Music Review

 

BROTHER BEATS: CHAMELEONE AND PALLASO DROP A DEM BOW BANGER THAT'S BOTH NOSTALGIC AND NOW

Chameleone and Pallaso reunite over a classic dem bow beat to deliver a nostalgic-yet-fresh dancehall banger that proves Ugandan music can still surprise. A brotherly collaboration that blends fire, melody, and club energy.

By Joseph Batte

State of the Arts Uganda

There’s something about this new Chameleone and Pallaso collaboration that hits differently. Maybe it’s the dem bow rhythm pulsing beneath the track — a beat that defined 90s dancehall and ruled clubs from Kingston to Kampala. Or maybe it's the chemistry — that unspoken fire between two brothers who know how to fight, forgive, and fire up a crowd in equal measure.

From the first seconds, the song throws you back to the golden age of dancehall. It’s gritty and bouncy, the kind of beat that could have easily belonged to Shabba Ranks or Buju Banton in their heyday. But instead of sounding dated, the brothers infuse it with a freshness that feels perfectly timed for today’s club scene. It’s a smart move — a bold nod to the past while keeping one foot firmly planted in the now.

Chameleone, with his textured, almost gravelly voice, delivers his lines with the swagger of a man who has nothing left to prove. His vocal presence still commands attention — it slices through the mix with authority. Then Pallaso steps in, softer and more melodic, like sugar to balance the spice. Their voices are different, yet complementary, like tension and release, fire and honey. You can tell they’re brothers not just by blood, but by rhythm.

Lyrically, the track won’t be winning any poetry awards. It’s simple, repetitive, and rooted in the usual Ugandan themes — love, seduction, celebration. But that’s not a flaw. This isn’t a track meant for deep reflection. It’s built for movement. For dance. For late nights and sweaty dancefloors and DJs who know just when to drop the beat.

Still, it raises an interesting question: do all Ugandan songs sound the same? There’s certainly a pattern — familiar chord progressions, repeated hooks, and the widespread use of Afro-dancehall templates. Producers tend to stick to what works, and what works gets recycled. But every now and then, someone takes that same formula and injects it with something more — nostalgia, personality, surprise. This song is one of those moments.

Despite following the familiar path, this track stands out. The dem bow beat gives it a vintage twist, while the brothers’ vocal chemistry keeps things engaging. It’s not trying to be revolutionary — it’s trying to be a vibe. And it absolutely is.

You won’t remember the lyrics the next morning, but your legs will remember how they moved. Your mind will remember that feeling of being caught between yesterday’s rhythm and today’s energy.

This is what Chameleone and Pallaso do best — they remind us that Ugandan music, even when it leans on the familiar, can still surprise us. And more importantly, it can still make us dance.

So, is it a club banger?

Absolutely.

Is it another song that sounds like everything else?

Maybe — but it doesn’t feel like it. And that’s the magic.

 

Culture, Comedy and Politics

 

ENGLISH FIREWORKS IN POLITICAL CAMPAIGNS IN UGANDA

National Unity Platform (NUP) debate for aspiring MPs of Kawempe North Where Grammar Met Drama!

By Joseph Batte

Welcome to Uganda—where the sun is hot, the matooke is hotter, and the English? Eh... that one depends on the speaker, the weather, and the mood of the ancestors.

But let’s be honest: we Ugandans speak English with confidence. Whether it’s right or wrong is another story, but at least we speak it with our whole chest. Shakespeare might weep in his grave, but here, we clap!

And so it was that the National Unity Platform (NUP) decided to host a debate for aspiring MPs of Kawempe North. A serious event, yes, but one that quickly turned into a linguistic comedy special. Think of it as Uganda’s Got Grammar, featuring contestants from all walks of life—and dialects.

The Political Debate That Became a Variety Show

The venue? Makerere-Kavule. The prize? A ticket to Parliament. The method? A two-part showdown:

English round (for vibes),

Luganda round (for survival).

The audience? A cocktail of die-hard party supporters, political comedians, boda boda philosophers, and one stressed moderator who looked like he wished he had carried holy water and earplugs.

