Land occupies a near-mythical place in Ugandan society. For many, it is the ultimate sign of having "made it." It is often the first investment decision people make once they begin to accumulate disposable income. But behind the cultural weight and perceived safety of land lies a more complicated question: are people buying land because it will help them meet real financial goals, or simply because it’s what we’ve been told we should do once we start earning? 

A growing number of Ugandans are buying land in areas with little infrastructure, low resale demand, and uncertain titling. These plots are sometimes held for years without appreciation, and often cannot be liquidated quickly or at full value when cash is urgently needed. The land may indeed be "growing" in value—on paper. But its real utility lies in timing: will it be worth what you need, when you need it? 

This mismatch between perceived value and functional value becomes most visible when life happens. A parent facing school fees may find that their plot, bought years ago with optimism, is difficult to sell in a buyer's market. A medical emergency forces a rushed transaction at a steep discount. A new opportunity arises—a business, a house deposit, even migration—and the capital is locked in soil. 

There is also the issue of fragmentation. Many people accumulate land in small, disjointed parcels based more on affordability than strategic location or potential use. These plots rarely generate income. They are not farms. They are not rentals. They are not developed. They sit. 

Of course, some land investments do pay off—particularly those that are strategically located, titled, and timed with infrastructure development. But this is more the exception than the rule. 

What this suggests is a deeper question of financial intent. If the goal of wealth is to meet future needs—education, housing, retirement, health—then any investment vehicle should be evaluated against its ability to deliver on that timeline. Land may offer capital growth, but often lacks liquidity and predictability. 

In this light, land is not a bad investment. But it may be a poorly matched one. 

Culturally, the emotional pull of land is hard to overstate. It is inherited. It is defended. It is displayed. In many families, buying land is less a financial decision than a rite of passage.  

This need is understandable. The real consideration, however, should be: is the money being put into land aimed at solving a defined problem at a known time? Or is it serving as a placeholder for broader aspirations that are never fully articulated? 

In a planning framework, land can play a role—especially for long-term or legacy goals. But it cannot be the default option for every financial need. If the obligation is time-bound and predictable—say school fees in two years, or retirement in fifteen—then instruments with known growth rates, built-in liquidity, and regular reporting may be better suited. 

Ultimately, the question is not whether land is good or bad. It is whether it is right for the goal. When land fits the need, it can be powerful. When it does not, it becomes dead capital. 

As more Ugandans pursue financial independence, it may be time to reframe the land conversation. Not as tradition versus modernity. Not as emotion versus reason. But as alignment: does this investment match what I’m trying to achieve, by when, and how? 

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