Boys smoke marijuana at a hideout in Kampala last year. Experts say children as young as 11 or 12 consume drugs and other harmful household products. Photo / File
Papo, a regular dealer, had informed me that mushrooms were now selling for Shs70,000. Hoping to find a cheaper source, I reached out to Sheena*, who connected me to someone named Dark. Dark, in turn, introduced me to *Abdu, a student at Mbarara University of Science and Technology (MUST), who was in Kampala making deliveries for his clients. Abdu offered the mushrooms at Shs40,000.
I sent him Shs42,000 via mobile money—Shs2,000 to cover transaction fees—and was told to pay the boda boda rider on arrival. The delivery was coming from Kyanja and Abdu said it would reach me in about 35 minutes. I waited near Church House on Kampala Road. After two follow-up calls, the rider arrived and parked across the road near the Radio One boda stage. When I approached, he asked if I had paid. I confirmed, but he still called Abdu to verify before handing me the package. He reached into a small cross-body bag, pulled out a brown envelope labelled “Town” in blue ink, and passed it to me. The bag had more envelopes marked with other locations—a clear sign of a larger delivery operation.
A risky situation
The previous evening, I spoke to JL, another plug, who had promised me meth at a discounted rate of Shs15,000—thanks to my earlier purchase of brown sugar. Normally, the drug sells for Shs70,000 to Shs75,000. JL insisted on showing me how to use the brown sugar and led me to his cousin’s hostel room. There, I met his cousin, a friend, and another man who was on the phone the whole time. JL asked if I had a “card.”
Not understanding, I claimed I hadn’t carried one—only later realising he meant a Visa card, often used to cut and measure powder. He improvised with a small cardboard box and a pen. He laid the brown sugar on paper and invited me to sniff it using a tube, similar to those used in shisha smoking. I had told him earlier that I’d left my stash with a friend and didn’t have access to his room. He offered me a sample, saying I could replace it later. When I hesitated, explaining that I had to commute home and feared the effects, he backed off—for the moment. JL sniffed the drug himself, then insisted we get some oily food. We walked to a nearby supermarket and bought a chicken pizza for Shs6,000. We agreed to meet the next day—so he could monitor how I reacted to the drug once I took it. I left with growing anxiety. It had become clear that refusal wasn’t always an option in these circles.
What universities say
Universities like MUST, where Abdu studies, are aware of the growing drug problem but admit they are often powerless to stop it. Mr Bill Clinton Nasasira, the former guild president at MUST, said the university is investing in more counsellors, class presidents, and departmental representatives to identify and assist students with drug issues. “The Dean of Students’ office, security guards, cleaners, and hostel wardens have also been tasked with reporting suspicious behaviour—like cigarette butts in toilets or the smell of miraa in corridors,” he said. “The psychiatry department has been strengthened, and affected students are offered treatment—with fami ly members informed through official channels. Peer counselling, awareness weeks, and online platforms like WhatsApp groups are also being used to reach students,” he adds. Professor Celestino Obua, the former vice chancellor at MUST, acknowledged that identifying and helping drug-using students is a major challenge.
“It is difficult for university authorities to know unless other circumstances bring it out,” he said. “If we issued a questionnaire or asked students to report themselves or others, the response would likely be zero,” he added. Prof Obua added that counselling current users is rarely effective without specialized therapy and noted that drug use often begins before university. “By the time these students arrive, many are already using. The issue begins at home. Parents need to know their children and associates,” he said. He stressed that the university conducts induction sessions warning students about harmful practices, distributes a student handbook, and handles violations through disciplinary councils. “But if a student comes back to the hostel drunk and isn’t disturbing anyone, what can we do?” he asked. “We cannot monitor what happens in private spaces.”
A network in plain sight
The delivery system is organised. The risk of exposure is low. And the people involved—some barely out of their teens—are driven by demand, money, and in some cases, addiction. What began as a student investigation became a personal risk. The deeper I went, the clearer it became: Uganda’s youth are not just users—they are enablers, distributors, and in many cases, victims of a system that’s growing faster than efforts to stop it. In 2024, the Uganda Police Force reported 2,240 cases related to narcotics and drugs, marking a 6 percent increase from 2,113 cases in 2023. Of these, 1,496 cases were taken to court, 264 were not proceeded with, and 480 were still under inquiry.
Challenges.
“We are aware that the drug use does not start in the university. It starts from secondary school so by the time these students are coming into the university, they are already using drugs. So the issue needs to start from home, as a parent do you know what your children do in their pass time? Do they know what kind of company their children have? Also we need to educate parents...,” Prof Celestino Obua, former MUST vice chancellor.
Efforts.
“Drug abuse is a vice across all universities, tertiary institutions and secondary schools. All these institutions, including MUST, try their best to deal with it. There has been employment of university counsellors because such students on drugs tend to breakdown mentally during the semester. There has also been empowering of student leaders and the Dean of Students office,” Bill Clinton Nasasira, former MUST guild president
