The true Idi Amin Dada the world didn't tell you about. #FreeAfrica #freedom #unity #foryou

It's time to wake up to the truth that Idi Amin was demonised for being a true Pan-Africanist president. Please share and repost🙏 #viralvideos #fyp #relatable #africa #africantiktok #uganda #zambiantiktok🇿🇲🇿🇲 #zedtiktok🇿🇲🇿🇲 #zambiantiktok🇿🇲 #au #idiamin

@Kenya Pulse Hub Mudavadi should be ashamed of himself. #uganda #tanzania #kenya #kenyapulsehub #nairobi #creatorsearchinsights #fypシ゚ #kenyantiktok🇰🇪 #viralvideos #nairobikenya #nairobitiktokers🇰🇪 #kakamega #trendingvideo #thestandard #citizentvkenya #nyandarua

Ingredients: 20cups flour 20teaspoons baking powder 3&half cups Sugar 1spoonBicarbonate of Soda 500gx2Margarine 1.5ltr Masi 1cup Fresh Milk METHOD: Follow the steps on the Video and Bake for 15-20min at 200°#fyp #tiktokviral #contentcreator #creator #content #madunga #scones #Recipe #tiktokfood #Bake #scones #Recipe

I'm African 100%: Dive into the hilarious perspective of Godfrey as he shares his unique experience of being a proud African raised in America. With a blend of cultural insight and sharp wit, Godfrey candidly expresses his frustrations with stereotypes and the antics of his fellow Africans. From cringeworthy accents to awkward interactions, his comedic take on cultural identity will resonate with anyone navigating multiple backgrounds. Get ready to laugh out loud while reflecting on the nuances of heritage and the bonds of family. Catch all the relatable moments and side-splitting insights that showcase Godfrey's signature style. This snippet is just a taste of his clever commentary on life, identity, and the quirks of family dynamics. #Godfrey #StandupComedy #AfricanAmerican #CulturalIdentity #RelatableHumor #ComedyTok #Heritage #FamilyDynamics #NewYork #TikTokComedy#viralvideo🔥 #Funny #LaughOutLoud #StandUp #humor #RelatableContent #Comedy #FunnyVideos #LaughterIsTheBestMedicine #laughoutloud

This is next level petty (There was a broadcast of 19 people from Britain carrying him on their shoulders Source: Washington post) #fyp #pettystorytime #pettyallthetime #pettyproblems #pettyasf #pettyashell #knowugandaa

Replying to @user695090694571 Idi Amin Dada of Uganda 🇺🇬🙌🏾#ugandatiktok🇺🇬 #africantiktok #likeandcomment #followformorevideos

In September 1960, as the humid winds of change swept across the African continent, Kampala became the unlikely stage for one of the most symbolic meetings in the Commonwealth's post-war history. For the first time, Uganda—a protectorate still governed from across the seas by Britain—hosted the General Council of the Commonwealth Parliamentary Association. Parliamentarians from all corners of the Commonwealth, many from nations still fighting for their independence, arrived in the capital to talk democracy. But beneath the speeches and ceremonial processions, a quiet tension lingered. This was a land not yet a nation, still stitched together by kingdoms with centuries of history, facing a future neither fully its own nor fully shaped. The meeting took place just as Uganda stood at the edge of a political awakening. British officials, through the voice of a stand-in speaker for Governor Sir Frederick Crawford, who was absent due to personal tragedy, reassured the gathering of Britain’s intent to guide Uganda peacefully toward self-government “on Parliamentary lines.” But in the same breath, echoes of disorder rumbled across the western border—Congo’s rushed and violent separation from Belgium served as a cautionary tale. News of Lumumba’s arrest had just broken. That turmoil wasn’t distant. Refugees, rumors, and realpolitik spilled into Uganda, turning the CPA meeting into more than diplomacy—it was a front-row seat to the risks of transition. Inside Kampala’s new, not-yet-opened Legislative Council building—soon to be inaugurated by Colonial Secretary Iain Macleod—delegates sat in polished chambers discussing the structure of parliaments. Yet the reality outside those walls was messier. Buganda's leaders were in London, negotiating for more autonomy. Uganda’s first common roll elections were just months away. Questions about federalism, tribal identity, and national unity lingered unanswered. To many Ugandans, the sudden arrival of talk about “democracy” felt like being handed a map to a country that didn’t quite exist yet. Amid the suits and sashes of the conference was the presence of Ghana—a young republic and a symbol of pan-African possibility. Ghana’s delegate did not speak with colonial caution; he spoke with purpose, offering Uganda technical aid and political fraternity. His presence alone shifted the tone. It reminded the hosts and guests alike that the Commonwealth was no longer an imperial club—it was becoming a patchwork of former colonies forging new futures, some confident, others uncertain. And so, when Commonwealth parliamentarians met in Uganda in 1960, it was not just an administrative gathering. It was a moment of global theatre, where the scripts of empire, independence, and identity collided. Uganda, with one foot in its royal past and the other stepping nervously into a nationalist future, found itself both host and subject of history. In the corridors of Kampala, the Commonwealth wasn't just talking about democracy—it was watching a new chapter begin. @Parliament of Uganda #kampala_tiktokers #uganda #knowafrica #ughistory #parliament #commonwealth