NUP’s Secretary General, Lewis Rubongoya, tried to inject order into this chaos. “Only a few supporters per candidate,” he warned, like a teacher pleading with students not to copy during exams. Sweet man. Still believes in peace at Ugandan rallies.

Ten Candidates, One Piggy Bank, and a Gas Cylinder

By Friday, the ring was full. Ten contenders had officially entered the political battlefield. Among them:

Luwemba Lusswa Muhammad (the late MP Ssegirinya’s former right-hand man),

Lawyer Luyimbazi Nalukoola (came armed with English and a legal smile),

Dr. Charles Rubagumya (because health is also political),

Engineer Ssenkungu Kenneth (probably here to build bridges and break silences), and, drumroll please, Moses Nsereko—a man who brought a whole wooden piggy bank to a political debate.

Yes. A piggy bank. Labeled boldly: “Nsereko Moses Box.” His campaign promise? “To teach Kawempe North how to save.” Sir, please. Some people came with manifestos, you came with piggery! Revolutionary behavior!

Another candidate walked in holding a mini gas cylinder like it was the Ark of the Covenant. Was he about to fry his opponents? Start a cooking show? Nobody knew. The crowd was both confused and entertained.

Then there was Muhammad Luswa, who came waving a framed photo of the late Ssegirinya like it was a campaign poster. One man in the crowd shouted, “Let the late rest in peace, bwana! You’ve carried him like a handbag!” The court yard shook with laughter. Politics, my friend, is not for the faint-hearted—or the overly sentimental.

 A Mayor, a Mic, and a Moment

Enter His Worship Mathias Walukaga, mayor of Kyengera and, apparently, newly crowned king of mixed-language motivation. He was dressed like a man going to parliament and spoke like a man going to... anywhere but there.

Asked why he had suddenly upgraded his English to “international levels,” he proudly declared:

“Nina okubeera ready for sesonii…”

(Translation: I must be ready for the session.)

The crowd exploded. Was it the pronunciation? The bravery? The fusion of Luganda and Queen’s English like a Rolex with avocado? We may never know. But one thing was certain—Walukaga had entered the chat.

The Moderator Tries His Best

At this point, the moderator took over. Poor guy. Dressed like a university lecturer and holding the mic like it was a weapon of peace, he tried to calm the storm.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, adjusting his glasses with the seriousness of a priest about to announce a wedding cancellation, “Please clap if your candidate says something good. But no shouting. Let’s behave.”

Plot twist: Ugandan crowds don’t “behave.” They perform.

Then he dropped the rule of all rules: “Candidates, no phones allowed. Leave them on your chairs. We want to hear what’s coming from your heads—not from Google!”

Laughter thundered through the tent. One candidate whispered, “Even WhatsApp notes?” The moderator gave him a look that said, “Don’t try me, young man.”

“And audience members,” he added, “please put your phones on silent. This is a debate, not a ringtone competition.”

Setting the Stage for Chaos

And with that, the circus was ready. The candidates were standing straight, ties adjusted, mouths rehearsed. The crowd was vibrating with energy. Some came to support. Others came to laugh. And a few were just looking for a free chair in the shade.

Little did they know, the English Round was about to begin. And oh—the things we were about to hear…

LET THE ENGLISH GAMES BEGIN: When English Tried To Fight Back

“Silence, silence please!” barked the moderator, adjusting his glasses like a man about to recite the Ten Commandments. “This is a debate, not a downtown market. We are here to gauge how well our candidates will represent us in Parliament.”

And just like that, the English session of the NUP Kawempe North debate was declared open. You could almost hear the late Queen Elizabeth herself coughing politely in Buckingham Palace.

Nervous tension gripped the air like the smell of katogo in a taxi. Some candidates were busy warming up their tongues like athletes before a race—"accountability... accountability…," they whispered. Others clutched their printed speeches like rosaries, praying to the gods of grammar.

The Introductions: A Dictionary-Shaking Affair

First to the stage: Magara Umar.

 “My name is Magara Umar. A teacher by professional.”

(Pause. Silence. The crickets refused to clap.)

Sir… a teacher by what? Profession? Professional? Prophet? We may never know. But bless him—he powered through.

“Top of my agenda is accountability… from the military. We are going to put them on test.”

