Once upon a time in Uganda, asking “Who raised you?” had a straightforward answer: Maama ne Taata. Today, that same question might provoke a pause, a philosophical shrug, or even a TED Talk. Because in this brave new Uganda, parenting is no longer a duet—it’s increasingly a solo act. Single motherhood is rising. So is single fatherhood, though at a less dramatic pace. But perhaps more alarmingly, society itself has now become a reluctant co-parent, with schools, smartphones, and stubborn uncles stepping in to fill the vacuum.
What happened? Is it urbanization? Globalization? American TV? Was it the price of bride price or the broken promises made under mango trees? Or are we, as a society, simply evolving past the romantic ideal of “till death—or disagreement—do us part”?
Philosophically, one might ask: Is a child better raised by one stable parent or two unstable ones who fight over which tribe the child’s surname should favor? Another might wonder: Did we modernize family structure, or just casually dismantle it in the name of freedom?
In rural Uganda, a child raised by a single mother still inspires whispers over fences and well-meaning church aunties who start prayers with: “We want to rebuke this spirit of being alone…” Meanwhile in Kampala, it’s a status. Some call it “independent parenting.” Others, more bluntly, just say: “He left me with rent and twins.”
Culturally, the image of a family was once sacred—Maama pounding millet, Taata returning with cassava and complaints about boda riders, and children in matching oversized uniforms. Today? Many homes are silent at dinner—not from harmony, but because one parent is missing and the other is scrolling through motivational quotes like “Strong women raise kings.” Yes, true—but shouldn’t the king at least know who his father is?
Single parenthood isn’t just about separation—it’s a web of causes and consequences. Early pregnancies. Divorce. Abandonment. Even death. And in some cases, the infamous Ugandan relationship arc: “We met. We vibed. Then I disappeared when she said she’s late.”
Let’s be fair—some single parents are superheroes. They juggle diapers, debts, and discipline with the grace of a cat walking a powerline. But society often views them through a paradoxical lens: romanticizing their strength while stigmatizing their situation. Especially women—celebrated on Women’s Day, then questioned during PTA meetings: “Where is the father of your child?” As if raising a child alone is an Olympic sport that requires backup.
Analytically speaking, Uganda’s demographic shift shows that single-parent households are rising most in urban areas, particularly among youth navigating economic hardship, shifting gender roles, and a broken sense of relational permanence. Family isn’t dying—it’s being redefined. The village that once raised a child has moved online. Aunties now give advice via WhatsApp voice notes. Uncles are busy tweeting about Arsenal. And grandparents? They’re confused why all these children now call themselves “blessings” when no one blessed the union that bore them.
But maybe the real question is: Are we preparing children for society, or just protecting them from it? Because in this new parenting era, love is loud, support is silent, and structure is optional. The child knows ten TikTok dances but not ten clan totems. He knows his mother’s maiden name, but not why she flinches every time a boda passes at night.
Still, Uganda moves on—with strength, satire, and survival. Our people laugh in sorrow and dance at baby showers where the father’s absence is explained away with “He traveled.” To where? To maturity, hopefully. Or to another relationship with the same ending.
One day, we might write a new Ugandan proverb: It takes one strong parent, a nosy landlord, a distant father figure, and the Lord’s mercy to raise a child in this economy
Until then, we must ask—not just who raised us, but how. And if our answers begin with silence, then perhaps that’s where the next conversation should begin.
