There are few things I enjoy more than really observing people, my surroundings, and then trying to make sense of it all. I do that often in Kigali. I watch young women jogging on the Nyarutarama running track late at night, their eyes focused forward with determination, earphones blasting and think to myself, “do they realise just how lucky they are that they can do this without worrying for their safety”? I observe people in their cars, rudely navigating the evening rush hour, and sometimes ask myself, ‘are they the first people in their entire family to own a car’? I notice the police officers on the road, staring ahead stoically in the afternoon heat, and ask myself what they are thinking about. I see newly built houses sprouting all over the country and wonder, What does it all mean? I do this mental exercise because I don't want to miss a thing. I worry that if I don’t take notice of what's happening around me, I’ll fail to understand what the future holds for me and my children in this country of ours. Things are moving so fast, and I’m afraid that if I blink, I’ll miss something important. So I keep observing things keenly. Last week, I travelled to Kampala to conduct interviews for my weekly podcast, ‘The Long Form with Sanny Ntayombya’. Driving to and from the recordings, sitting in the traffic jams I soon grew accustomed to, I had the chance to watch Kampala's residents go about their day, just trying to get by. For those who haven’t travelled to Kampala, I’d describe it as the anti-Kigali. By that, I mean that for everything Kigali is famous for, Kampala seems to be the opposite. In Kigali, you’ll see a security officer on almost every corner, night or day. In Kampala, I travelled from Luzira to Namugongo (a drive that took an hour and a half) one evening without seeing a single police officer on the road. If you're hungry after a night out in Kampala, you have a myriad of choices—from fancy food trucks to the seemingly unsanitary Rolex carts. In Kigali, street food feels almost haram. After days of watching and contemplating, I came to a realisation. The biggest difference between the two capitals isn’t the food culture or even their bustling streets. It’s the overarching way their governments operate. I believe both Rwanda and Uganda want the same thing: prosperity for their people. However, Rwanda’s strategy is extremely top-down—evident in initiatives like Vision 2020, NST1, NST2, Vision 2035, and the Kigali City Master Plan. Uganda’s approach, on the other hand, seems to be the opposite. I’d call it a “hands-off” strategy. Here in Rwanda, everything is regulated. Food processing? It's overseen by the Rwanda Food and Drug Authority. Events? They're managed by the Rwanda Convention Bureau and Rwanda Development Board. Land use? Regulated by local government entities. Even fuel prices are controlled by the Rwanda Utilities Regulatory Authority. In Uganda, fuel prices are dictated by the market. Large concerts happen without a single regulatory official in sight. If you can process something, you can sell it. Deregulation is paramount there, while here, regulation is everything. They say that ‘All roads lead to Rome’ and I’m sure that both approaches have their merits. I’m curious to see which works best in the long run. Can you plan and plot your way to prosperity, as Rwanda is attempting to do? Or does prosperity emerge when people are largely left to their own devices? Beyond prosperity, does having money in the bank correlate to a good standard of living? I hope both approaches succeed, because the people of both countries deserve lives that are meaningful and fulfilling. The author is a socio-political commentator
