A lawyer who feeds on your desperation is not counsel.
He is a broker in a gown.
And the public will know who is yawning in your case by 3 signs:
• No diary, no notice — if he meets you like a boda stage, he is not preparing. He is passing time.
• No paper trail — if there are no drafts, no filings, no dates, he is selling talk by the kilo.
• Escalation without basis — if he jumps to Supreme Court for an LC2 court matter, he is buying time, not justice.
BUT LET US ALSO SPEAK TRUTH FOR TRUTH’S SAKE:
There are still lawyers who keep the trade honest.
Their number is few, but their fire warms the whole legal room.
They wake up. They open their diaries. They cite the law, not proverbs.
They file on time. They look you in the eye and say, “This is winnable. This is not.”
They don’t sell you drama. They give you strategy.
They don’t chase your desperation. They carry your burden to the courtroom and back.
God’s hand and streetness have made the best of them masterpieces.
Men and women who learned law on hope, with law books whose covers fell off,
fighting cases with transport money, faith, and a pen that never ran dry.
They turned “street vendor” hustle into courtroom excellence.
They proved that honor is not in the office furniture. Honor is in the code.
To those few: We see you. The profession stands because of you.
You are the reason the needle is not completely closed.
THE HARD ETHICAL QUESTION STANDS:
What happened to “to build”?
What happened to “to defend”?
What happened to “I will not take money for work I will not do”?
Because right now, some are selling you hope, then delivering dust with 2 hands and a double-sided sword.
SO LISTEN:
If a carpenter cannot show you 3 jobs he finished on time and on budget — walk.
If a lawyer meets you without a diary notice, without a file, without a plan,
clean your shoe on the doormat and leave.
Because that person is not solving your problem.
They are becoming part of it.
The Oracles of Kifuuta said:
“Obuunaku ne njaala tebikulisa muganda wo.”
A hungry man does not eat his brother.
But today, the hungry are eating us.
We don’t need more lawyers.
We need men of law.
We don’t need more carpenters.
We need men of craft.
Until then, the Kingdom waits at the gate.
And the needle is still too small.
As I sit under the Mutuba tree in Kifuuta, Kyotera, Buddu, with Ali Ssekatawa, Friday Kagoro, and S. Dhatemwa,
roasting the white Embuzi Nsaata slaughtered by Ibrahim Kasiko.
No bottle of Cognac — because Ali Ssekatawa is around.
As the Legal Chief Prince, CP Mayiga is serving Mulondo juice in ekyanzi.
And the smoke from the goat rises like a prayer:
Bring back men of law. Bring back men of craft, snoring in honor and eternal ethics.
Back to Kyadondo mu Kibuga, as I hit many stones on my way, I stumbled on the diamond out of the many stones. Just because they are all stones, others are precious, and, keeping the context and content of lawyering, few entertain the Temple of Justice with heads held high rather than the virus that advocates for the estimable devils’ cupid angels.
