Well, back at #TheBalcony after forever! Let’s dive into something fun. Maybe something you’ve seen or lived yourself. This past weekend, I had one of those moments that makes you pause and question the world around you. I was walking along a busy street when I spotted a shiny 500 shilling coin lying on the ground, catching the sunlight like a tiny beacon.
For some reason, I didn’t pick it up. Maybe it was curiosity, maybe something else, but I decided to watch and see who would claim it. Over ten people passed by; men, women, young, old, and not one bent down to grab it. I overheard one passerby whisper to his friend, “Those coins carry a bad omen.” A bad omen? A coin?
This evening, during my usual walk home with Hajj Ahmed, something small but oddly telling happened. A 200 shilling coin right in front of us. Not behind, not far off-right there, a few steps ahead. I saw it. I want to believe that Hajj saw it. The stranger walking past us saw it too. But none of us made a move. We just… walked on.
I didn’t bother to ask why they ignored it. Maybe, like me, they chalked it up to one of those superstitions we carry around like spare change. Or maybe they simply didn’t think a 200 shilling coin was worth bending for. But it stuck with me. Why do we leave money lying on the ground, especially in a country where every coin counts? So that you know, that coin was lying somewhere in the corners of Kawempe. if you’re familiar with Mambule Road, then you get the picture.
It makes no real sense. We’ll sidestep a coin for fear of “bad luck,” while many can’t afford a decent meal. It’s a strange contradiction; living in a place where that coin could mean lunch, but instead we let it sit there as some cursed relic. Of course, this isn’t new. Growing up, my brother and I used to notice coins at road junctions, usually a 50 or 100 shillings coin, sometimes wrapped in old cloth, sometimes sprinkled with suspicious-looking stuff. Word on the village was: witchcraft.
Some said they were offerings. Others swore they were traps or little baited hooks cast out by the dark arts to reel in the careless. Some believed the coin could pass on misfortune or even diseases from the one who dropped it. My brother had a trick. He said that if you beat the coin with a stick before picking it up, you could “break the spell.”
We believed him, of course. So while going to or after school, we’d make a quick detour, sticks in hand, hoping for some lucky pocket money. Those were our treasure hunts, guided by superstition and the promise of soda money. But clearly, this idea still has its grip on us. Coin superstition has survived long past our childhood. What prompted me to write this was a video clip I stumbled upon this evening.
A sheikh was giving a fiery sermon about this very thing. You could hear the frustration in his voice as he asked, almost in disbelief, why we’ve become so afraid of a simple coin. “A coin is just a coin!” he insisted. Yet we treat it like a cursed object, dodging it while calmly walking past the real evils, including domestic violence, corrupt systems, starving children, and teachers earning next to nothing.
He didn’t stop there. He linked it to the growing crime among neglected youth who feel abandoned by a society that sees no value in their education or potential. His voice rose: “Are we more afraid of a coin than we are of a broken society?”
That one stung.
In a chat I had with Musomesa (no need for real name, Musomesa is what everyone calls her), she couldn’t wrap her head around it either. “How can a country so full of Christians and Muslims still cling so tightly to juju?” she asked. Even some pastors and sheikhs, she said, refuse to pick up coins on the street, fearing they might bring harm. You can’t make this stuff up. The rumor mill, of course, doesn’t help. People say the newer, shinier, or even old rusty coins are especially dangerous, planted by witches to snare the greedy.
It sounds like the plot of a folktale, but many still believe it. I don’t know if it’s true. Honestly, I don’t even care. What I do care about is that our fear of imagined curses seems stronger than our anger at the real ones: poverty, inequality, injustice, and indifference. In a country where a single coin could make a difference in someone’s day, maybe it’s time we start picking them up. Even if we have to beat them with a stick first.
But, better, here’s a wild idea that crossed my mind; what if someone decided to put juju on public resources? Imagine lining the entrances of ministries and treasury vaults with money laced in all the scary stuff people claim to fear. If a single old rusty 200-shilling coin can paralyze grown men on the street, maybe it would finally keep sticky fingers out of government coffers.
Because let’s face it, people fear picking up a street coin more than they fear stealing from hospitals, schools, or pension funds. If superstition works where laws and ethics have failed, maybe we should give it a try. I know Rev. Moses Muwulya would probably frown at such “spiritual shortcuts,” but can we rule it out at this point?
Call it satire. Call it frustration. But deep down, you know there’s something tragically poetic about a society more terrified of a bewitched coin than the curses brought on by corruption.
Till next time!
