I sell dollars for a living Don’t Be LAzy 🫡 Do anything as you do everything

Lugogo Kampala
Joined February 2019
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I attended a church function where someone stood up and boldly testified about driving without a driving licence, proudly adding that he had never been stopped by Police. I am still wondering what to do about such.
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joe● retweeted
Mr. @RobertKayanja, we have never encountered an act of cursing on this platform, I want to let you know that we have looked through this act and you will be required to face the Disciplinary Committee because there’s a new Zero Tolerance policy on Cursing fellow members. Monday will be the disciplinary committee hearing since you have church service tomorrow. Good day.
Replying to @BalaamBarugahar
Thanks for the great work you’re doing, fighting and exposing corruption, this is a miracle Uganda has been waiting for. God bless you.
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So they've decided to use this pastor and Gashumba war as a destruction from the mess we are in?? Guys,fuel prices are too high and every commodity has become too pricy..
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joe● retweeted
This app is so slippery.
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If you’re still following a pastor that makes you believe that he will download your dream and pray about it for three weeks after sending it to his team(son) via email together with 300 USD, thump your chest thrice and say to yourself, “I am an IDIOT!”
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UGANDA IN SUMMARY THIS WEEK : Kayanja curses Gashumba Kayanja jr curses Sheila Gashumba Minister who studied SST suspended a senior doctor for pocketing Nyamutoro wants Ugandans to use pressure cookers B.O.U raises CBR Ovacado is now 3k UEDCL and NWSC competing on who to become the worst service provider . Fake whiskeys in bars Businesses closing because of increased rent and the dollar Fuel prices 💀💀💀
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A UGX900 billion scam. Livelihoods at stake! Ministers and RDCs distributed to own relatives and agents. Thousands of citizens paid UGX100, 000 each and never received the gas cylinders. Omunaku mwagala agoinge wa?
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Formula 1 Returns to Africa after 33 Years as Rwanda Secures Landmark Racing Deal kampalapost.com/articles/for…
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Social media convinces women there is something wrong with their husbands and they need to get a divorce. Don’t believe me? Take her phone one day and see what the algorithm sends her. The scroll will be filled with stuff like: “You’re in a silent divorce if you feel: • You can’t share your concerns • Lonely when you’re not alone • It’s more peaceful away from him • Date nights feel forced not exciting • Physical affection is non-existent • You feel like roommates not friends • Conversations are about kids & work • You no longer believe he will change • You found yourself grieving married • You feel emotionally exhausted • You no longer want advice from him • You are constantly walking on eggshells • You can’t remember good time’s • You desperately want things to be different Social media tells you to walk away from responsibilities and commitment But here’s the truth: Feelings aren’t facts. You will feel all of these things Regardless, if you’re single or married. It’s a natural reaction to feel alone and overwhelmed when you go through; illness, financial stress, raising children and handling responsibilities that are bigger than yourself. That’s not your spouses fault. Your spouse isn’t to be blamed. When you live in a society of unsustainable lifestyles and endless illusion, it’s always going to feel bad. How do change this? Feeling like roommates? Initiate intimacy. Can’t talk about concerns? Encourage and respect your spouse more than you complain. Lonely while together? Focus on the good, not on the things you both hate. You’re not twins. Date nights are forced? Don’t make date nights a production. Cook a meal at home and be present not on your phone. No longer believe they can change? Stop trying to change the person you married. Deprogramming from social media is the only way to prevent a divorce.