On test? On toast? Under oath? The jury’s still out.

Next came Mulumba Mathias, whose energy could power an entire village. He thundered:

“I’m a mutongole of Sabasajja. Being a mutongole is not a joking subject!”

Now, if you're familiar with Uganda’s own kickboxing philosopher, Moses Golola, you’ll know this line belongs in the Hall of Fame of Ugandan Quotables. The audience lost it. Cheers, laughter, and even a few confused murmurs like, “Wait, what’s a mutongole again?”

When the Gas Cylinder Guy Went Full Musical

Just as we were recovering from the mutongole, the Gas Cylinder Candidate took the mic—and then did the unthinkable.

He broke into song.

Yes. Mid-debate. No beat, no warning, no mercy. Just him, the mic, and an off-key version of “Ghetto Youth.”

People reached for imaginary remotes to mute the moment. Someone behind me whispered, “Eh! Is it karaoke now?”

But wait—it gets better. As the gas notes fizzled out, he declared with presidential seriousness:

“I will give a free gas cylinder to every household in Kawempe North!”

People clapped. Some clapped in support. Some clapped in disbelief. And some clapped simply because they didn’t know what else to do. Democracy is wild.

 Enter: The Smooth-Talking Advocate

Then came the man of suits, syllables, and status: Luyimbazi Erias Nalukoola.

Before he even said a word, women in the crowd were already squealing like he was a pop star.

“I am an Advocate of the High Court of Uganda and all courts of judicature…”

He said it slowly, like honey dripping from a hot katogo.

“When I assume the seat of Member of Parliament, the constitutional amendment under Article 79…”

Pause. Eyebrow raise. Dramatic silence.

“I will legislate, ladies and gentlemen!”

The crowd melted. Somewhere, someone fainted over sheer vocabulary.

Then he dropped a mic-worthy line:

“Many youth in Kawempe are not only unemployed—they are unemployable!”

Ouch. That one hit like a tax increase.

The Real Drama: Question Time

Now came the tough part—Q&A. The moderator cleared his throat like a teacher about to announce surprise tests.

“In your view, what is the greatest development challenge facing Kawempe North?”

Magara Umar went first.

“Eh… Lack of health infrastructure.”

Simple. Safe. Short. He passed.

Then Mulumba Mathias grabbed the mic.

“Poverty! That’s why I created Ekikumi kya Doola! Every person should have at least 100 dollars!”

 100 dollars? Sir, in this economy? You’re either a dreamer or a magician. But hey, give him points for optimism.

And then… Moses Nsereko. The man. The myth. The piggy bank prophet.

“Yes sir! Yes sir!” he responded eagerly, like a student who read the wrong chapter.

The moderator repeated the question.

“There are so many, sir… But the first one is… EMYAALA! EMPYAALA!”

He shouted like he had just discovered the cure to corruption.

“Poverty! Poverty! Poverty!”

He then raised his wooden piggy bank!

At this point, the audience didn’t know whether to cheer, cry, or break into praise and worship. But one thing was clear: Kawempe North had spoken—and English had tried its very best to survive.

THE FINAL BLOW: When English Waved A White Flag

By the time the final question was thrown into the linguistic boxing ring, the moderator looked like a man rethinking all his life decisions. Was this what he went to school for? To referee an English match between ambition and confusion?

With the calmness of a priest before chaos, he asked:

“What is your understanding of the word appropriations?”

Silence.

Nsereko Moses, the People's Piggy Banker, blinked twice.

“I beg your pardon, sir?” he replied, like a man who had just been asked to spell ‘photosynthesis’ in reverse.

The moderator, clearly suppressing a scream, simplified:

“The role of an MP is to pass laws…”

Nsereko nodded aggressively.

“Ah yes, yes! To represent the people! To pass... roles… that govern the country.”

I winced.

Ladies and gentlemen, roles were passed. Grammar was not.

Somewhere in the distance, a dictionary caught fire.

Let’s be clear—appropriations are about deciding how the government slices up the national cake. Money for hospitals, roads, schools, defense—you name it. But at this point in the debate, even if someone had defined it properly, the piggy bank had already won hearts and minds.