Plans to expand the number of beds at the only care home on a Scottish island have been abandoned. #stvnews #bute #scotland

Eunice Komukama stood out in any room—not merely for her height or grace, but for the quiet revolution she embodied. At 22, she was one of the few women studying law at Makerere University, a rarity even in the capital. Hailing from Rukungiri in the highlands of Kigezi, she carried the weight of many firsts. Her father, Robert Kwetisa, was the first certified accountant from their district, a man of numbers and quiet ambition who believed his daughter could reach further than he ever had. While most of her peers were preparing for domestic life, Eunice was mastering legal codes, memorizing colonial statutes, and—perhaps more daring—asking whether those laws had any business governing a post-colonial woman. In March 1960, Eunice travelled to Kampala to attend a four-day conference organized by the Uganda Council of Women, from the 22nd to the 25th. The theme—“The Status of Women in Relation to Marriage Laws”—might have sounded civil, even domestic, but the air inside the conference hall was charged with something more potent. Delegates included everyone from bishops like Usher-Wilson to researchers such as M.L. Perlman of the East African Institute of Social Research, to tribal representatives who carried customary wisdom shaped over centuries. The women in the room—many in gomesis, some in suits—spoke about the injustices baked into bride price, the confusion over property rights, and polygamous structures where, as one delegate lamented, “a mistress could outrank a wife.” Outside the conference walls, Uganda was stirring. The nation was still under British rule, but the political winds of independence blew hot across the hills and kingdoms. Buganda’s Kabaka, through his council, was pushing back against British authority, while the Uganda National Congress and emerging political parties lobbied for self-rule. At Makerere, student forums blurred into nationalist rallies. The mood in the country was feverish. But in that conference hall, a different revolution was underway—one of marriage contracts, co-wives, land inheritance, and the rights of a woman to call her life her own. Eunice, sitting between colonial officials and aging matriarchs, saw clearly: Uganda’s future wouldn’t just be decided in parliament. It would be decided in the home. Yet not all women agreed on what change should look like. Many elder delegates—respected wives, mothers, and community leaders—spoke proudly of their marriages, their clans, their ability to keep peace in polygamous homes. They weren’t against progress, but they weren’t ready to burn the mat either. “Our traditions have kept us together,” one said gently. “We should not throw them away just to mimic the West.” Eunice listened, honored their truths, but also saw the silent costs—women unable to inherit land, abandoned wives with no legal recourse, girls married before 15. Beneath the politeness of the discussions, centuries of patriarchy were being politely tucked out of sight—under the mat. When the conference ended, Eunice returned to Makerere changed. The legal field, once a calling, now felt like a duty. She began writing opinion pieces in The Uganda Argus, hosted small reading circles for female students, and challenged her lecturers on the contradictions in colonial law. The country was soon to gain political independence, but Eunice understood that without a transformation in social thinking, especially regarding women, true freedom would be a mirage. The mat had begun to shift—and she was one of the women pulling at its edge. #ugandanstiktok #ughistory #knowafrica #uganda #kampala_tiktokers

