When the hustlers cry, the nation should listen

Before the sun rises over Kampala, a quiet struggle begins.

In the dim light of dawn, women tie headscarves and step into the mist, pushing wheelbarrows of tomatoes through puddles, setting up stoves by the roadside, and whispering silent prayers that today, business will be better.

At the corner of Nakivubo Channel, a young man rolls up his trousers and wades through floodwater to open his stall. His stock smells of damp cardboard, half of it already ruined by last night’s rain.

A few metres away, a boda rider kicks his engine three times before it coughs to life; his first passenger of the day will decide whether his children eat meat tonight or not.

This is the real Uganda. Not the one in boardroom charts or budget speeches, but the one in sweat, mud, and motion. It’s where dreams don’t wear suits, where every shilling is fought for, and where failure isn’t an option because hunger doesn’t wait.

They are our mothers, our mechanics, our hustlers in arcades, the people who carry this country on their backs, yet rarely appear in the headlines.

According to the Uganda Bureau of Statistics (UBOS) Labour Force Survey 2022, nearly 80% of Uganda’s workforce, over 10 million people belong to the informal sector, contributing around 50% of national GDP. Yet they remain largely invisible in economic policy.

Uganda’s tax-to-GDP ratio, stuck at 13.5%, tells a story not of apathy, but of exclusion, a system built for a few, while millions hustle in the shadows.

When floods through destroy businesses around HAM Shopping Centre or Nakivubo, or when fire guts arcades downtown, the pain doesn’t make the evening news. There are no compensation packages, no insurance payouts, no relief programs.

Just traders sweeping ashes, rebuilding stalls, and borrowing again at impossible interest rates, because tomorrow must still come. The informal sector is not Uganda’s problem. It is Uganda’s proof of survival. It is the nation’s pulse, strong, unsteady, but unbroken. And if the government continues to overlook it, Uganda will keep growing on paper while bleeding in reality.

The informal sector is vast, diverse, and dynamic. It includes the market vendors in Wandegeya, taxi drivers and boda riders weaving through traffic, arcade traders selling electronics in downtown Kampala, and mechanics, carpenters, tailors, welders, and hairdressers across the country.

It stretches to smallholder farmers, who make up over 70% of rural employment, and to mobile money agents, who process millions daily without formal contracts or benefits. It is estimated that more than 1.2 million boda riders and over 3 million small vendors operate within this sector.

Yet, despite their size and contribution, most fall under the micro and small taxpayer categories, earning below UGX 150 million per year. Many don’t understand Uganda’s tax classifications or the benefits of registration. They remain disconnected from financial services, unable to access affordable loans or formal credit.

Uganda’s tax-to-GDP ratio, which hovers around 13.5%, is among the lowest in East Africa. The Uganda Revenue Authority (URA) faces pressure to raise revenue, but much of the potential lies in this informal sector, the one that has no books, no receipts, and no digital trail.

However, the solution cannot be brute enforcement. URA must evolve from a tax collector into a tax educator and enabler. The informal sector is not avoiding taxation; it is operating in ignorance and exclusion. When traders see URA officers, they don’t see guidance, they see fear.

What Uganda needs now is a humane and understanding URA, one that walks through markets with empathy, explains rather than intimidates, and recognizes that formalization is a process, not an order. Taxation should never feel like punishment for working hard.

Uganda’s economic policies have long rewarded formality while ignoring where most work actually happens. This is a critical mistake. Formalization was approached as a box to tick, not a bridge to build.

Credit systems were designed for companies with collateral, not kiosk owners. Disaster response plans cater to institutions, not market vendors. Even well-meaning programmes like the Parish Development Model (PDM) and Emyooga struggle to reach informal players because they require paperwork and group structures that don’t exist in most informal setups. The result is a two-tier economy: one supported by policy, and one surviving on hope.

The government must start designing policy from the ground up, not from the top down. The informal sector needs tailored interventions, real support, not recycled speeches.

Create an Informal Sector Insurance and Relief Fund - Partner with the Insurance Regulatory Authority and microfinance institutions to design affordable micro-insurance packages. Even a contribution of UGX 5,000 a month could protect traders from complete loss after floods or fires.

Simplify and Humanize Taxation - URA should develop mobile-friendly tax tools that allow traders to declare income, issue digital receipts, and make small tax payments through phones. Tax clinics must move into markets, not stay in boardrooms.

Provide Infrastructure for Protection - Kampala Capital City Authority (KCCA) must prioritize drainage, fire hydrants, and safe market design. Each arcade should have a disaster response system, because prevention is cheaper than recovery.

Educate Informal Workers in Social Protection – Continue to educate about voluntary NSSF contributions for informal workers through SACCOs and mobile platforms. The future of retirement savings must include those who work outside offices.

Rethink Multiple Levies - There is an urgent need to harmonize taxation across URA, KCCA, and local governments to eliminate duplication and confusion among small traders. Currently, many businesses face overlapping levies from multiple authorities for the same economic activity, creating financial strain and discouraging compliance.

A coordinated framework should be established to clearly define each entity’s role, streamline tax administration, and enhance fairness and efficiency in revenue collection. Harmonization is not about reducing tax revenue, but about building trust, clarity, and voluntary compliance, ensuring that every trader understands what they owe, to whom, and why.

While government bears the biggest responsibility, traders too must take ownership of their survival. Joining SACCOs and cooperatives gives access to credit, training, and collective voice. Basic record-keeping, even in a notebook, helps track profits and expenses.

Most importantly, traders must start demanding accountability from local leaders and learning about their rights, not just their dues. The informal sector must rise from silence to solidarity, because power listens to numbers, and this sector has millions of them.

Addressing the challenges of Uganda’s informal sector requires a collective national effort. This cannot be government’s responsibility alone. The Uganda Revenue Authority (URA) must lead the reform in both tone and approach, shifting from fear-driven enforcement to fairness, education, and partnership.

Financial institutions need to innovate micro-loans and insurance solutions tailored to the realities of cash-based, low-income traders. NGOs and civil society should intensify financial literacy campaigns and promote inclusion at the grassroots, while the private sector can provide mentorship, digital tools, and entrepreneurial training.

Every stakeholder, public and private, has a duty to bridge the gap between Uganda’s visible economy and the one that quietly sustains millions. True progress will only come when the systems that design policy finally align with the people who keep the economy alive.

If Uganda truly seeks inclusive growth, it must start where the real economy lives in the markets, garages, and streets where millions wake up every day to keep the nation alive.

Let government listen not with sympathy, but with strategy. Let URA act not with fear, but with fairness. And let Uganda’s hustlers know: your work matters, your voice counts, and your struggle is the story of this nation’s resilience. Because if the informal sector falls, Uganda falls with it.