THE BRIBE BOMBSHELL: Hospital Vs Honour

And then came the final question. The big one. The ethical earthquake.

“Would you accept a bribe to extend the government’s term if it meant a new hospital for Kawempe North?”

You could hear hearts beating. Or maybe that was just someone drumming on a jerrycan outside.

First up, Dr. Charles Rubagumya—polished, composed, ready for the anti-corruption medal.

He stood tall and declared:

“Our party is a party for change! We cannot be compromised. What I want is to remove President Museveni!”

BOOM! The crowd roared like someone had announced free WiFi for all. People stood up. Ululated. Even the camera shook with excitement.

And then, like a phoenix rising from a comedy skit…

Nsereko Moses.

“Yes, sir! Yes!” he jumped up, his voice already high on adrenaline.

“I cannot allow, sir! Even I can box the Speaker in that issue!”

Box the Speaker? Ladies and gentlemen, Parliament had officially turned into a kickboxing ring.

And just like that, he started shadowboxing an imaginary Speaker, ducking and jabbing like he was live on SuperSport. Punch left. Punch right. Knee bounce. Boda-boda bob and weave.

NUP President Robert Kyagulanyi (Bobi Wine) was spotted wiping tears of laughter.

At this point, I quietly walked away from my TV. Sweat on my brow. Confusion in my soul. A bemused smile on my face.

What had I just witnessed?

A debate? A drama? A stand-up comedy audition? Or the world’s first piggy bank-powered political movement?

Truth is, in Uganda, political debates are never just about vocabulary. No sir. They’re about vibes. It’s about how confidently you can fumble a sentence, how passionately you can shout "Poverty!", and how creatively you can promise gas cylinders while quoting Golola.

It’s not just about words. It’s about performance, personality, and pure, unfiltered Ugandan theatre.

And so, dear reader, if you ever wonder whether Uganda still has the best English speakers in Africa, just remember Kawempe North.

We may not pass appropriations, but we sure know how to pass vibes.

 

Music Review

 BEBE COOL: HATED, HEARD, AND STILL HERE

A New Song, A New Partner, and an Old Question: Is He Washed Out or Just Too Loud for Comfort?

By Joseph Batte

Ugandan music fans rarely sit on the fence when it comes to Bebe Cool. He is either celebrated as a pioneer, or dismissed as a loud, aging shadow of his former self. He trends almost as much for his opinions as for his music. And let’s be honest — in the social media age, sometimes people just love to hate.

But here’s the thing: Bebe Cool is still doing the work.

While others sit back and let their past glories fade into nostalgia, Bebe Cool keeps reinventing, collaborating, showing up, and — as seen in his new release with Joshua Baraka — still knows how to make the industry stop and listen.

🧨 The Big Collaboration: A Generational Collision

In his latest single, a silky, feel-good fusion with R&B star Joshua Baraka, Bebe Cool proves he’s not chasing trends — he’s shaping them. While critics murmur about whether he’s “past his prime,” this track shows he can still read the moment and elevate younger talent, not stifle it.

🎧 Song Review: Bebe Cool x Joshua Baraka –Cheque, A Collision of Legends and New Blood

When a giant meets a rising star, magic often happens — and this track is living proof.

In a song that blends Afrobeat warmth, R&B smoothness, and dancehall energy, Bebe Cool brings his trademark depth and charisma, while Joshua Baraka floats in with a buttery-smooth voice that wraps around the beat like silk. It’s a sound that’s both familiar and fresh, grounded in Ugandan music roots but polished for the global stage.

🔥 What Stands Out

• The Production: Slick and modern, yet not overproduced. The beat is infectious — a perfect blend of laid-back and danceable.

• Vocal Chemistry: Joshua’s soulful, youthful tone contrasts beautifully with Bebe Cool’s seasoned delivery. It’s like hearing two generations in harmony.

• Lyrics: Romantic without being cliché. Their lines flow easily, inviting listeners into a story of affection, desire, and mutual admiration.

• The Hook: Catchy and instantly memorable — the kind you hum even after the song ends.

💬 The Verdict

This collaboration is more than a musical experiment — it’s a passing of the torch. Bebe Cool shows he still has his finger on the pulse of modern sound, while Joshua Baraka proves he’s not just “next” — he’s already here.

