Duke of Kyogyera

A man spends 50 years teaching at MIT. He knows his time is running out. So he records one last lecture — everything he knows, distilled into a single hour. He died 5 months later. This is that lecture. The most important hour you'll watch this week. 👇 Bookmark it for later

Alex Ndawula, Bbaale Francis and Annet Nandujja will never expire. This was a brilliant concept by Uganda Telecom.

We interrupt normal programming to bring you yet another victory💃🏾💃🏾💃🏾 @ManUtd

Lavinia and Michelle are twins who grew together in the same womb, were born from the same mother, and delivered within minutes of each other – but have different fathers. theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2…

This guy faked being a pilot, doctor, and lawyer before he turned 21 and made millions before the FBI hired him. Frank Abagnale grew up broke and angry after watching his parents marriage fall apart At 16 he ran away from home with nothing but charm and a dangerous amount of confidence He figured out early that people don’t question a uniform So he called Pan Am, told them he was a pilot who lost his badge, and they just… mailed him one For two years he flew free around the world, sitting in cockpits, getting hotel rooms paid for, eating for free. He never actually flew a plane once Then he got bored and became a doctor in Georgia Then a lawyer in Louisiana Then a professor Every single role based on nothing but eye contact and a straight face He cashed fake checks in 26 countries for years before anyone connected the dots When they finally caught him he was 21 years old and facing prison time across multiple continents But here’s the part nobody talks about He wasn’t just a criminal, He was the most naturally gifted social engineer anyone had ever seen. The FBI knew it too So instead of burying him they handed him a job He spent the next 35 years teaching the government every trick he used against the The kid who ran away at 16 with nothing ended up in a boardroom consulting for the FBI Trauma, survival instincts, and zero options will make a person find ways.

Don’t let your litter haunt you

@RedPepperUG @Makerere Baseless and fact-less allegations. These ones are just after bait clicks to make their platform relevant.

HOLY CRAP! . @Makerere's St.Francis Chapel in Meltdown Over ‘Rogue’ Worship Details here 👇 share.google/Rrgg9fwX6fh1Yh…

I couldn't say no

From 1956 to 2026, producing outstanding personalities across the globe Ntare School proudly marks 70 years of existence and sustained excellence. The launch will be on 30th April 2025 at Protea Hotel, unveiling the anniversary roadmap! #NtareAt70

My friend flew back to the UK yesterday.. No airport photos. No farewell party. Just an evening flight out of Entebbe, touching down in the UK around 7am — quietly, like she was never really here. A year ago, she went home buzzing with hope. London had ground her down. The cold, the loneliness, the bills that never stopped. She missed Kampala. The noise, the warmth, the feeling of belonging somewhere. I understood that feeling — I'm still here in the UK myself, and some days Uganda feels like the only answer. But missing home and actually living in it are two different things. The power cuts hit first. She'd be working and the lights would just vanish. Not for an hour — for two days. No warning, no reason given. Then Entebbe Road started stealing her mornings. Out of the house at 5am, sitting in traffic until 9, already tired before anything had even started. Then a boda-boda knocked into her. Clearly his fault. But she looked like she had money, so the crowd had already made up their mind. The police weren't much better — they looked at her and saw an opportunity, not a victim. Every conversation had an invisible price attached to it... nobody looked at what actually happened — they just looked at her and saw a transaction. Every conversation came with a price tag. She tried to start something small in Kikuubo. People took advantage. Faces she trusted disappeared with her money. The jobs she interviewed for offered salaries that couldn't cover her basics — like her years of experience abroad counted for nothing. Then came the family pressure. The same people who celebrated her return started knocking every day. And when the money wasn't there, the comments started: "So UK didn't work out?" UK yakulema ehhhh "You came back for this?" That hit differently. Because in London, yes — she was lonely. I know that loneliness too. But it's a straightforward loneliness. In Kampala she was surrounded by people and somehow felt more alone, because most of them only saw what she could give them. So she left. No big goodbye. Just packed her bags and got on that evening flight. Back to the cold, back to the struggle — but at least it's a struggle with some order to it. At least you know where you stand. I'm not saying this to attack Uganda. I say it as someone who is also sitting in the UK, also missing home, also wondering if the grass is actually greener or if I'm just tired of winter. Most of us who leave don't stop loving home. We just get honest about what home is asking us to carry. So before you judge someone for going back — or for never leaving — just know the decision is never simple.

