In the Madi sub-region of northern Uganda, land is more than property. It is identity, heritage, and survival. For generations, cultural norms have dictated who owns and controls this vital resource, often placing women at the margins of inheritance and decision-making.
Yet today, a quiet but determined shift is taking root as families, elders, and leaders begin to re-examine traditions in ways that could reshape the future of land ownership without eroding cultural identity.
Voices from within the community reveal both the depth of the challenge and the seeds of transformation.
Kentembwe Mary Guma, an opinion leader, reflects on the enduring grip of tradition and her personal experience navigating it. “From the previous culture, they denied us women chances of getting the land, getting those rights and up to now, some of us women still follow that.”
“By the way,” she said, “I fell a victim somewhere. I really participated a lot in the registration of this customary land. And my husband was there. He is the head of the family. He was on top and I was the second.”
Guma is one of the women who is not “married in that kind of way.” “Neither customary, religious, nor civil. I don’t belong to any, but I’m still cohabiting up to now. Even now when I’m a widow, I’m still cohabiting with air with water, I don’t know. But the good part, and the fortunate part of it is that I’m alone.”
Her story highlights the subtle resistance emerging within cultural systems where women get to spaces where none were traditionally granted.
For others, the consequences of exclusion are more severe. Dipio Beatrice recounts a painful experience of dispossession despite her investment and effort.
“It happened to me. I built a house. After finishing the whole house, my uncle said, ‘You are just a girl. Your land is where you are married. So, I didn’t tell you because I wanted you to construct the house so that your brothers will enter and use it’.”
Dipo said “right now they are in her house.” And let me come to these politicians here. “These people who have their certificates on the trees. They don’t support us, women.
“You go to the office where you know very well you are going to get help. Reaching there, you get ashamed. You get embarrassed. They are torturing us inwardly. I know where I am going to tickle that button to get my house back.”
Her testimony underscores not only cultural barriers but also systemic gaps that continue to frustrate women seeking justice.
Activists argue that part of the challenge lies within the community itself. Ajio Edina, a member of Human Rights Defenders and an advocate, points to the need for awareness and internal empowerment.
“A woman who knows her rights can defend herself but what about the ones who don’t even know where the tarmac ends? So, we really need to go down to those women who are suffering in the villages because they don’t know their rights to land ownership,” said Ajio.
Dipio Francis, the acting probation officer for gender noted that: “We have come across many challenges women face in the community especially cases related to women being abused by men over land ownership. You will find a woman has bought a plot of land or planted trees but when she wants to use her asset, the husband will say, ‘Who gave you the authority? Don’t you know that you are a woman?”
“Sometimes I feel like there’s a lot that needs to be done concerning this matter,” Dipio noted.
Despite these challenges, Uganda’s legal framework provides a strong foundation for change. Mesiku Harriet, the senior land officer in Adjumani district, emphasises that the law is clear on women’s rights.
“The legal framework that allows women to access, own, and use land or natural resources is the Constitution. You realise that the Constitution has so many provisions that talk about the rights of women and other rights of all the citizens of Uganda.
Mesiku added: “If there is any law that you want to come up with, it should never be inconsistent with the Constitution of the Republic of Uganda.”
“But in the national land policy, you will find out that the rights of women in regard to access, use, and ownership are clearly written out or laid out.”
Cultural leaders acknowledge that traditions are not static.
Amacha Goli, the Prime Minister of the Madi Cultural Institution, offers a perspective that opens the door for reform from within. “On matters of land, women were not largely disadvantaged. In those days we had polygamous families. When a woman marries a man, the man gives land to the wife and after that, the land remains yours and for your children and this practice has been on and on.”
Now, he said, things are changing so fast. “The madi culture pertaining to the land has been so fair. But now, land has become a hot commodity. Land has a lot of market. Therefore, I call upon us to start engaging seriously in this cultural practice.”
His remarks reflect a critical reality: as land gains economic value, long-standing practices are being tested, sometimes at the expense of women.
The unfolding story in the Madi sub-region is not one of culture versus rights, but of culture in transition. It is about communities asking difficult questions, such as how to preserve identity while ensuring fairness, how to respect tradition while embracing equality.
For policymakers, cultural leaders, and development partners, the message is clear: meaningful change will require collaboration, awareness, and deliberate action.
Strengthening enforcement of existing laws, investing in community sensitisation, and amplifying women’s voices are no longer optional – they are necessary steps toward inclusive development.
As more women like Kentembwe and Beatrice speak out, and as leaders begin to listen, the possibility of coexistence between culture and women’s land rights is no longer distant. It is becoming a reality: one decision, one household, and one community at a time.
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