Rating: ★★★★☆ (4.5/5)

🧠 Final Thought: The Problem with Standing Out

Bebe Cool doesn’t fit in. He doesn’t try to. He says what he wants. Dresses how he likes. Picks fights. Picks sides. Sometimes he's tone-deaf. Sometimes he's ahead of the curve. He’s political, and he’s petty. He’s brilliant, and he’s brash. He is all of these things — at once.

That unsettles people. Especially in a country where modesty is mistaken for virtue, and daring to shine too brightly is seen as arrogance.

But maybe — just maybe — Bebe Cool is hated not because he’s finished, but because he refuses to fade.

So no, he’s not washed out. He’s just not done yet.

And that, right there, is what makes him matter.

State of the Arts Uganda
Music Reviews | Honest Voices | Ugandan Sounds

Music Review

Meet Uganda's Music-bred Politicians

By Joseph Batte

In Uganda, the microphone isn’t just a tool for belting out love songs or hyping up crowds — it’s a low-key stepping stone to political power. Forget door-to-door campaigns or endless village rallies. Here, a viral hit and a stage name might just be all the manifesto you need.

Welcome to the Pearl of Africa, where beats and ballots dance in perfect sync, and some of our most colorful MPs started off on literal stages — not the metaphorical ones. In this country, you’re as likely to hear a parliamentary debate from a former crooner as you are to hear “order, honourable member!” from someone who once wore sequined pants and led a conga line at Ange Mystique.

Let’s meet the artists-turned-honourables who swapped autotune for amendments, turning choruses into constitutions.

WASWA BIRIGWA: The Crooner Who Swapped the Mic for a Manifesto

Before he was shaking hands with diplomats and presiding over opposition party meetings, Waswa Birigwa was simply Rocky — Uganda’s smoothest musical export. With a voice that could calm screaming babies and convince boda boda riders to pay full fare, Birigwa was the velvet-wrapped heartthrob our aunties still sigh about.

He sang alongside legends like Tonny Senkebejje and Moses Matovu in the Cranes Band — the precursor to the mighty Afrigo Band. Listen to his his ballad Joy Tonyiiga. It didn’t just melt hearts — it owned them. Even Philly Bongole Lutaaya tipped his musical hat. The man was a certified vibe.

Then, plot twist: Rocky packed up his stage swag and jetted off to the U.S. — not to chase Hollywood dreams, but to study at the New England Conservatory of Music.Later while his peers chased groupies and gold records, Birigwa caught the political bug. Maybe it was the cold Boston weather, or maybe the choir boy in him just heard destiny humming.

Back in Uganda, he didn’t come bearing a new album — no auto-tuned comeback single. Instead, he ran for Lord Mayor of Kampala, clashing with political characters like Hajji Nasser Ntege Ssebagala. He didn’t win, but charm doesn’t go to waste — it just changes uniforms.

He became Uganda’s Ambassador to Japan and Ethiopia, trading in concert tours for cocktail receptions and national interests. By 2015, the choirboy from Nnabagereka Primary had become the national chairman of FDC — proof that sometimes, the road from soul singer to soul-searching political figure is only a chorus away.

PETER SEMATIMBA: The Politician Who Danced to His Own Beat

Now here’s a man who could’ve been cast in Thriller if only MJ had known about Kabuusu. Before he became Hon. Peter Sematimba, he was Uganda’s unofficial Minister of Swagger — moonwalking in leather pants, and mixing beats with the precision of a microwave timer.

When he returned from the U.S. in 1993, Sematimba didn’t just bring back jeans and a twang. He returned with a mission to remix Uganda’s music industry. He launched Dungeon Studios — the lab where dreams were sonically engineered. Add in Super FM (his own radio station), some hit songs, and the confidence of ten men, and you had a one-man entertainment mogul.

Sematimba was Uganda’s answer to Puff Daddy, only with a dash of Bakisimba and a Bible verse. But even that wasn’t enough. The man wanted to lead — not just playlists, but people.

