Writes Brian Mugenyi
Kampala: One by one, corruption in Uganda is becoming a lively story every local leader is mandated to confront under President Museveni’s seventh term.
The theme is clear: “Kisanja No Sleep” — loosely translated in Luganda as a term of no sleep — for President Museveni, a message that blends with the country’s wider development agenda.
But beneath the political language of a new term lies a question that cannot be postponed: who will ensure that public resources meant to transform the lives of Ugandans actually reach them?
The fight against corruption may appear to belong to the offices of the Inspectorate of Government, the Auditor General, Parliament or the Ministry of Local Government.
But there is a quieter battlefield.
The village.
This is where a government programme eventually meets its beneficiary; where a road becomes either passable or impassable; where a school either receives the resources allocated to it or does not; and where citizens first discover whether the promises written in government documents correspond with what they see.
It is also where Uganda is preparing to elect a new generation of Local Council I leaders.
And that ballot could become more than a routine village election.
It could become the first test of whether Uganda’s decentralisation system can make corruption harder to hide.
The reason is simple.
The LC1 is closest to the citizen.
THE QUESTION THAT STARTS AT THE TOP
At the Ministry of Local Government, Permanent Secretary Ben Kumumanya has repeatedly pushed local-government officials towards a culture in which public office is treated as responsibility rather than privilege.
His circulars provide a paper trail of that philosophy.
On recruitment, for example, one directive states:
“Recruitment into the District Service Commission is a free service. Giving gifts, money, promises or any other inducement to influence recruitment decisions is illegal.”
The sentence concerns recruitment.
But the principle stretches much further.
Public office must not be bought.
A public service should not be sold.
A government programme should not become a private opportunity.
And access to public resources should not depend on money, influence or personal connections.
Kumumanya’s directives therefore do more than warn officials.
They establish procedures.
They demand transparency.
They require monitoring and reporting.
And they place responsibility on local-government leadership to act when officials fail to perform their duties.
In another passage contained in the material, Kumumanya says:
“Members of the District chairpersons, City Mayors and should initiate the process to remove DSCS and CSCs who have been found wanting and should be clear that if one fails to deliver the job for which one is appointed for the most logical thing is to remove that person from the job portfolio and replace him or her with the one who will deliver the job.”
The language is administrative.
The message is simple.
Failure must have consequences.
But the question is what happens when that principle travels from the Permanent Secretary’s office to the village.
THE LAST MILE
Consider how a government programme travels.
Money is appropriated.
A ministry releases funds.
A local government receives them.
Officials process them.
A parish identifies beneficiaries.
A household is expected to receive support.
Between those points are records, decisions and people.
And at every point, something can go wrong.
The citizen at the end of that chain may be the first person to know.
A beneficiary may ask why the money never arrived.
A farmer may discover that his name appears on a list but he received nothing.
A road may be reported as completed while residents still struggle through mud.
A public officer may demand money for a service that should be free.
A project may exist in a government report but be difficult to locate on the ground.
These are not abstract governance problems.
They are the moments at which citizens encounter the state.
And the person closest to that citizen is often the LC1 chairperson.
THE MINISTRY’S OWN TEST FOR LEADERS
The Ministry of Local Government’s guidance on the LC I and LC II elections places the issue of character at the centre of village leadership.
The Ministry says communities have an opportunity to elect leaders who “place public interest above personal gain.”
It calls on citizens to examine the “character, honesty, commitment and track record” of candidates.
Those words carry significance beyond election day.
They describe what happens after the ballot.
An LC1 chairperson does not have the powers of an Auditor General.
The chairperson cannot prosecute a corruption case.
The chairperson cannot conduct a forensic audit.
But the chairperson can hear a complaint.
The chairperson can record it.
The chairperson can ask questions.
The chairperson can follow up.
And the chairperson can direct a citizen towards the institution with the legal power to investigate.
Sometimes, that is where accountability begins.
THE SERWANJJA TEST
This brings the debate to Solomon Sserwanjja.
The investigative journalist’s transition from asking questions of public institutions to occupying elected village office gives the LC1 debate a human face.
Sserwanjja won the Bamutakudde LC1 chairmanship by 106 votes to 105.
One vote.
In a national election, one vote can disappear in a sea of figures.
At village level, it can change everything.
The voters know the candidate.
The candidate knows the voters.