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Hon. @CHRISBARYOMUNS1 @DrAyumeCharles and @DianaAtwine Kindly make impromptu visits to Mulago National Referral Hospital and reassess the conduct, professionalism and commitment of some of the doctors. My concern is based on two disturbing experiences involving patients who urgently needed medical attention. Two months ago, a friend collapsed in town and was rushed to Mulago. A CT scan was conducted, and the results showed a blood clot. When I pleaded with the doctor to assist and expedite the process, she became hostile and started asking about my tribe and where the patient came from. I humbly explained that those details could be provided, but the immediate priority was saving the patient’s life. Her response was arrogant and deeply disturbing. She told me that if I did not want to answer her questions, I should go and perform the surgery myself. At the Emergency Unit, there appeared to be deliberate delays and unnecessary obstacles, yet every second counted for this young man. I am generally a calm person who respects institutional procedures, but something about this situation did not feel right. I had to make several telephone calls, and within minutes, the staff suddenly became active and started attending to the patient. How many ordinary Ugandans are going through similar experiences and losing their loved ones because of such scenarios? I have since been told that some medical personnel allegedly use such delays to solicit money from patients’ relatives, leaving them desperate enough to offer whatever they can to secure treatment. I cannot independently verify this allegation, but if it is happening, it is a deeply troubling abuse of the medical profession. Two days ago, another patient was referred from Koboko to Mulago for specialised treatment after complications arising from a haemorrhoid surgery. The patient had reportedly been bleeding excessively for two weeks. The Emergency Unit initially attempted to assist through the normal procedures, but the patient was subsequently referred to a ward near the Heart Institute. To our utter disbelief, the doctor reportedly instructed the family to return to Koboko, claiming that the hospital could not manage the problem. These were people who had travelled more than 500 kilometres seeking specialised medical attention, only to be told to return home. They were also reportedly informed that if the problem required corrective surgery, they would have to wait until the 27th. The patient spent two days at the unit without receiving the necessary attention. Shocked by this treatment, I contacted a professor who had previously attended to the same patient. He questioned why the patient had been turned away. When we explained what had happened, he was equally perplexed and could not understand why someone in need of medical attention would be sent back without the appropriate intervention. He instructed us to return to the ward and contacted a doctor to attend to the patient. By evening, the patient was finally receiving the appropriate care. Why did it take all that intervention before the patient could receive the attention they desperately needed? Why the delays, and why was the patient turned away in the first place? It was particularly disturbing to see the urgency change when the senior doctor became involved. These experiences raise serious questions about patient care, professional conduct, accountability and the possibility of patients being subjected to unnecessary delays while their conditions deteriorate. Hon. Chris, Dr Charles and Dr Atwine, I appeal to you to make unannounced visits to Mulago, speak directly to patients and their attendants, and independently assess what happens in the wards and emergency units when senior officials are not around.
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joe● retweeted
Inflation 📈 Fuel prices 📈 Cost of living 📈 Shilling 📉 Accountability, still unavailable Mwebale nyoo, tusiima🙂‍↔️
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UPDF Joins Medical Drive for Vulnerable Communities in Somalia kampalapost.com/africa/2026/…
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The electricity today is playing games with us. It comes on for two minutes, then disappears for an entire hour.😭
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Broken hearts where do we go😭😭😭
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Being financially constrained doesn’t mean that everyone is like you
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…..”Time had performed one of its favourite practical jokes….”
A few days ago in Berlin, I met a Muslim colleague whom I first met in Canada in the winter of 2013. At the time, she had recently left Saudi Arabia and migrated to North America and got ballooned. She celebrated her departure with the enthusiasm of a freed Ugandan political prisoner. She spoke passionately about escaping the conservative religious and cultural restrictions in which she said she had been encapsulated. She became a radical feminist, liberated her mouth from compulsory silence, and developed the confidence of an evangelist who had recently discovered a new gospel called liberalism. She embraced her new freedom comprehensively. There were no half-measures. She drank alcohol, wore whatever pleased her, and allowed her glistening thighs and juicy cleavage to participate freely in public life without seeking permission from any religious committee. Pork, previously treated almost as an edible criminal offence, found its way onto her plate and into her stomach. She occasionally smoked weed. She debated liberalism on panels and spoke about individual autonomy with the conviction of someone who had personally crossed the Red Sea and left Pharaoh shouting from the