"Banandaba batya”

For the longest time, I’ve been trying to understand mental health and well-being in a way that feels meaningful and relatable. Recently, I started thinking about how to approach these ideas in a more grounded, everyday way, free from complex terms and theories. So, today, let’s talk about some of the simplest, most obvious things in life.

Just recently, I took a boda-boda (a common two-wheeled taxi here in Uganda). As soon as I sat down, the rider looked at me and, out of nowhere, shared something deeply personal: "Omukazi yazadde, silina yade ekikumi, namusindise wa maamawe". Roughly translated, it means, “My wife gave birth, and I don’t have a penny to support her, so I sent her to her mother.” I could feel his relief just from saying it out loud. It wasn’t about whether I could help him financially— I think, just sharing his struggle lifted a small weight off his shoulders.

It struck me how easily he could open up, without worrying about “how others might see him” (“banandaba batya” in Luganda). For some of us, speaking about our challenges doesn’t come as naturally. Maybe it’s the fear of looking vulnerable, or maybe we’re used to protecting our reputations. This man had no such hesitation. He even went on to talk about other things — his university crush who rejected him, his dreams, and his frustrations.

There’s something in the way many men here navigate struggles. There’s humor, a loud laugh, or a quick change of topic when things get too personal. When it’s about making plans, investments, or future goals, there’s full engagement. But when it’s about personal struggles, they often shield them with humor or a change of subject, keeping those feelings locked away.

I realized that this pattern has a lot to do with how we’re raised. Men are taught to “be strong,” to keep it together, to “be a man.” Vulnerability isn’t encouraged. There’s always this underlying pressure to uphold an image, sometimes summed up in the exclamation!, “banandaba batya!”– “How will they see me, what will they think about me!”

Recently, I experienced something similar. I was added to a friend’s WhatsApp group to contribute to his wedding expenses. Having just returned from an exchange study program abroad, people had all kinds of expectations of me. Some asked for phones or laptops, assuming that I must have struck gold while away. In reality, I was just a student, living as frugally as anyone else. But assumptions were already made, and I felt the pressure to meet them.

Over the next few weeks, I’m planning to look closer at these daily situations—the small, unspoken pressures we experience and the impact they have on our well-being. This journey, I hope, will open up conversations about vulnerability, especially for men. Sometimes, the simple things reveal the most about who we are, and maybe they hold the key to the well-being we’re all seeking.