STUCK IN THE MURK OF ADULTING

The Ugandan Experience

Ladies and gentlemen, there are no stories today. Today, I come to rant, I hope my ranting is valid. I’ll tell you this: adulting is hard man. It’s sickening. So allow me say a few things that may or may not have succeeded in making me feel better.

"A man has to be what he is, can't break the mold. There's no living with the killing, there's no going back. Right or wrong, it's a brand, a brand that sticks." I heard those words once, a low rumble from a voice steeped in the kind of resigned wisdom that only comes from navigating life's unyielding currents.

They echo now with a haunting clarity in the labyrinthine corridors of Uganda's post-graduation reality, a reality where the promised golden ticket of a university degree often transforms into a brittle, tarnished relic. This isn't just about being broke; it's about the profound existential crisis of being utterly, inexplicably stuck. It’s the brand of disillusionment, a mark etched not by personal failing but by a complex, unforgiving web of systemic issues, crushing societal pressures, and the brutal choices forced upon a generation grappling with the murk of adulting. You are invited to question everything: the very purpose of education, the true meaning of success, and the silent, insidious ways we are all molded by forces far beyond our individual will.

From the tender age when our futures were painted in crayon-bright hues, Ugandan children are fed a singular, unwavering narrative: study hard, get good grades, attend university, and a prestigious job awaits. There was an anthem we all loved:

“We are the pillars of tomorrow's Uganda…”

It is the unwritten social contract, the sacrosanct path to respectability, financial security, and the ability to lift one’s family out of poverty, or so we thought.

Parents scrimp and save, often sacrificing their own well-being, pouring every available shilling into school fees, convinced that this investment in education is the sole guarantor of a better tomorrow. University, then, becomes not just a place of learning, but a crucible of hope, a sanctuary where dreams are forged and futures are secured.

Yet, this grand delusion shatters with a deafening silence upon graduation. The vibrant ceremonial gowns are exchanged for threadbare clothes, the triumphant smiles morph into strained grimaces.

According to a 2023 survey, while Uganda's overall youth unemployment (15-24) was 4.5%, the unemployment rate for university graduates soared to a staggering 15.2%. This stark discrepancy reveals a critical, painful truth: a degree, particularly in popular fields like ICT and business, offers no immunity to the pervasive economic malaise. The system is producing job seekers, not job creators, and certainly not guaranteed job holders.

Consider the countless young men and women, once top of their class, armed with degrees in Business Administration or Information Technology, who find themselves sending out hundreds of applications into a void. They meticulously tailor CVs, attend disheartening interviews, and yet, the call never comes. Their qualification, once a beacon of aspiration, now feels like a burden, an expensive piece of paper that only magnifies their current predicament. The education system, it seems, has been preparing a generation for a world that simply doesn't exist, a job market that demands skills it hasn't taught, and experience it refuses to grant.

The narrative of individual failure, of graduates simply not trying hard enough, is a cruel simplification that ignores the vast macroeconomic realities at play. Uganda’s economy, while growing, struggles with jobless growth. The formal sector, the traditional employer of university graduates, simply cannot absorb the approximately one million young people entering the labor market annually, including some 50,000 graduates. Industrialization is slow, and foreign direct investment often prioritizes capital-intensive rather than labor-intensive ventures. The much-touted oil sector, while promising future revenue, has yet to yield significant, widespread employment opportunities for the masses. Adding to this, there's a severe skills mismatch. Universities often emphasize theoretical knowledge, leaving graduates woefully unprepared for the practical demands of the workplace. Having studied camera operations in a certain university in Kampala, not once did the lecturer come to class with a camera. It was all talk.

Employers frequently lament that graduates lack hands-on experience, critical thinking, and specific industry tools proficiency. A civil engineering graduate might understand structural mechanics in theory but struggle with practical site management. An IT graduate might grasp programming languages but lack the crucial soft skills for teamwork and client communication. This disconnect means that even when jobs exist, graduates find themselves ill-equipped, trapped in a Catch-22 where they need experience to get a job, but can't get a job without experience.

For many, the only recourse is the vast, often precarious, informal sector, always welcoming, always available. This is where the majority of Ugandan youth, including graduates, find themselves. Over 90% of youth employment outside agriculture is in this sector. Here, a graduate with a degree in Mass Communication might be found hawking phone accessories in Owino Market, their well-articulated English used to bargain over prices rather than craft compelling narratives. A qualified accountant might be seen navigating the chaotic streets of Kampala as a boda-boda (motorcycle taxi) rider, their mathematical prowess now applied to calculating fares and dodging traffic. This isn't a choice; it's a grim necessity for survival. The "gig economy," while offering some flexibility, often traps graduates in low-wage, insecure roles with no benefits, perpetuating a cycle of financial instability that denies them the very essence of dignity they associated with their hard-earned qualifications. I can't even begin to talk about what a drama student does to survive in Kampala. The sheer resilience required to survive in this economic quagmire is immense, but it comes at a profound cost to their aspirations and sense of purpose.

