Imagine if the life of Michael Jackson was not told in the glitzy, high-budget Hollywood fashion we are used to, but instead retold through a Ugandan lens. Not just any lens, a Kampala one, where plot twists are sharper than boda boda turns in traffic, and drama is served hotter than rolex at 2am.
Earlier in April, the long-awaited Michael Jackson biopic landed in cinemas worldwide, including our own “soft life” theatres in Kampala. Of course, before the popcorn had even cooled, the usual suspects, the students of “Telegram Pirates University” had already graduated with distinction in “How to Watch for Free.” Within hours, Ugandans were reliving the story of one of the greatest entertainers to ever moonwalk across the planet.
But as I sat there (legally, of course, mostly), a question began to itch: what would happen if this kind of biopic was about a Ugandan?
Now, before you say it, yes, there are legends who deserve the first shot. The late Philly Bongole Lutaaya, whose story of music, exile, and courage in the face of HIV/AIDS would leave even Hollywood producers wiping tears. Or Elly Wamala, whose voice carried generations. Or even the institution that is Afrigo Band, imagine trying to compress decades of timeless music, rotating band members, and endless shows into two hours. That alone would need a sequel, a prequel, and a spin-off series.
But let’s be honest, this is Uganda. The moment a biopic is announced, the country turns into a panel of unpaid executive producers.
“Who is playing who?” “Why is that one acting like that?”
“That scene is propaganda!” And before you know it, Twitter (sorry, X) has already cancelled the film before it even premieres.
But as things stand, any film about the long-time occupant of Plot One would likely have to wait. Some chapters of that story are the kind people only speak freely about once the main character has stepped away from the spotlight, perhaps retired quietly to his country farm, where reflection tends to come easier than rebuttal.
Now imagine the chaos if the biopic was about Bobi Wine. First of all, the casting alone would spark a national debate bigger than fuel prices. Do you get a lookalike? Do you get the man himself? Do you risk it all and cast someone who doesn’t have a “ghetto background”? That decision alone could trend for three weeks straight.
Then comes the storyline. Do you focus on the music? The politics? The activism? Or all three? Because knowing Uganda, whichever one you pick, someone will stand up and say, “That’s not the real story.”
And don’t even get me started on Jose Chameleone. A biopic about Chameleone would need subtitles, flashbacks, and possibly a therapist on standby for viewers. From Leone Island glory days to public feuds, international shows, and the occasional “did he really just do that?” moment, it would be less of a film and more of an emotional rollercoaster with no seatbelt.
Then there is Eddy Kenzo, arguably one of the few Ugandan artistes with a story that maybe could genuinely travel beyond our borders. From humble beginnings to winning a BET Award, his journey already reads like a script. But even then, Ugandans would still find a way to argue.
“Eh, but they didn’t show that time” “No, no, no, that is not how it happened!”
Because in Uganda, we don’t just watch films, we fact-check them like we are marking UNEB exams.
Now let’s switch lanes to the socialites. A biopic about Zari Hassan? That one would break the internet before the trailer even drops. Luxury, relationships, business, drama, it has all the ingredients. The only challenge would be deciding which version of the story to tell: the Instagram version, the interview version, or the “friend of a friend told me” version.
And if you thought that would be dramatic, try Sheila Gashumba. A film about her life would need fast editing, bright colours, and a Gen Z consultant just to keep up with the energy. It would be less “biopic” and more “lifestyle experience.”
But here is the real issue: Ugandan stories are not short. They are layered. Complicated. Sometimes contradictory. One person’s truth is another person’s “that is not what happened.”
That’s why a Ugandan biopic would likely run into a unique problem, everyone involved would want editorial control. The main character wants to look good. The supporting characters want their role increased. The critics want “authenticity.” And the audience? The audience just wants drama. Lots of it.
And let’s not pretend we don’t already have access to most of these stories. Ugandan celebrities have mastered the art of “bringing the laundry outside.” Social media has given us front-row seats to feuds, reconciliations, heartbreaks, and comebacks. At this point, making a biopic might feel like turning a WhatsApp group chat into a cinema experience.
Still, there is something missing, structure. The reason a Michael Jackson-level biopic works is not just because of fame, but because the story is documented. Albums, interviews, controversies, milestones, everything is recorded, archived, and revisited.
In Uganda, we rely heavily on memory. And memory, as we all know, is like Kampala relationships, highly unpredictable.
That is why, if Ugandan biopics are ever going to make sense (and money), our stars need to start telling their stories properly. Writing books. Recording documentaries. Documenting their journeys beyond Instagram captions and TikTok snippets.
Because one day, someone will try to tell these stories. And when they do, we want more than hearsay and screenshots. We want depth. We want truth. And yes, we still want drama.
Until then, the idea of a Ugandan “Michael Jackson biopic” remains both exciting and slightly terrifying. Because if there is one thing we can guarantee, it is this: The premiere would be sold out. The reviews would be divided. And somewhere in the middle of it all, a Ugandan would stand up in the cinema and loudly say,
“Eh! But that part, they have exaggerated.”
Don’t want to miss out on any story? For updates on all Sqoop stories, follow this link on Telegram: https://t.me/Sqoop and Whatsapp: https://whatsapp.com/channel