Story of Idi Amin

The humid air in Kampala crackled with tension as Francis Pulli, the uncompromising leader of Uganda's trade unions, rose to address the historic 1959 Uganda Trade Union Congress. With 13 affiliated unions behind him and the eyes of East Africa's labor movement watching, Pulli delivered a thunderous indictment of the forces crushing Uganda's workers - from colonial-era exploitation to the new threats emerging in the shadow of independence. The government's representative sat stiffly as Pulli revealed how 3,000 workers had already lost their livelihoods, some to economic turmoil, others to outright intimidation. This was no ordinary conference. Across East Africa, the ground was trembling beneath the feet of colonial powers. Just months earlier, the East African Railway Strike had seen workers across Kenya, Tanganyika and Uganda unite in the region's first inter-territorial labor revolt. Now, as delegates from across Uganda packed the congress hall, they carried with them the same revolutionary energy. But Pulli knew their enemies were formidable - not just the colonial administration, but also international labor organizations like the British TUC that consistently undermined African workers' militancy under the guise of "moderation." The Uganda Trade Union Congress of 1959 marked a turning point in the nation's labor history. Where previous gatherings had focused on incremental gains, this congress became a war council. Pulli shocked observers by revealing his failed attempts to negotiate with the Uganda National Movement, exposing how even African nationalist leaders were turning their backs on workers. As news broke during the conference that UNM leaders had been arrested on deportation orders, delegates erupted - the message was clear: any challenge to the emerging power structures would be met with brute force. What made this congress extraordinary was its defiant pivot toward mass mobilization. Inspired by the railway strikers' success in paralyzing colonial economies, Pulli secured approval to take their struggle directly to the people through radio broadcasts - a bold end-run around hostile politicians and censors. The resolution passed with roaring approval, marking the moment Uganda's labor movement transitioned from polite negotiation to open confrontation. International labor advisors in attendance grew pale as they realized they were witnessing not another bureaucratic conference, but the birth of a workers' uprising. When the final gavel fell on the 1959 Congress, nothing in East African labor relations would ever be the same. Francis Pulli had transformed what was meant to be a routine annual meeting into a revolutionary manifesto. The resolutions passed there would echo through the coming decade, inspiring waves of strikes and protests that would ultimately shape Uganda's path to independence. But as delegates dispersed through Kampala's streets, past the idle brewery and abandoned buses that testified to the growing boycott movement, one question hung heavy in the air: would this be the moment workers finally seized their destiny, or just another betrayed promise in Africa's long struggle for true liberation? #uganda #knowafrica #ughistory #ugandanstiktok

As the rhythmic beat of traditional drums echoed across Namirembe Hill, a sea of people made their way toward the grand cathedral. Kabaka Mutesa II arrived in dignified fashion, his presence commanding respect from all who gathered to celebrate his 36th birthday. The air was thick with anticipation, not just for the thanksgiving service but for what the coming months would bring. Change was on the horizon. The announcement of Dr. Leslie Brown as the Archbishop-designate of the new Anglican Province signaled a shift in religious authority, mirroring the broader transformations taking place in Uganda’s political landscape. Soon, even the Church would no longer look to Britain for leadership—a symbolic precursor to the greater independence that many yearned for. Inside Namirembe Cathedral, every seat was taken, the congregation dressed in their finest. The chiefs, resplendent in their traditional kanzu and embroidered robes, occupied the front pews, a visible reminder of Buganda’s deep-rooted customs. The women, draped in elegant gomesi, stood in quiet reverence as the Kabaka took his seat. Dr. Brown, the man who would soon preside over Uganda’s Anglican faithful, greeted the king with a warm handshake. He had served in Uganda long enough to understand the delicate balance between the church, the kingdom, and the colonial government. His election marked a turning point—one that placed more religious authority in African hands, just as political power was beginning to shift as well. Mutesa listened attentively as prayers were offered for his reign, his kingdom, and the future of Uganda. He had learned, over the years, the power of patience. Unlike his fiery younger days when he had openly clashed with the British, he now played a more calculated game. He knew that true power was not simply in defiance but in shaping the course of events from within. Buganda remained central to Uganda’s fate, and he was determined to ensure that his kingdom would not be sidelined in the inevitable transfer of power. His birthday celebrations were not just an occasion of personal significance—they were a reminder of Buganda’s enduring influence. Later that day, as celebrations moved to the Lubiri, the mood was more relaxed. Traditional dancers performed in his honor, while speeches praised his leadership and wisdom. Yet beneath the surface, tensions lingered. Uganda was moving toward self-rule, but questions remained—what would Buganda’s place be in an independent nation? Would the kingdom retain its autonomy, or would it be swallowed into a new national identity? Mutesa had no easy answers. He understood the expectations of his people, but he also knew that the British, though preparing to leave, still had a hand in shaping what came next. As night fell and the festivities wound down, Mutesa stood in quiet reflection. Another year had passed, and with it, the stakes had only grown higher. The next year would bring not only Uganda closer to independence but also the Archbishop of Canterbury himself to hand over religious authority to Uganda’s new leader. One by one, the symbols of colonial rule were being dismantled. The Kabaka knew that soon, political power would follow the same course. His task was to ensure that when that moment came, Buganda would not merely be an observer, but a decisive force in shaping the nation’s destiny. #kabaka #ughistory #kampala_uganda🇺🇬🇺🇬🤝 #kampala_tiktokers #buganda #uganda #ugandanstiktok