So in 2006, he took off the headphones, dusted off his manifesto, and ran for Lord Mayor of Kampala. Spoiler alert: Ssebagala outmaneuvered him. But like a true entertainer, he knew that every flop is just a setup for a big comeback.

He tried again in 2011, but the electorate preferred Erias Lukwago’s style of politics over Peter’s polished shoes and on-air charm. Still, Sematimba wasn’t done dancing. In 2016, he pulled off the political moonwalk of the decade, winning the Busiro South parliamentary seat under the NRM ticket.

SALIM UHURU: From Drumming Beats to Political Feats

If there’s one Ugandan politician who can say he quite literally marched to the beat of his own drum, it’s none other than His Worship Salim Uhuru Nsubuga — Kampala Central’s rhythmic mayor and certified vibe curator.

Before the suits and council meetings, young Uhuru was just a kid with magic in his hands. At Buganda Road Primary School, he wasn’t solving algebra — he was solving rhythm. His weapon of choice? The long drum, engalabi. At national music festivals at the National Theatre, crowds were spellbound by this “Arab boy” who handled traditional drums like they were an extension of his heartbeat.

But drums were just the beginning. Uhuru soon swapped engalabi for guitar strings and hit the road — quite literally — forming a dance troupe called The Scorpions with none other than Joseph Kabila (yes, that Joseph Kabila, the future president of DR Congo). Picture this: two dreamers, one Congolese and one Ugandan, tearing up the stage at Club Clouds on Nasser Road. They danced, they dazzled, they probably split a Rolex afterward — and somehow, both ended up leading very different nations. Beat that.

In 2021, Uhuru returned to the spotlight — this time with a ballot box in place of a bongo. As NUP’s red wave crashed through urban Uganda, he stood tall under the NRM flag and declared, “Let’s dance.” And dance he did — right into office with over 13,000 votes, beating his closest rival by more than 3,000.

It wasn’t just a win — it was a masterstroke. A campaign fueled not by empty promises but by a lifetime of connecting with people. From stage lights to streetlights, from drum rolls to serving pilawo at his Uhuru Restaurant, Uhuru has shown that when you understand the people’s rhythm, even the wildest political tune can become your jam.

HON. CONNIE GALIWANGO NAKAYENZE: The Kadodi Queen Who Took Parliament by Storm

Before she made policy, Hon. Connie Galiwango Nakayenze made noise — the good kind. The kind that echoed through Mbale’s hills and made crowds get up and move. The kind that made you ask, “Banange, what’s thundering in Mbale?”

Spoiler alert: it was Connie.

Her journey began with gospel harmonies in Nkoma Church of Uganda, where her warm alto voice first found the spotlight. But church was just the warm-up. The real show began when she teamed up with her sister Cate Kiisa and the late Phillip Massa to make history: Mbale’s first-ever kadodi album.

The result? A cultural earthquake called Kyiina Kyagulire eMbale? — a thunderous blend of tradition, pride, and pure sonic energy. This wasn’t just music; it was a movement. Connie wasn’t just riding the rhythm — she was the rhythm.

And just like any good kadodi procession, she didn’t stop marching. She took that same electric presence from the stage to the floor of Parliament. Running under the NRM banner, she was elected as the woman MP for Mbale District, trading tambourines for tables of legislation.

In Parliament, she hasn’t missed a beat. Whether chairing the Committee on Education & Sports or tackling HIV/AIDS policy, Connie’s voice still carries power — only now, instead of rallying dancers, she’s rallying lawmakers.

HON. GEOFFREY KAYEMBA SSOLO: From Behind the Spotlight to Political Front Lines

Some politicians are born into privilege. Hon. Geoffrey Kayemba Ssolo? He was born into hustle — and then leveled up. Before he became the Shadow Minister of Sports, he was a cleaner at Mulago Hospital, scrubbing floors so he could stay in school. No silver spoons, just grit, grind, and maybe a mop.

But Kayemba had the heart of a dreamer. And in 2005, he kicked open the doors to Uganda’s music industry — not as a singer, but as the guy who made things happen in the background. He started off as a marketer at DCL Studio, where he quickly proved he had both the ears and the brains for the business.

