“Ompinga” — The Whispered Sentence of Silent Dislike

 

 

By Isaac Christopher Lubogo

Introduction: When Rejection Is Spoken Without Words

 

Luganda, unlike many languages, doesn’t roar—it breathes. It doesn’t wage war with words—it wounds with tone. One of its most disarming weapons is a three-syllable sigh that doesn’t need punctuation to pierce: “Ompinga.”

 

Phonetically spoken as:

[Om-PEENG-ah]

 

Soft. Almost musical. Yet it bears the weight of betrayal.

 

“Ompinga” is not an outright insult. It is not screamed, written in uppercase, or delivered with fists. Instead, it slips from the tongue as a casual remark—yet it buries itself deep in the listener’s chest.

 

It means, in essence:

 

> “You silently despise me—I can feel it.”

“You don’t like me, but you’re pretending.”

“You’re uncomfortable with me, and I’m not sure why.”

 

No need for confrontation. No need for drama. Just a heavy quietness in someone’s presence—and the deep, aching knowledge that they’re no longer with you.

 

Etymology of Pain: From Open Conflict to Subtle Coldness

 

The verb “okupinga” doesn’t appear prominently in Luganda dictionaries. It is not taught in grammar school. And yet, it is as real in our homes as the smell of posho and the echo of gospel radios. It’s born not from formal speech—but from street philosophy, from lived emotion, from people who don’t know how to fight with fists but know how to wound with withdrawal.

 

“Ompinga” is not about physical violence. It’s not, “You hit me”.

It’s emotional exile.

It’s when a person no longer attacks you—they simply evaporate their affection.

 

It is not heard in courtrooms or parliaments—but in WhatsApp statuses, in the silence after someone walks in, in the way people don’t clap at your wins.

 

A close friend stops replying to your messages. You say,

 

> “Nze mmanyi, ompinga.”

(“I know it—you ompinga me.”)

 

You host a celebration, but a sibling gives excuses. You feel it.

 

> “Buli lwe nkola ekintu, w’olekera ddala ompinga.”

(“Whenever I achieve something, that’s when you pull away—you definitely ompinga me.”)

 

A colleague smiles but never supports your work.

 

> “Togamba… naye ompinga.”

(“You say nothing—but you ompinga me.”)

 

And in every context, it stings deeper than open hatred.

Why?

Because enemies fight you out loud. But the one who ompinga-s you hugs you while bleeding you emotionally.

 

The Human Need for Affection—and the Fear of Silent Disapproval

 

Human beings, whether extroverted or not, have a simple longing: To be liked. To be seen. To be clapped for.

 

We may not admit it, but we ache for connection. We want someone to say, “Well done.” We want our presence to be welcome—not merely tolerated.

 

“Ompinga” is what happens when someone denies you that connection—without explanation.

 

You walk into a room and feel it:

The energy dips.

Your voice suddenly feels unnecessary.

Your joy seems like noise to others.

 

You ask yourself:

 

> “Kiki kye nnakola?”

(“What did I do?”)

 

But no one replies. Because ompinga is not confrontational.

It doesn’t seek answers.

It just withdraws warmth.

 

This is why it wounds: You are disliked without being heard. Disapproved of without trial. Punished without crime.

 

To the One Who Feels Disliked Without Reason

 

Maybe you’ve entered rooms and felt invisible.

Maybe your promotions were met with suspicious silence.

Maybe your laughter seemed too loud for the people who once called you “family.”

Maybe you’ve had to ask yourself, “Did I offend by succeeding?”

 

Let me say it for you: Yes. They ompinga you.

But that is not your fault.

 

Some people won’t say it—but they can’t stand your light.

You’re not doing too much.

They’re just doing too little, and your existence reminds them of that.

 

So let them pull away.

Let them exile themselves.

 

The sun doesn’t stop rising just because a few people find it too bright.

 

To the One Who Ompinga-s Others

 

And if you, reading this, are the one silently distancing yourself from someone…

 

Ask yourself:

 

> When did their laughter become your irritation?

When did their name start tasting sour in your mouth?

When did their happiness start making you uncomfortable?

 

Could it be that their light simply exposes your unhealed shadows?

 

Then maybe it’s not about them.

Maybe it’s about you.

 

If someone’s success pains you—reflect.

If someone’s joy offends you—pause.

If someone’s presence feels too loud—it may be because your own voice has grown too quiet.

 

Deal with your bitterness. Don’t serve it behind smiles.

Ompinga is not harmless. It’s emotional sabotage.

It is envy dressed in etiquette.

It is hatred wearing Vaseline and pearls.

 

> “Do not kill people with kindness while feeding them quiet contempt.”

“Do not hug with arms while your spirit curses.”

 

Because ompinga is spiritual hypocrisy.

 

Conclusion: Let’s Name This Poison and Heal

 

We live in an era of curated civility—where “my dear” can mean “I hope you fall,” and “congratulations” is whispered through gritted teeth.

 

But we can’t heal what we don’t name.

 

Let us talk about the moments we feel discarded.

Let us question the friendships that have cooled without cause.

Let us be brave enough to say:

 

> “I feel like you ompinga me. Can we talk?”

 

And if it’s true, let’s either fix it—or leave honestly.

 

No more plastic friendships.

No more spiritual witchcraft disguised as diplomacy.

No more pretending.

 

Because one day, someone will break under the weight of your quiet “ompinga”—and when they’re gone, your silence will become your guilt.

 

So:

 

If I’ve wronged you—tell me.

If I shine too brightly—dim your comparison, not my light.

And if you must ompinga me—do it with clarity.

Or better still?

Don’t.

 

Suigeneris.

 

Where words do not hide what the soul feels. Where we speak what we mean, and mean what heals.