Every year, Ugandans enter the New Year with fresh hope, clean notebooks, and the same old lies.
At exactly 12:01am on January 1st, after shouting “Happy New Year!” and forwarding at least 27 WhatsApp messages that say “This year will favour us”, people sit quietly and make serious resolutions. Serious ones. Life-changing ones. Ones that will absolutely not survive until January 15th.
Take for example, someone swore this year he would “start going to the gym”. He even took a photo outside the gym on January 2nd and posted it with the caption: “No excuses 2026 💪🏽”. What people don’t know is that he entered the gym, saw people lifting tyres like they were pillows, panicked, and left immediately. By January 5th, his gym shoes were already serving their real purpose — attending brunch, concerts, weddings and kuhingira ceremonies.
Then there is someone who promised herself she would save money. This year, no reckless spending. No impulse buying. No “let me just pass by the mall and see”. On January 3rd, she downloaded a budgeting app. On January 4th, she bought a new phone to “motivate herself.” By January 10th, her savings plan was asking her, “Are you okay?”
Ugandan New Year resolutions are very ambitious. People don’t say “I will improve.” No. They say things like they will stop eating rolex, reduce sugar, and stop drinking soda.
By January 7th, the same people are negotiating with fate: “Let me just eat one rolex for closure.” That “one” rolex opens a door that never closes.
Another popular resolution is “I will avoid toxic people.” This sounds powerful until you realise the toxic people include your relatives, neighbours, workmates, and the boda boda guy you depend on. By mid-January, you’re back greeting everyone with a forced smile because, in Uganda, peace is more important than principles.
Then there is the business resolution. Every year, someone announces: “This year I’m starting a serious business.” They don’t know what business. They don’t have capital. But the confidence is there. They print business cards before even thinking of customers. By February, the business has “challenges”, and by March, it has been postponed “until God opens doors.”
Let us not forget the classic: “I will stop procrastinating.” This resolution is usually made tomorrow.
Social media also suffers every January. People post motivational quotes they don’t understand: “Wake up. Grind. Hustle.” Meanwhile, they wake up at 11am and grind cassava.
Parents are not left out. Every year, a Ugandan parent promises: “This year I will not shout at my children.” By January 2nd: “ARE YOU THE ONE PAYING RENT IN THIS HOUSE?”
Church resolutions are also very strong in January. People vow to attend every Sunday, arrive early, and stop sleeping during sermons. By the third Sunday, the same people are sitting near the door for a “quick exit” and checking football scores during prayers.
Yet, despite all this, there is something beautiful about Ugandan New Year resolutions. Even when we fail, we laugh. We reset. We eat our rolex proudly. We postpone the gym. We forgive ourselves.
Because deep down, Ugandans know the truth: resolutions are not really promises. They are just hopeful jokes we tell ourselves — and repeat faithfully every January.
And next year?
We shall promise again.
