My previous article, “From Fear to Opportunity: Rethinking Uganda’s Dual Citizenship Laws,” sparked lively discussions. One response, in particular, stood out. The writer shared their frustration, saying:
“I was a Ugandan citizen upon birth and until I left at 21. When I acquired U.S. citizenship, I automatically lost my Ugandan citizenship because Uganda did not recognize dual citizenship at the time. People I suspect were not even born in Uganda hold positions of power there. I am told that for the privilege of asserting my birth right as a descendant of at least six generations of Ugandans of whom I know to have lived in Buddu and Kkooki, I must pay Uganda’s government several hundred dollars just to apply to be considered for dual citizenship and then go through the rigorous process of getting a passport from Internal Affairs. Ironic, eh?
I was tempted to ask the gentleman to list those six generations—not out of skepticism, but because I’m a genealogy enthusiast. As the Gen Zs might say, I’m a genealogy nerd. Among my people, the Bahororo, we’d say, “Ninkunda kuronda obuzare!”
Genealogy, from the Greek word genealogía, meaning “the making of a pedigree,” is the study of family history and the tracing of ancestral lineages. It’s as old as the Bible, and its threads are woven into Uganda’s traditions. Rituals like Okulanya/Okutambula nga Omuganda among the Baganda affirm belonging within lineages, clans and communities.
Yet without systematic preservation, these practices risk fading away.
My love for genealogy began in childhood, fueled by the vivid stories my grandparents shared. I wanted to know everything: my grandparents’ parents, their parents, and so on. I wrote down names, sketched family trees, and imagined the lives behind them.
Even now, when introduced to a relative, I insist on knowing the precise details of how we’re connected. Being told they’re my aunt, uncle, or cousin isn’t enough. While some find it endearing, others may see it as excessive curiosity. I suppose I was an old soul, as my elders often remarked.
One school holiday from Kibuli Secondary School, I found my paternal grandmother, Justine Batendeza, in Kampala for treatment. I seized the opportunity to ask about her life and our family history.
She answered most of my questions, indulging my curiosity. But when I asked for her mother’s name, she smiled and gently said, “As a man, focus on your paternal lineage—your grandfather’s line, not mine.”
I accepted her response but felt puzzled. Later, I learned that she had lost her mother at a very young age and was raised by a paternal aunt. Perhaps her reluctance stemmed from pain she preferred not to revisit, couched in the patriarchal norms of her upbringing.
Even as she recounted the lineage of the family she married into, her own story seemed absent—a reflection of the cultural practices that shape how history is passed down.
For diasporans like me, genealogy is more than a pastime—it’s a cultural anchor. It connects us to our roots, providing a sense of belonging in a world that often feels fragmented.
Living in the United States, where histories are meticulously documented, has heightened my awareness of the gaps in Uganda’s records. Much of our history is preserved orally, passed through generations, but as elders pass away, these stories risk being lost forever.
Genealogy also has legal implications. Under Uganda’s Citizenship and Immigration Control Act, citizenship by birth is granted to:
(a) Every person born in Uganda, one of whose parents or grandparents belonged to any indigenous community residing within Uganda’s borders as of February 1, 1926.
(b) Every person born in or outside Uganda, one of whose parents or grandparents was a Ugandan citizen by birth.
Proving descent, however, often requires documentation, which can be challenging in societies where oral traditions dominate.
In 2014, during a visit to Dallas, President Museveni explained Uganda’s dual citizenship framework by comparing it to the clan system. He argued that a child born abroad still belongs to their father’s clan, regardless of birthplace. Citizenship, he said, is simply a modern extension of this understanding—now including maternal lineage to reflect gender equity.
I have always admired President Museveni’s ability to simplify complex matters, drawing on cultural frameworks to connect with both peasants and philosophers.
If resources were no barrier, I would fund a comprehensive genealogy project for the Great Lakes Region of Africa. Such an initiative could collect oral histories, digitize clan records, and create a centralized archive accessible worldwide.
Platforms like Geni.com allow users to build family trees, and I’ve often wondered what it would reveal if all Ugandans participated. Imagine discovering how interconnected we truly are, bound by shared ancestors and histories.
The Great Lakes Museum and the Igongo Cultural Center have made strides in preserving regional history. But a national effort—leveraging anthropologists, historians, and technology—could deepen these efforts, uniting Ugandans at home and abroad.
Such a project would not only celebrate our heritage but also illuminate migration patterns, and cultural richness, leaving a profound legacy for future generations.
My fascination with genealogy led me to modern tools like DNA testing. When 23andMe revealed that I shared an ancient paternal lineage with Pharaoh Ramesses III, I was astonished. These discoveries remind me that genealogy connects us not only to our families but to a global human story.
The academic field of genealogy is expanding, with institutions like the University of Strathclyde in the United Kingdom offering advanced degrees in genealogical studies. Its applications span law, medicine and forensic science, demonstrating genealogy’s growing importance.
Could Uganda’s diaspora unite to support a national genealogy project? I believe so. Many of us long to reconnect with our roots and preserve our cultural heritage. By pooling resources, we could ensure that our ancestors’ stories are cherished for generations.
Genealogy isn’t just about the past—it’s about shaping the future. For young Ugandans, especially those born abroad, access to a rich repository of genealogical information could inspire a deeper connection to their identity.
As the African proverb goes, “Until the lion learns to write, every story will glorify the hunter.” It’s time to take charge of our narrative, documenting and honoring the richness of our heritage.
Through genealogy, we affirm our place in history and leave a legacy worth celebrating—one that unites all Ugandans in the shared pride of who we are.
The author is a former President and CEO of the Ugandan North American Association – UNAA , Senior Principal Systems Engineer with over 15 years of experience, and an Africa Policy Accelerator fellow at the Center for Strategic and International Studies (CSIS) , a Washington, D.C. based Think Tank. Send comments to brian.kwesiga@yahoo.com
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