The distance between leadership and citizen is measured not in kilometres, but in footsteps.
Residents can knock on the chairperson’s door.
They can ask what happened.
They can ask why something has not happened.
They can demand an explanation.
For Sserwanjja, the irony is sharper.
The investigative journalist who spent years asking difficult questions must now live with questions directed at him.
The reporter has become part of the accountability system.
That is the experiment.
THE PDM QUESTION
Shortly after his election, Sserwanjja raised concerns about the Parish Development Model.
“We have Parish Development Model (PDM) funds, but no one in this village has received that money. It disappears at the parish level,” Sserwanjja said.
The allegation requires verification.
It is not proof of theft.
But it is the kind of allegation that a functioning accountability system should be able to test.
The questions are straightforward:
Was the money released?
How much was released?
Who were the intended beneficiaries?
When was it disbursed?
What records exist?
Who received the money?
If beneficiaries did not receive it, where did the process break down?
Those questions shift the discussion from political accusation to evidence.
Bank records.
Beneficiary registers.
Parish records.
Disbursement schedules.
Minutes.
Government databases.
Audit findings.
The document trail can either substantiate the allegation or disprove it.
That is the discipline of investigation.
Follow the claim. Follow the document. Follow the money.
“THIS IS NOT A JOB; IT IS A SERVICE”
Sserwanjja says his investigative background gives him the capacity to follow government programmes.
“As an investigative journalist, I have the capacity to follow up on such programmes. This is not a job; it is a service.”
The statement goes to the heart of what an LC1 chairperson can become.
Not an investigator replacing the Inspectorate.
Not an auditor replacing the Auditor General.
But a first listener.
A first recorder.
A first escalator.
Sserwanjja also said:
“I have access to friends and people in government. I can knock on doors, so why not use that as leverage to improve the lives of our people?”
And his ambition is explicit:
“I want Bamutakudde to become a model village.”
The difficult part begins now.
A model village cannot be established by words.
It has to be visible.
In service delivery.
In transparency.
In functioning public programmes.
In records that citizens can understand.
And in complaints that do not disappear.
THEN COME THE NUMBERS
The Ministry of Finance, Planning and Economic Development provides another reason why the village cannot be removed from the corruption conversation.
For FY2023/24, accountability reporting cited in the research recorded 191 corruption cases in local governments investigated and completed by the Inspectorate of Government.
It also recorded 12 public officers arrested and prosecuted.
The numbers show that corruption in local government is not merely theoretical.
But statistics also conceal a second question.
How did those cases begin?
Somebody noticed.
Somebody complained.
Somebody provided information.
Somebody preserved evidence.
Somebody followed a trail.
The case file is therefore not the beginning of the story.
It is often the middle.
The beginning may be much quieter.
A citizen saying:
“Something is wrong.”
CORRUPTION DOES NOT ARRIVE AS A CASE FILE
It starts small.
A demand for money.
A missing item.
An unexplained payment.
A beneficiary who never receives support.
An incomplete project.
A procurement irregularity.
A name that appears on a list but belongs to somebody who never benefited.
Then comes the complaint.
Then the record.
Then the investigation.
Then, if evidence supports it, prosecution.
The earlier wrongdoing is detected, the greater the opportunity to stop it before public resources are lost.
That is why the first question is not always:
Who will prosecute?
Sometimes it is:
Who will notice?
71,218 VILLAGES — AND THE STATE’S EYES
The Ministry of Local Government statistics cited in the research put Uganda’s number of villages at 71,218.
The figure changes the corruption debate.
No Permanent Secretary can physically supervise every village.
No Auditor General can personally inspect every project.
No Inspectorate investigator can sit in every community meeting.
But citizens are already there.
They see the roads.
They see the schools.
They see the health centres.
They know the beneficiaries.
They know which project has stalled.
They know when a government programme has reached a household — and when it has not.
The state already has eyes on the ground.
The challenge is whether the governance system can turn what those eyes see into information, action and accountability.
That is the promise of decentralisation.
WHEN THE CIRCULAR MEETS THE VILLAGE
Kumumanya’s circular is instruction.
The village is implementation.
The citizen is observation.
The complaint is information.
The investigation is verification.
Accountability is the consequence.
The chain can be reduced to five words:
Instruction. Implementation. Inspection. Investigation. Accountability.
But every chain has a first link.
The citizen.
