In Lira District, Northern Uganda, an empty stretch of land lies quiet beneath the sun. It was once filled with hope — the proposed site for the Akii-Bua Olympic Stadium, named after Uganda’s first Olympic gold medalist. Today, it is nothing more than a bare field with scattered signs of abandoned work. No heavy machinery. No workers. No real progress.
Yet, $129 million was allocated for this project — a stadium that was supposed to host 3 million people and shine as a beacon for sports in northern Uganda. Now, the only thing rising is frustration.
“Every time we pass here, we just shake our heads,” says David Ocen, a retired teacher and lifelong football fan in Lira. “We were told this place would bring jobs, games, and change. But all we’ve seen is dust and disappointment.”
The story is not unique to Lira. In Hoima City, located in the Masindi District, another stadium project is raising eyebrows. The Hoima City Stadium was given $130 million. It was meant to boost sports infrastructure in western Uganda and prepare the country to co-host AFCON 2027 with Kenya and Tanzania.
But things quickly went wrong. According to insiders, the stadium’s contracted designer advised that a running track should be included to make it a multi-use facility. However, Minister of State for Sports, Hon. Peter Ogwang, allegedly insisted the track be removed, saying it would reduce the seating capacity — which was aimed at accommodating 2 million people.
Even more controversially, the minister is said to have used the name of Uganda’s First Lady — who is also the Minister of Education and Sports — claiming that she had approved this specific design. To date, no official statement from her office confirms this.
Perhaps most troubling for many Ugandans is the lack of transparency in how these massive projects have been handled. There were no public tenders for either stadium. Instead, it is alleged that Hon. Ogwang personally appointed a relative to handle the Hoima stadium construction — a serious case of conflict of interest and potential abuse of office.
“We’ve seen this before,” says Sarah Nyangoma, a youth leader in Masindi. “Projects launched with excitement and fanfare, but nothing to show years later. It’s like our dreams are used for political campaigns — then forgotten.”
This isn’t just about concrete and steel. It’s about people. Dreams. Lost opportunities.
For Moses Okello, a 19-year-old aspiring footballer in Lira, the stadium meant a future. “We thought maybe scouts would come, or teams from outside Uganda. We trained harder. Now we don’t even have a proper pitch.”
Local vendors like Jane Aciro expanded their businesses in anticipation of construction workers and football crowds. “I took a loan to grow my shop,” she says. “But no one came. No work. No matches. Just empty promises.”
The emotional toll is real. Many in these communities feel abandoned — used for political showmanship and then ignored.
The Confederation of African Football (CAF) has clear expectations for AFCON host countries. With stadium construction delayed, unaccounted funds, and questionable leadership, Uganda’s readiness is now in serious doubt.
What was once a golden opportunity to showcase Ugandan hospitality, talent, and infrastructure is now at risk of becoming a national embarrassment.
And all this could cost Uganda more than just a tournament — it could cost trust, reputation, and international respect.
It’s time for the National Council of Sports, the Ministry of Education and Sports, and Hon. Peter Ogwang to answer these questions publicly. It’s time to stop hiding behind names and titles — and start showing results
“We don’t hate government,” says David, the retired teacher in Lira. “We love our country. That’s why we speak up. If we don’t demand better now, we’ll be watching AFCON on TV in 2027 — while our own stadiums are still piles of sand.”
Uganda still has a chance to get it right. But only if leaders put the people first — before politics, before personal gain, and before it’s too late.
