If you walked into the Uganda National Theatre gardens on Friday night, you could easily have mistaken the gathering for a silent disco.
Hundreds of people sat facing a stage wearing glowing wireless headphones. There were no booming speakers, no deafening sound checks and almost no noise coming from the audience.
Yet every few seconds, people burst into laughter, others nodded in agreement while some quietly wiped away tears.
The silence was deceptive.
Inside every headset was a live poetry performance.
This was another edition of Mtichz Manifest, spoken word artist Mitch Isabirye’s signature poetry experience that has quietly become one of Kampala’s most consistent arts events.
While concerts continue competing over bigger stages, louder sound systems and expensive lighting, Mitchz Manifest has gone in the opposite direction—removing almost all external noise and letting words do the heavy lifting.
The result is an experience where every metaphor, joke and pause feels personal.
Instead of shouting over loudspeakers, performers almost seem to whisper directly into the audience’s ears.
That intimacy may explain why the event has steadily grown since its first edition in 2022.
Friday’s show attracted a full audience, further highlighting poetry’s growing place within Uganda’s entertainment scene.
Although Mitch Isabirye host of night, the evening was built around a collective of performers.
Host Rowland Aine guided audiences through an evening that blended spoken word with live music.
Arturo Silver Tongue, Mutagwanya Joan and Jason Ntaro all delivered poetry before musicians Edwardo Kayondo and Geof De Poet briefly changed the mood with acoustic performances that had audiences requesting encore songs despite communicating almost entirely through silent applause and gestures.
When Mitch eventually appeared just after 9 p.m., he didn’t rely on theatrics.
He relied on stories.
Stories about heartbreak.
Stories about Kampala.
Stories about alcohol.
Stories about politics.
Stories about simply trying to survive adulthood.
His poem about Kampala painted the capital as both an opportunity and a burden.
Another explored why many Ugandans appear disconnected from their own history, questioning governance and public systems while carefully balancing humour with social criticism.
Even when addressing serious subjects, Mitch rarely abandoned comedy.
He laughed at heartbreak, made fun of drinking culture, confessed that, despite audiences loving his romantic poetry, love poems are actually some of the hardest pieces for him to write.
That honesty became part of the performance.
Rather than watching someone recite memorised lines, audiences felt like they were listening to conversations disguised as poetry.
By the time he closed with Nayanguwa, a reflection on life’s obstacles, the audience rose almost instinctively.
The standing ovation wasn’t simply for one performance.
It was for an art form that has quietly refused to disappear.
For years, spoken word has existed on the margins of Uganda’s entertainment industry, often overshadowed by music and comedy.
Friday’s’s show suggests the audience is finally catching up.
Don’t want to miss out on any story? For updates on all Sqoop stories, follow this link on Telegram: https://t.me/Sqoop