From Grease to Greatness: The Reinvention of Hon. David Livingstone Zijjan

 

By Isaac Christopher Lubogo

I. The Man Who Refused to Stay Small

 

In the heart of Busoga, under the blistering sun and the hard shadow of poverty, rose a young boy with cracked heels, oil-stained fingernails, and the scent of mechanical grease baked into his palms.

His name? David Livingstone Zijjan.

But destiny would one day call him Honourable—not by accident, but by fire.

 

He wasn’t born on a podium.

He was born in the dust.

Not with applause, but with echoes of struggle.

 

In a village called Kikuuku, where boys grew up fast or not at all, Zijjan didn’t wait for fate.

He met it.

And he wrestled it.

II. When the Altar Called a Mechanic

 

I remember the day vividly—standing on the pulpit of Wairaka Zion Miracle Centre, I saw a young man in overalls step forward, hesitant but burning inside.

 

He wasn’t holding a Bible.

He was holding brokenness.

I handed him the microphone.

 

That day, a preacher was born—not from seminary, but from sincerity.

 

Zijjan told me stories that stunned the congregation.

He once had over twenty jiggers dug from his feet.

He preached barefoot not for style, but because his feet were healing—literally and spiritually.

 

III. The Five Million Test: When Integrity Echoes Louder Than Sermons

 

He told me of his spiritual mother—a compassionate German missionary from Youth With A Mission—who once handed him five million shillings for safekeeping.

 

She forgot.

For five years, she never asked.

Zijjan never reminded.

 

Until one day, she mentioned it in passing.

Without hesitation, he brought back every coin.

 

Not a shilling lost.

Not a secret held.

Because men like Zijjan are wealthy in trust long before they’re wealthy in things.

 

IV. The Shorts-Wearing Scholar: Where Ego Died and Destiny Lived

 

What do you call a man who had already built a name, earned success, gained national influence—but still returned to Senior Three wearing shorts, seated next to teenagers young enough to be his children?

 

I call him a lion in humility’s skin.

 

Zijjan re-entered school from scratch, not because he had failed, but because he refused to be limited.

 

> “To lead with honour,” he said once, “you must be willing to start where others mock you.”

 

And so he toiled.

Not once—but twice.

 

He passed his Mature Entry Exam to Makerere University before he even sat Senior Six.

And yet, he still went ahead to sit UACE.

And passed again.

 

This made him eligible for admission on full merit—twice:

 

At Makerere University,

 

At two other private universities,

 

All for Law.

 

V. The Left-Handed Genius of Busoga

 

Call him a preacher.

Call him a businessman.

Call him a counsellor, philanthropist, or parliamentarian.

 

But above all, call him a reformed force—a man who reinvented himself from the ashes of hardship into a national benchmark.

 

He told me, through tears and laughter, how his mother Mama Nakisuyi once took him to see the corpse of a notorious village criminal.

Out of righteous fury, she picked a stick and began caning the dead body.

 

Zijjan, shocked, leaned in and whispered:

 

> “Maama, I understand the anger this man caused the village…

But maybe some of his accomplices are watching.”

 

That day, he didn’t just learn fear.

He learned discernment.

 

VI. From Kikuuku to Global Classrooms

 

Zijjan today boasts of over three professional degrees from globally acclaimed universities.

 

He speaks not from privilege, but from process.

 

He’s not just a Member of Parliament—

He is a movement.

A Busoga emblem.

A metaphor for what self-made truly means.

 

 

VII. The Blueprint for Rising Without a Godfather

 

Zijjan didn’t inherit a legacy.

He built one.

 

He was not connected to power.

He connected his purpose to God.

 

He didn’t wear suits before earning shoes.

He didn’t get televised before being terrorised by real struggle.

 

He went from:

 

Handy boy to honourable.

 

Garage grease to graduation gowns.

 

Bended knees in prayer to upright policy in Parliament.

 

 

VIII. Why Zijjan Matters

 

In a Uganda flooded with shortcuts and noise, Zijjan is proof that consistency is still a superpower.

 

In a Parliament filled with ambition, he walks in as a finished product of patience.

 

And to the sons of Busoga?

He is a walking syllabus.

Not of entitlement—but of effort.

 

IX. Conclusion: The Resurrection of a Nation Lies in Men Like Him

 

Zijjan’s life is a sermon,

a university,

a campaign,

and a compass.

 

He is a man who didn’t just change clothes—he changed layers of himself.

 

He is not simply left-handed.

He is right-hearted.

 

He didn’t just rise.

He rose with ethics.

 

And to every boy in a workshop, every girl in a forgotten school, every dropout afraid to return—let Zijjan remind you:

 

> You’re not too late.

You’re not too broken.

And you’re not too small to be great.