Uganda at the World Cup Would Be a Spectacle of Fans, Not Football

If Uganda ever qualifies for the World Cup, I expect tourism bodies to pause the gorillas and waterfalls sales pitch and showcase the real national treasure: our unhinged football supporters.

Forget glossy brochures about lakes and savannahs. Package Ugandans with their whistles, vuvuzelas, and dangerous levels of optimism.

That is sport tourism. Nobody here cares about tactics or formations; we only care that the scoreboard declares Uganda won. How it happened is irrelevant. Divine intervention is the most likely explanation anyway.

Authorities thought banning T-shirts, whistles, and vuvuzelas would make African supporters behave like quiet orchestra attendees in Europe. Cute idea. They wanted sophistication, and what they got was a reminder that Africa does not do quiet. We come with noise, rhythm, and the occasional lunatic dancing on top of a stadium rail.

Rules in this country are like expiry dates on snacks: they are simply suggestions. Our football support is not just about the game, it is a national character exposé. A Ugandan will smile at you for no reason, give you a boda lift, start a conversation, and by the final whistle you are no longer strangers. You are drinking buddies, bound by ninety minutes of chaos.

We are a country that will laugh about losing, mock our own goalkeeper, turn defeat into a meme, and still argue about Arsenal later that night. We do not just support football; we baptize it with our madness.

Uganda does not simply play or watch football. We host it like a family reunion you never planned for, but somehow enjoy more than your actual family.