While others were chasing fame, Kayemba was building stars. Through his agency, Just Fine, he helped shape the careers of some of Uganda’s biggest names — Rema Namakula, David Lutalo, Dr. Hilderman. If Uganda’s pop charts had a puppeteer, it was probably him, pulling the strings from the shadows.

But the spotlight has a funny way of catching up with you — especially when you’re this good. In 2021, Kayemba stepped into the arena himself, running for the Bukomansimbi South parliamentary seat under the NUP ticket. And he didn’t just win — he arrived.

Today, he’s using his seat in Parliament to champion youth empowerment and talent development, proving that you don’t have to be the one on stage to make history. You can be the one writing the script — or better yet, the law.

HON. DR. BALAAM BARUGAHARE: From Mega Promoter to Minister of Youth Affairs

If you’ve ever danced your shoes off at a major concert in Uganda, chances are Dr. Balaam Barugahare Ateenyi had something to do with it. Known to fans, friends, and foes simply as Balaam, this entertainment mogul is the human equivalent of a backstage pass — always present, always pulling the strings.

As CEO of the Balaam Group of Companies, he built an empire spanning concerts, media, real estate, and hospitality. But before he was coordinating fleets of trucks and sound towers, Balaam was deep in the trenches of music promotion. He wasn’t just planning shows — he was scripting Uganda’s pop culture history, booking continental legends like Kanda Bongo Man and launching local artists into the stratosphere.

It turns out, the same skills used to hype a show — rallying crowds, charming sponsors, fixing last-minute chaos — translate rather well into politics. So well, in fact, that in March 2024, President Museveni handed Balaam a new gig: State Minister for Children and Youth Affairs. From managing egos in green rooms to managing ministries, Balaam hasn’t missed a beat.

Now, he’s turning his knack for logistics and people-wrangling into policy. He’s pushing youth empowerment, creative industry funding, and employment opportunities. Proof that if you can manage backstage drama, Parliament is just another stage — with more neckties and fewer smoke machines.

HON. JUDITH BABIRYE: The Gospel Songbird Who Found Her Voice in Politics

When Judith Babirye sings, angels don’t just listen — they take notes. With a voice drenched in soul and scripture, she became one of Uganda’s most beloved gospel artists, her melodies both balm and battle cry.

But long before she filled arenas with praise, Babirye was already penning anthems for Ndejje and Iganga Secondary Schools. Even then, her mission was clear: uplift, inspire, and leave people better than she found them. Her 2006 breakout single Beera Nange wasn’t just a hit — it was a spiritual lightning bolt that won Best Gospel Single at the Pearl of Africa Music Awards.

She followed it with more gospel fire: Wambatira, Maama, Omusaayi Gwa Yesu — songs that filled churches, airwaves, and probably your auntie’s Sunday playlist.

Then in 2016, Judith tuned her voice to a different key: politics. Elected as Buikwe District Woman MP, she brought her compassion from the pulpit to the parliamentary floor. Her gospel gift became a political superpower — she spoke for families, championed women’s rights, and offered a rare blend of faith, feeling, and fierce advocacy.

DR. HILDERMAN: The Musician Who Earned His Stripes on Stage and in Parliament

Dr. Hilderman — or if you’re feeling formal, Kiyaga Hillary Innocent — knows his way around both a stage and a strategy paper. Known for crafting catchy hits with clever lyrics and social grit, he first won over fans with songs like Mukama Wali, Campus Gal, and the cheeky anthem Double Bed Mazongoto. But while fans danced, critics dismissed him as just another flashy hit maker.

How wrong they were.

Hilderman is a first-class Performing Arts graduate from Makerere University — a far cry from your average auto-tuned celebrity. He even turned down a scholarship to Strathmore University in Nairobi, choosing instead to stay close to home and earn a postgraduate diploma in leadership management. Yes — leadership management. The man was clearly plotting something beyond bangers.

In 2021, he made the leap — running for and winning the Mawokota North Constituency seat under the NUP flag. Now, instead of hyping crowds at concerts, he’s hyping legislation in Parliament — using the same storytelling flair that once made fans sing along.

