Leased for Life: The Comedy-Tragedy of Generational Debt

By Isaac Christopher Lubogo

There is a point in life when you realise that the pen you use to sign a loan agreement is actually a magic wand. The moment you sign, poof!—your future disappears into the custody of the bank. It’s not a sale; it’s a lease. And you are the leased property.

The salesman calls it “flexible repayment”. The bank calls it “asset financing”. Your grandmother calls it “selling your soul”. And she’s not entirely wrong—except in the modern version, you don’t just sell your soul, you sell your unborn grandchildren’s souls too, complete with interest compounded quarterly.

The Marriage You Can’t Divorce

Loans are like that strange uncle who comes to stay for a weekend but never leaves. You start with enthusiasm—“It’s only five years!”—and somewhere along the way, you realise it’s actually five years, renewable upon default, plus penalties, plus insurance you didn’t even know you signed for.

It’s a marriage without romance, where the “in sickness and in health” clause refers to the health of the bank’s profit margin, not yours.

The Hereditary Handcuffs

Some debts are so long-term they should come with a will.

> “To my beloved son, I leave you the house, the land, and the remaining 17 years of loan repayments. Cherish them well.”

And because banks think in centuries, not lifetimes, your children find themselves making monthly payments for a house they were born in, grew up in, and never fully owned. By the time they are done, their own children are applying for student loans to study how not to get into debt—funded, of course, by another loan.

The International Drama

Countries do it too. Uganda borrows from the IMF to pay off the World Bank, then borrows from China to pay the IMF, then borrows from Eurobond investors to pay China. It’s like watching someone pour water from one leaking bucket into another and wondering why the floor is still wet.

We don’t just lease our lives; we mortgage our sovereignty, with repayment schedules written in geopolitics instead of shillings.

The Humor That Isn’t Funny

If you’ve ever noticed, banks are the only places where you can walk in broke, walk out broke, and still owe them money. And the way they smile when you sign the papers? You’d think they’re handing you freedom, but in reality, it’s a beautifully wrapped set of invisible handcuffs.

Even worse, they give you a loan officer—your own personal parole officer—whose job is to “check in” to make sure you’re not planning an escape.

The Exit That Doesn’t Exist

The tragedy is, for many, this “lease for life” isn’t just about a house or car—it’s about surviving. School fees, medical emergencies, even funerals—life’s inevitable bills that arrive uninvited and without budget.

And because salaries rarely grow as fast as interest rates, you find yourself refinancing your refinance, consolidating your consolidations, until the only thing you own outright is your anxiety.

In the end, “leased for life” is not a slogan—it’s a diagnosis. We are a civilisation addicted to buying the future today, on the promise that tomorrow will be richer. The real joke? Tomorrow sends its regrets… and another bill.