If a government instruction works, the citizen sees the result.
If it fails, somebody should notice.
If somebody notices, the information should move.
If the information is credible, an institution should investigate.
If wrongdoing is established, there should be consequences.
The circular therefore does not end when it is signed.
It ends when its effect can be seen on the ground.
THE AUDITOR GENERAL CANNOT BE EVERYWHERE
The Auditor General can examine government accounts.
The Inspectorate of Government can investigate corruption.
Parliament can demand explanations.
The Ministry of Finance can produce accountability information.
The Ministry of Local Government can issue directives.
But none of these institutions can physically stand at every project site, every parish office and every household.
That is not institutional failure.
It is the reality of governing a country through a decentralised system.
Uganda therefore needs something more than institutions at the centre.
It needs functioning accountability at the edge.
And the LC1 sits at that edge.
THE ONE-VOTE LESSON
Sserwanjja won Bamutakudde by one vote.
One vote changed who sits in the chair.
But one citizen can also change the direction of an accountability process.
One resident can ask:
Where did the money go?
One LC1 leader can ask:
Who was supposed to receive it?
One official can provide the records.
One investigation can establish what happened.
One finding can lead to action.
The arithmetic is simple.
One vote can change leadership.
One question can begin an accountability trail.
THE REAL TEST STARTS AFTER THE BALLOT
The danger is to treat the election as the achievement.
It is not.
The election merely determines who occupies the chair.
The real test begins afterwards.
Can the elected leader distinguish public resources from personal interests?
Can he document complaints?
Can he resist pressure?
Can he ask uncomfortable questions without turning every allegation into an accusation?
Can he direct complaints to the institutions legally empowered to investigate?
Can citizens themselves remain vigilant?
These questions cannot be answered during campaigns.
They can only be answered by conduct.
FROM “KISANJA NO SLEEP” TO NO ROOM FOR GRAFT
President Museveni’s seventh term carries an expectation of delivery.
But delivery without accountability is fragile.
A road built at an inflated cost is not efficient development.
A government programme captured by middlemen is not empowerment.
A public position obtained through inducement is not merit.
A beneficiary excluded because of connections is not equitable service delivery.
And money that does not reach its intended purpose cannot become development simply because it appears in a budget.
The message of “Kisanja No Sleep” therefore faces a parallel test:
Can Uganda accelerate development while making corruption increasingly difficult to hide?
That battle will not be won only in Kampala.
It will be won in thousands of villages.
THE LAST MILE
Uganda does not lack anti-corruption institutions.
It does not lack laws.
It does not lack circulars.
It does not lack audits.
It does not lack statistics.
What remains difficult is connecting those instruments to the first moment when an ordinary citizen notices that something is wrong.
That connection can begin at LC1.
The village chairman cannot prosecute corruption.
But the chairman can ensure that a complaint does not disappear.
The chairman cannot audit billions.
But the chairman can ask where the money went.
The chairman cannot replace the Inspectorate.
But the chairman can help preserve the information that allows an investigation to begin.
And the chairman cannot make government accountable alone.
But the chairman can help citizens demand accountability.
That is why Uganda’s LC1 election is bigger than the village.
It is a test of whether decentralisation can fulfil its most important promise:
bring government closer to the people — and bring accountability closer to government.
Sserwanjja’s 106–105 victory may have been decided by one vote.
The accountability test awaiting him — and thousands of other LC1 leaders — will require much more.
It will require citizens willing to ask questions.
Leaders willing to answer them.
Officials willing to produce records.
Institutions willing to investigate.
And a government willing to ensure that wrongdoing has consequences.
The Auditor General can audit.
Kumumanya can issue circulars.
The Ministry of Finance can publish the numbers.
The Inspectorate can investigate.
But before any of those institutions can act, somebody must first say:
Something is wrong here.
That voice may come from a citizen.
And the person sitting closest to that citizen may be the LC1 chairperson.
So the real question after Uganda votes is not simply:
Who won the village chair?
It is:
Who will listen when the first citizen says something is wrong?
Because corruption rarely announces itself with a siren.
Sometimes it arrives quietly — in a missing beneficiary, an unexplained payment, an unfinished road or a government promise that never reaches the household.
And sometimes, before it becomes an audit finding, a prosecution or a national headline, it is first seen by someone in the village.
That is where Uganda’s next corruption battle may begin.
