Since July 2025, I have been chasing what should have been a simple appointment with a public officer. What unfolded in the process is not just my story; it is a mirror of what many Ugandans experience daily when they try to access public services.
The officer in question gave me an appointment for the second week of August. I arrived on time 10:00 a.m. sharp, ready to meet him. He was not in the office. Fair enough, schedules sometimes change. So I asked his assistant for a way to follow up directly. “Not allowed,” came the answer.
I pressed further: “At least give me his official contacts.” The response was the same. I turned to the institution’s website. Nothing.
I sent multiple emails. Silence. Out of persistence, I physically returned to the office on another day only to be told the officer had travelled.
This is the everyday reality of Ugandans who depend on public institutions for permits, clearances, licenses, or even guidance. The system makes you feel invisible, like you are knocking on a door that no one ever intends to open.
The problem is not a lack of competence or technology. It is a culture, a culture of hiding behind “privacy” while the taxpayer is left stranded.
No one is asking for a public officer’s personal WhatsApp number. We are asking for official channels of communication that actually work, an email address that gets a reply, a phone number that is picked up, and a contact person who takes responsibility.
Instead, the public service often acts as if accessibility is a privilege, not a duty. Yet, the very salaries that sustain this “privacy” are paid by the taxpayer.
I do not care how many degrees a public officer holds or how difficult their job is. At the bare minimum, show up, meet people, and pretend to care. Accessibility is not charity; it is governance in action.
Some of us in the private sector survive on faith that public officers will do their part of the bargain. That small hope is what allows us to keep investing, building, and contributing to the economy.
When officers shut the door, literally and figuratively, they crush not just an individual’s plan but the collective spirit of entrepreneurship.
Uganda cannot transform if its public service remains locked away behind assistants who say “not allowed” and websites that never update. Privacy is personal. Service is public. And those who choose public office must choose the side of service.
The solution is not complex:
- Publish official contact information and ensure it is accurate and up-to-date.
- Respond to emails.
- Keep appointments or communicate changes early.
- Remember that behind every file and request is a person whose livelihood depends on timely service.
Are you an entrepreneur in Uganda? What has been your experience with public offices?
Because if we remain silent, nothing changes. But if we speak and demand accountability, maybe one day public service will truly mean service to the public.
Mr. Strategy
