By: Isaac Christopher Lubogo
In every generation, there arises a voice—not just a man, not just a woman—but a voice so piercing, so rich in tone, wit, and wisdom that nations pause. A voice that does not merely echo across podiums but resonates within the marrow of our consciousness. In Uganda’s long and troubled search for clarity amidst confusion, truth amidst tyranny, and purpose amidst populism—such voices have not been many. But when history calls the roll of great orators, it shall surely thunder the name Dr. Nabwiso, side by side with the golden tongues of Dr. Apollo Milton Obote, Salamu Musumba, Bishop Bamwoze, Medard Sseggona, Andrew Mwenda, Kizza Besigye, Joel Ssenyonyi, Ibrahim Ssemujju Nganda, Isaac Ssemakadde Jacob Olanya, Aggrey Awori, Daniel Ruheza, Samson Ekweyo, Rev. Dr. Grimes, Yoweri Kaguta Museveni (of 1986), Basoga Nsadhu, and the unforgettably enigmatic Babu.
But among them, it is Dr. Nabwiso whose charm dances between intellect and mischief, between gravity and comic rebellion, whose voice does not merely speak—but enters your bloodstream like an ancestral rhythm, irresistible and permanent.
An Opening Like No Other
On that fateful day, Dr. Nabwiso stood before a restless sea of eyes and minds. The room was as usual—half-expectant, half-fatigued—until he told us a story. A story so wild, so politically incorrect, yet so masterfully calibrated for maximum psychological disarmament.
> “There was once a young African man, brilliant and angry. Angry at colonialism. Angry at history. Angry at the long tail of white domination. He went to England, to study law—not just to study law but to avenge history with a degree in jurisprudence. But vengeance is a strange thing… one day, this man seduced a beautiful Caucasian girl. And after an intimate escapade of great delight, he returned to his African friends, lifted his arms and shouted, ‘I have done it! I have made the white man pay!’”
And in that moment—the audience exploded in thunderous laughter, not because of the shock value, but because Nabwiso had touched a dark part of our collective psychology with light and irony. With that story, he unlocked a thousand years of trauma and offered a healing pill wrapped in mischief. He did not just deliver a speech—he commandeered our inner theatre.
Why Dr. Nabwiso Matters
Dr. Nabwiso spoke not from notes, but from the soul. He is not a mere conveyor of facts; he is a blacksmith of words, hammering every sentence until it glows with wisdom and dances with memory. His presence is not oratory—it is ritual. When he speaks, you do not just listen; you remember.
He is part of a sacred order of fire-breathers—those whose words did not entertain, but stirred revolutions of mind and heart. Who could forget Bishop Bamwoze’s scriptural eloquence or Andrew Mwenda’s machine-gun logic? Who can ignore Besigye’s unwavering tone, Nganda’s sharp-tongued honesty, or Babu’s wild populist theatre? But Nabwiso brings something else—a soft but ruthless humour, an intelligent rage, and above all, the capacity to unify pain and poetry.
More Than Entertainment—This Is Mentorship
These men and women—through radio waves, pulpits, courtrooms, and street megaphones—have raised a generation of thinkers, rebels, believers, and doers. Their tongues have mentored. Their diction has discipled. Their cadence has coached a new army of souls—Souls who now believe they too have a voice.
And among these mentors, Dr. Nabwiso sat not as a performer but as a professor of public emotion—reminding us that humour is also prophecy, and storytelling is also justice.
The Philosophy of the Anecdote
Some may say the story was crude. Others may say it crossed lines. But real or fictitious, it did what no textbook could do. It spoke to the burden of memory, to the complexity of vengeance, and to the absurd theatre that is post-colonial trauma. It broke the silence. It burned the mask. And in doing so—it educated.
Great orators don’t just give you information. They give you yourself.
And that’s what Dr. Nabwiso did—he returned us to our laughter, our wounded dignity, and above all, our shared African awkwardness at how to forgive a history that never apologised.
In Honour of the Firekeepers
To the Dr. Nabwisos of our land, to the voices that dare, that stir, that awaken, we say—thank you. Your mouths have carried the torches that our hands feared to lift. Your metaphors have become monuments in our memory. You did not just speak—you built nations out of syntax and souls out of syllables.
Let future generations know:
> Uganda did not lack voices.
Uganda only needed ears bold enough to listen.
And in that theatre of souls, Dr. Nabwiso will stand—smiling, fearless, and forever unforgettable.
In conclusion:
A Sad Contrast: When Orators Faded and Entertainers Took Over
But how far we have fallen.
For even as we celebrate the firebrands of yesterday, we must mourn the silence of today—a silence not born of absence, but of noise. For what we have now is not speech. It is spectacle. Not depth—but dancing. Not the cadence of conviction—but the choreography of confusion.
Today, it seems, to become a Member of Parliament, you need not master the art of argument or the weight of a nation’s dream—you only need a good TikTok filter, a catchy slogan, and a wiggle on stage.
Where once the podium trembled under the power of Nabwiso’s storytelling, it now hosts clowns who wave and shout “Oyee!” without a single coherent policy thought. The campaign trail has been replaced with comedy sketches. Intelligence is out; “influencer vibes” are in.
> If you can mimic Museveni’s voice,
or parody Bobi Wine’s walk,
or even twerk to a trending beat,
you just might win a parliamentary seat.
And so, we now vote not for those who speak truth to power, but for those who amuse us. The line between governance and entertainment has been blurred beyond recognition.
Where is the modern Nabwiso who commands with wisdom?
Where is the Obote who dissected economic ideologies in fluent prose?
Where is the Salamu Musumba who could silence a crowd with a single line?
Instead, we have MPs whose speeches are captioned for TikTok and whose debates are no more than Instagram lives with shouting matches. We have reduced national discourse to a circus—and crowned jesters as ministers.
And yet—we cheer them on.
Our parliaments are now arenas of antics. Our national addresses feel like open mic nights. When did we exchange the power of words for the parody of performance?
⚖️ Let the Spirit of Nabwiso Reawaken Us
We must not forget: A nation that laughs at everything soon forgets how to cry for the important things.
Let us remember Dr. Nabwiso not just for his brilliance, but for what he represents—a time when speech was sacred, when words mattered, when the microphone was a sword and a scalpel.
Let us demand more than a dance. More than a dab. More than a viral moment. Let us call back the fire.
Let us insist that to lead Uganda, you must do more than entertain her.
You must understand her. Defend her. Speak for her. Bleed for her.
Only then will the spirit of Nabwiso rise again—and the theatre of ideas will once more be greater than the theatre of the absurd.