#greenscreen #ugandapresident #generalidiamindada #idiamindada #idiamin #amin

In a clipped BBC interview on January 2, 1961, Sir Frederick Crawford, Uganda’s colonial governor, faced questions about mounting unrest in Buganda with the polished evasion of a man clinging to a sinking ship. Just three months after the Buganda Lukiiko’s unilateral declaration of independence a move dismissed by London as “legally void” Crawford insisted the constitutional committee’s 1959 report had laid “a fair foundation” for self-rule. His tone was calm, but the subtext crackled: Britain’s carefully staged exit was unraveling. The committee’s recommendations common rolls, reserved seats for minorities, and Buganda’s forced inclusion in a unified legislature had only deepened Baganda resistance. When pressed about Kabaka Mutesa II’s boycott of the March elections, Crawford parroted colonial scripture: “The Protectorate must advance as one.” The Fiction of Unity Behind the governor’s measured words lay a brutal reality. The 1959 report, drafted by a committee of Europeans, Asians, and handpicked Africans, had engineered a Legislative Council where Buganda’s influence was diluted its 5 seats dwarfed by 12 from smaller regions. The Lukiiko saw the trap: a centralized Uganda where their monarchy would be neutered. Crawford’s TV assurances of “adequate representation” rang hollow to Baganda activists burning voter cards. The governor’s scripted optimism couldn’t mask the truth: Britain’s divide-and-rule legacy had birthed a constitutional crisis. A Scripted Transition Crawford’s interview framed the 1961 elections as Uganda’s democratic dawn. He omitted how the franchise limited to literate property owners excluded 80% of Africans, or how the “common roll” was designed to safeguard white and Asian business interests. The governor praised the committee’s “consensus,” but the dissents were buried: Buganda’s refusal to testify, Bunyoro’s demands for lost counties, and the implicit threat of Buganda’s secession. This wasn’t decolonization it was a fire sale, with Britain brokering power to pliant elites before the flames spread. The Unspoken Fear When the interviewer asked about violence, Crawford stiffened. He denied “widespread disorder” but conceded “localized frustrations.” The subtext was clear: Buganda’s defiance had exposed the fragility of Britain’s exit plan. The Lukiiko’s October 1960 independence declaration was more than symbolism; it was a referendum on the committee’s imposed unity. Crawford’s veneer of control cracked as he admitted the March elections might proceed without Buganda a confession that Uganda’s independence could begin with civil divorce. Legacy of a Blueprint By the time Uganda achieved formal independence in 1962, the cracks Crawford dismissed had become chasms. The 1959 report’s gerrymandered legislature birthed a dysfunctional democracy, with Obote’s UPC and Buganda’s Kabaka Yekka locked in toxic marriage. Crawford’s TV performance was the last act of colonial theater a man insisting the orchestra played on as the ship listed. The committee’s “fair foundation” became independent Uganda’s fault line, proving that constitutions drafted under empire carry the seeds of their own undoing. #ugandanstiktok #ughistory #buganda #bugandakingdom #knowafrica #uganda @Buganda_Kingdom @Charles Peter Mayiga @Buganda Kingdom

General Idi Amin of Uganda, Ibrahim tarore Burkina Faso President follow his steps. . . #creativesheik #learnwithcreativesheik #bellogaladanchi #abis_fulani