HON. RACHAEL MAGOOLA: The Voice Behind the Hits and a Champion for Bugweri

If Uganda had a national feel-good song, it would probably be Obangaina. And if there’s a voice that can make even the grumpiest uncle smile and sway, it’s Rachael Magoola’s.

Before she became Bugweri District’s Women’s Representative, Rachael was already a national treasure — Afro-pop royalty, Afrigo Band darling, and lyrical trailblazer. Her story begins in a disciplined, music-filled home led by her father Nicholas Magoola, a music teacher who saw in his daughter not just talent but tenacity.

Rachael joined school choirs, jammed at home, and even got expelled from Tororo Girls School for performing with a band during holidays — the first documented case of being too talented for your own good.

But the girl was unstoppable. She studied at Namasagali College, trained as a music and language teacher at Kaliro TTC, taught at Namasagali, then earned a degree from Kyambogo University — all while keeping the music alive.

In 2021, she took the microphone of public service, becoming an NRM MP. She now champions arts, education, and women's empowerment from the floor of Parliament. Whether she’s debating bills or performing at a cultural festival, Magoola’s goal is the same: elevate her people — and never forget the music.

HON. GEOFFREY LUTAAYA: From Musical Maestro to Political Powerhouse

Few Ugandan musicians have aged like fine wine—and Geoffrey Lutaaya is bottled vintage. For over two decades, his velvet voice has been the soundtrack of weddings, heartbreaks, school dances, and more than a few tear-soaked taxi rides.

With a knack for love ballads and duets that could melt even the coldest heart, Lutaaya didn’t just make music—he built a movement. But he didn’t stop at topping charts. With savvy business instincts sharper than a guitar pick, he turned his fame into fortune, becoming one of Uganda’s wealthiest and most stable musical exports.

Then, in 2021, he swapped music studios for parliamentary chambers and was elected MP for Kakuuto County. But don’t worry—he didn’t hang up his mic. Hon. Lutaaya still sings his heart out when he’s not raising motions in Parliament. His fans didn’t lose a musician—they gained a singing legislator. Who says politics can’t have a soundtrack?

HON. KATO LUBWAMA: The Man Who Lived Many Lives

Kato Lubwama was never just one thing. He was a dramatist, comedian, singer, radio tornado, and politician. In other words: Uganda’s own one-man entertainment industry. If you saw a crowd laughing in the 90s or early 2000s, chances are Kato was nearby causing the ruckus.

From the theatre stage with hits like Tofumita Bindaazi to morning radio shows that felt like breakfast therapy, he had a gift for turning truth into laughter. Then, because apparently five careers weren’t enough, he ran for Parliament in 2016 and won the Rubaga South seat. The jokes got fewer, but the fire didn’t fade.

Kato was blunt, bold, and brilliant. He called out hypocrisy with a grin and spoke for the common man—loudly. Sadly, in 2023, he passed on, leaving behind reruns, memories, and a reminder that sometimes, the best politicians are the ones who made us laugh hardest.

BOBI WINE: From Rebel Rhythms to Political Revolution

Once a ghetto superstar, now a global symbol of resistance—Bobi Wine (aka Robert Kyagulanyi) needs no introduction. His music wasn’t just catchy—it was conscious. A mix of reggae, dancehall, and rebellion, his hits like Kyarenga, Freedom, and Tuliyambala Engule weren’t just bangers—they were political thunderclaps.

When he entered Parliament in 2017, skeptics rolled their eyes. But by 2021, when he challenged President Museveni for Uganda’s top seat, no one was laughing. Wearing his iconic red beret, Bobi Wine became a walking revolution, a voice for the voiceless, and a nightmare for the establishment.

He didn’t win the presidency (yet), but he won hearts, headlines, and a permanent place in Uganda’s political history.

WHO’S NEXT? STAY TUNED...

The mic-to-parliament trend isn’t cooling anytime soon. King Saha is warming up his vocal cords and his campaign strategy. Nina Roz and Flavia Namulindwa are also making moves—because apparently, fame isn’t fulfilling unless you’ve tried politics too.

So, next time you see a pop star dropping a “message track” or posting a suspiciously polished campaign photo, don’t be surprised—they might just be tuning up for a political debut.

After all, in Uganda, the line between the stage and the state is thinner than a guitar string.