The quote, "It's a brand, a brand that sticks," resonates deeply with the societal pressures that weigh heavily on unemployed graduates in Uganda. The family, the very unit that championed their education, becomes a source of immense expectation. The graduate is seen as an investment, a future provider, the one who will send remittances, educate younger siblings, and elevate the family's status. The inability to fulfill these roles due to unemployment isn't just a personal failing; it's a perceived betrayal, leading to palpable disappointment and sometimes, outright resentment. Relatives, often themselves struggling, might subtly or overtly question the value of the "big degree" if it doesn't immediately translate into a visible improvement in fortunes.

Beyond the family, the community casts its own judgmental gaze. The shame of being unemployed, particularly after public fanfare over a university admission, can be overwhelming. Peers who, by some twist of fate or connection, have secured jobs, however meager, become benchmarks against which one’s own perceived failure is measured. Social media, a curated highlight reel of others’ successes, exacerbates this comparison culture, making the unemployed graduate feel even more isolated and inadequate. Marriage prospects, often tied to financial stability and the ability to provide, dwindle, further diminishing their sense of adult accomplishment and contribution to society.

This constant pressure, coupled with the relentless cycle of rejection and financial precarity, exacts a severe psychological toll. Studies indicate a significant correlation between financial anxiety and mental health issues among youth in Uganda. The prevalence of depression among unemployed young adults can be as high as 30.9%. This "killing," as the quote chillingly puts it, manifests as chronic anxiety, bouts of severe depression, and a profound sense of hopelessness. Self-esteem plummets, replaced by feelings of inadequacy and worthlessness. The individual begins to question their intelligence, their efforts, and their very inherent value, despite having undergone years of rigorous academic training. One might hear of a brilliant graduate, once full of life and ambitious plans, retreating into themselves, avoiding social gatherings, and even resorting to unhealthy coping mechanisms like excessive alcohol use. The dream of a meaningful career is replaced by the daily struggle for mere existence, and the once-bright future fades into a murky, indistinct present.

In the face of such overwhelming odds, the question of individual agency becomes crucial. How much choice does one truly have when branded by the "murk of adulting"?

Entrepreneurship is often touted as the panacea, the ultimate solution to youth unemployment. "Be your own boss! Create jobs!" is the common refrain. While this spirit of "hustle" is indeed pervasive and admirable among Ugandan youth, the reality is far more complex. The barriers to successful youth entrepreneurship are formidable: limited access to capital (with only 30% having access to formal financial services), high interest rates (15-30%), stringent collateral requirements, lack of mentorship, inadequate business literacy, and limited market access. Many "start-ups" are born not out of innovative ideas but out of sheer desperation, operating on razor-thin margins with little chance of scaling or formalizing.

Consider the young woman who, after failing to secure a teaching job, attempts to start a small roadside rolex (chapati and egg wrap) stand. She works tirelessly, but without proper capital for equipment, marketing, or even a consistent supply chain, her venture remains a hand-to-mouth existence, never truly breaking free from the informal struggle. The "hustle" thus becomes another form of precarious employment, often cementing individuals more firmly into the informal mold rather than helping them break free.

The dilemma of brain drain also presents a difficult choice. Many graduates, disillusioned by the lack of opportunities at home, look abroad, often pursuing perilous paths or accepting exploitative conditions in distant lands, just for a chance at a stable income. This "choice" is less about ambition and more about survival, a desperate gamble to escape the suffocating murk. And for those who remain, the proliferation of "side hustles" becomes the norm – a graduate juggling online writing gigs, selling clothes on Instagram, and doing part-time tutoring, spreading themselves thin and often preventing deep specialization or meaningful career progression. It forces one to question: are these truly choices, or are they merely reactive survival mechanisms, actions born of desperation rather than genuine aspiration? The individual, caught in this whirlpool, is often left with the agonizing realization that the mold they were meant to break is, in fact, hardening around them.

The quote with which we began, "A man has to be what he is, can't break the mold," is a stark reminder of the determinism that can trap us. But perhaps the mold isn't entirely unyielding. Perhaps, through collective introspection and concerted action, we can soften its edges, allowing for new forms of success to emerge, new pathways to be forged. The "killing" of the dream may be a brutal reality, but the possibility of going back, of redefining what it means to live and thrive, remains, albeit faintly, within the choices we make, collectively and individually, to question, to adapt, and to demand a better, more equitable future.

Okay, I'm done ranting. See you on the next one!!!! 😂😂😂

O.D PATRICK