How Ugandans fund weddings and burials amid economic hurdles

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OPINION

By Nuwe Matagaizi Amanya

In this day Uganda, when a couple announces a wedding or a loved one dies, a habitual digital ritual emerges: the creation of a WhatsApp group, a modern-day village square. These virtual spaces—filled by family, friends, workmates, old schoolmates and even strangers—have become the principle tool for gathering financial support.

On the surface, this trend is a reflection of Uganda’s perennial values of solidarity, warmth and communal culture. But underneath the thick layer of generosity lies a sobering deep and less spoken reality—one knotted with the country’s economic delicacy, where individuals grapple with unemployment, increasing cost of living and persistent poverty.

In a country where the median age is 16, it is de facto that the youth crowd not only these WhatsApp groups but literally all statistics. As of 2024, according to the Uganda Bureau of Statistics (UBOS), Uganda’s unemployment rate was 12.3%, with underemployment significantly higher. 15.2% of university graduates cannot find formal work, some sources place real graduate unemployment as high as 80%. A staggering 42.6% of those aged 15—24, the country’s future workforce, are neither in education, training (NEET) or employment.

Meanwhile, besides growth projections, the GDP per capita oscillates at $1,000, as approximately 40% of the population lives on less than $1.90 daily. Uganda’s dependency ratio is at 83.8%, meaning that every 100 working-age persons must support at least 84 dependent individuals.

Yet, in spite of these sore economic indicators, the fundraising continues—and often spreads wide and more urgent. For a wedding and kuhingira or kwanjura, it is not uncommon for members to contribute as little as sh10,000 or as much as sh5 million plus. In some burial cases, these platforms raise millions of shillings overnight to feed mourners and cover all burial expenses.

“We formed a group when my dear uncle went to be with the Lord, and within a day we had raised over sh6 million,” says Namukasa Dorothy, a mobile money agent in Bbira, Wakiso. “Everyone generously gave even when they had very little themselves.”

One could say that when a crisis hits, the economy of giving is activated with unmatched swift action.

This spirit of contributing, though driven by love and duty, it time and again stretches beyond conomic sense. Most contributors themselves are already financially stretched and vulnerable. Some borrow, delay rent or skip important bills not to miss out on the expectations of these community demands.

“In February 2025, I was in 5 groups where I contributed to three weddings and two burials,” says Nathan Baguma a primary school English teacher in Mbarara. “My salary is sh400,000. I sent sh280,000 in total that month. It is emotionally worthy, yes, but financially exhausting because I had to borrow that month’s rent from a friend.”

In these WhatsApp groups, contributions are customarily announced and written publicly, listwise—amount against one’s name. Those who give very little or don’t give might be ridiculed, silently judged or even unfriended and excluded from future events. For many have-nots, especially the youth and unemployed, the emotional strain of being unable to take part can be enormous, especially when they ponder their turn. 

Economically, while communal generosity is admirable and a vital aspect of African society, this one highlights the gaps in social safety nets and the pressures of maintaining cultural norms in the face of financial difficulties. It may be unsustainable if not carefully managed, especially in a country with limited public investment in long-term family protection services. This emerging pattern calls for national reflection. Uganda still lacks affordable and widely available wedding and funeral insurance schemes, which leaves many households vulnerable to debt, as these ceremonies often demand substantial expenses.  

What’s evident is that Ugandans are rich in spirit. The zeal and willingness to share, even amid personal lack, speaks volumes about the country’s moral fibre. But as more people strain themselves to meet communal demands, there’s a compelling need for balance between generosity and personal financial sustainability, between culture and economic capacity, between Ubuntu and reality.

In a nation where weddings and funerals have become both shared celebrations and financial trials, the future and path forward hinge not just on giving—but on building frameworks that protect both the giver and the beneficiary.

The writer is from Buremba, Kazo District.