opposite bank. She called all this freedom, and anybody who questioned it risked receiving a free postgraduate seminar on patriarchy. Thirteen years later, in 2026, we spoke again. Time had performed one of its favourite practical jokes, ie, the revolutionary was now the mother of three teenagers, twin daughters and a son, and suddenly liberalism had developed complications. She complained that the children had become troublesome. They were too independent. They challenged her rules. They apparently possessed opinions in quantities their mother considered medically excessive. Then came the sentence that has probably been uttered by every former rebel since human reproduction began.....'I was not raised like that'. Here was the woman who had spent years explaining precisely why she was delighted not to have been raised differently now invoking the manner in which she had been raised as evidence for the prosecution. Then she disclosed the remedy. She had sent the children back to Saudi Arabia for cultural sensitisation, acclimatisation and communal haranguing. I laughed. My dear, I reminded her, when we met in Canada thirteen years ago, you were celebrating your escape from the very cultural factory to which you have now returned your children for refurbishment. You escaped Saudi conservatism, arrived in North America, removed the cultural speed governor, and drove happily down the motorway of personal liberty. Now your children have inherited the vehicle, discovered the accelerator, and you are screaming from the passenger seat that everybody should respect the speed limit. Apparently, freedom is a magnificent philosophy until your own children read the footnotes of it. This is one of the great comedies of adulthood. When your father prohibited something, he was a patriarchal dinosaur obstructing human progress. When your daughter does the same thing you once fought for the right to do, you suddenly remember that your grandfather was a remarkably wise man. The rules you escaped become the rules you retrieve. Rukirabachwezi
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A few days ago in Berlin, I met a Muslim colleague whom I first met in Canada in the winter of 2013. At the time, she had recently left Saudi Arabia and migrated to North America and got ballooned. She celebrated her departure with the enthusiasm of a freed Ugandan political prisoner. She spoke passionately about escaping the conservative religious and cultural restrictions in which she said she had been encapsulated. She became a radical feminist, liberated her mouth from compulsory silence, and developed the confidence of an evangelist who had recently discovered a new gospel called liberalism. She embraced her new freedom comprehensively. There were no half-measures. She drank alcohol, wore whatever pleased her, and allowed her glistening thighs and juicy cleavage to participate freely in public life without seeking permission from any religious committee. Pork, previously treated almost as an edible criminal offence, found its way onto her plate and into her stomach. She occasionally smoked weed. She debated liberalism on panels and spoke about individual autonomy with the conviction of someone who had personally crossed the Red Sea and left Pharaoh shouting from the opposite bank. She called all this freedom, and anybody who questioned it risked receiving a free postgraduate seminar on patriarchy. Thirteen years later, in 2026, we spoke again. Time had performed one of its favourite practical jokes, ie, the revolutionary was now the mother of three teenagers, twin daughters and a son, and suddenly liberalism had developed complications. She complained that the children had become troublesome. They were too independent. They challenged her rules. They apparently possessed opinions in quantities their mother considered medically excessive. Then came the sentence that has probably been uttered by every former rebel since human reproduction began.....'I was not raised like that'. Here was the woman who had spent years explaining precisely why she was delighted not to have been raised differently now invoking the manner in which she had been raised as evidence for the prosecution. Then she disclosed the remedy. She had sent the children back to Saudi Arabia for cultural sensitisation, acclimatisation and communal haranguing. I laughed. My dear, I reminded her, when we met in Canada thirteen years ago, you were celebrating your escape from the very cultural factory to which you have now returned your children for refurbishment. You escaped Saudi conservatism, arrived in North America, removed the cultural speed governor, and drove happily down the motorway of personal liberty. Now your children have inherited the vehicle, discovered the accelerator, and you are screaming from the passenger seat that everybody should respect the speed limit. Apparently, freedom is a magnificent philosophy until your own children read the footnotes of it. This is one of the great comedies of adulthood. When your father prohibited something, he was a patriarchal dinosaur obstructing human progress. When your daughter does the same thing you once fought for the right to do, you suddenly remember that your grandfather was a remarkably wise man. The rules you escaped become the rules you retrieve. Rukirabachwezi
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Good morning everyone who’s already tired
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When you plant the seed don't keep digging it up to check it's progress because that will keep interupting the process, just consistently keep watering it and have faith that God is doing his work. The seed is Discipline to save or Building a Business. Nothing Blossoms instantly.
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