When “Teka mu wa Lukumi” Was almost Economic Policy. There is a certain innocence in today’s panic about oil prices -as if the world has just discovered that engines drink, and geopolitics sometimes spikes the bill. My young friends scrolling through Brent charts like they are Premier League tables, allow me -an alumnus of the University of “Sibyangu” -to take you back. Because this movie? We have watched it before. On VHS. Rewound. Then watched again when the tape got stuck. The 1980s oil shocks, courtesy of the Iran–Iraq war, didn’t just rattle economists in suits -they introduced Ugandans to a new form of cardio: queueing at Wandegeya petrol stations. Lines so long you could greet a cousin in Makerere and still return to your car without losing your place. The rule? Maximum 20 litres. A kadomola. Enough to move from “hopeful” to “still stranded, but with purpose.” And then came the real curriculum: survival engineering. Ugandan drivers became part-time scientists. Newton met necessity. You learned the sacred art of kuwondowadi -engine off, gliding downhill in respectful silence, as if the car had entered prayer mode. Passengers instinctively stopped talking, as though conversation itself consumed fuel. That was 'Solar' mode. Now, the cars. Oh, the cars were not just machines -they were co-conspirators. Those were the times of the good old carburetor system, not the Electronic fuel Injection (EFI) times we use today. The legendary Baby Fiat -850cc of pure discipline -was less a car and more a lifestyle choice. It didn’t consume fuel; it negotiated with it. Then came the slightly “ambitious” cousin, the Fiat 900E (900cc), which felt like upgrading from tea to tea with milk. Still humble, still obedient, but with just enough ego to climb a hill without consulting ancestors. The Mini 1000? A pocket-sized warrior. The Volkswagen Kombi? A moving village meeting -underpowered, overburdened, but spiritually committed. And that Honda Civic…ah! If driven by a wise man who knew when to accelerate and when to surrender to gravity, it could stretch a litre like a budget speech -tight, calculated, and surprisingly effective. Of course, no crisis is complete without Ugandan entrepreneurship. Enter the “OPEC boys.” Black market fuel dealers who operated with the confidence of multinational CEOs. If you knew one, your tank had hope. If you knew two, you were practically energy independent. Fast forward. Hormuz is misbehaving again. It's not being straight. Prices are climbing like rent in Kitukutwe. Transport fares are negotiating with your soul. But relax. We come from a generation that turned 850cc into a national strategy. That converted slopes into fuel stations. That believed, firmly, that if you timed your downhill correctly, Kampala itself would carry you home. And somehow -engine off, faith on -we always arrived in our Angaliya Kakokola. We are a resilient people. Yes, we #Ugandans are. We shall overcome. #Byebyo #OilRally #Uganda

2012 - in an unprecedented move, Ntare School invited Trinity College Nabbingo from 253km away for the candidates’ Sosh. Unknown to the school at that point, only S.6 candidates at Nabbingo could attend Sosh. The girls accepted. a THREAD [1/10]

TV West is just a low budget of bukkedde TV 🤣🤣🤣.

I'm obsessed with cognitive biases. A "cognitive bias" is a systematic error in thinking that destroys decision-making. 11 most powerful (and dangerous) cognitive biases I've found: 🧵 1. Survivorship Bias:

This is one of the best explanations on inflation by a politician that I’ve ever heard.

By the age of 35 you should be smart enough to know these Dark Pschology tricks -Thread-

As a parent, I think this video has taught me something useful. I recommend that you should try it on your kids, too. I have also shared it with my wife. Credit: joe_drummer_boy on IG.

A 7-year-old boy in a Serbia torn by war built a Wimbledon trophy out of cardboard and slept with it every night. 29 years later – exactly 29 – that same boy, now 36, stood on the Roland-Garros center court holding the real thing… as the greatest player who ever lived, with 23 Grand Slams in his arms. Then Novak Djokovic did something unforgettable. He stopped his victory speech, looked straight into the camera, and gave every kid on earth the most powerful 55 seconds of motivation you’ll ever hear: “I had the power to create my own destiny. I don’t just believe — I FEEL it with every cell in my body. To every young person watching: Forget what happened in the past. The future doesn’t just happen. YOU create it. Take the means in your hands. Visualize it. Feel it. Build it.” From a war-torn balcony with a borrowed racket… to the top of the world. If he can do THAT, imagine what YOU can do. Save this clip. Play it when life feels heavy. It hits harder every single time.