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Quick summary: This story highlights recent developments related to government, showing how constructive action can lead to meaningful results.
On most mornings, the line in front of Masaka City Hall forms before the door opens.
There are those in search of jobs and others looking to grow small businesses. A few come with complaints about broken streetlights, unsafe roads or neighborhoods they feel city leaders have forgotten. Nearly all have something in common: They are young, and they want their concerns taken seriously. In Uganda, about 43 percent of young people aged 15 to 24 are neither in school, nor working, nor receiving training. In a city where most residents are under 25, those statistics look a lot like the people standing in this queue.
Inside the hall, a modest office has become one of the busiest stops for those young people. There, Winfred Nansikombi spends much of her day fielding questions and relaying concerns to city officials.
“They always come with ideas,” she says. “Even when they are frustrated, they still come. That means they still believe something can change.”
That mix of hope and frustration is hardly unique to Masaka. Across Africa, young people are demanding more jobs and a greater say in decisions that affect their lives. As urban populations grow younger, local governments are struggling to respond to those demands.
In Uganda, with one of the youngest populations in the world, those pressures cannot be hidden. In fact, in Masaka, a rapidly growing city in the southwest, they have become central to how the city thinks about governance.
The Masaka Youth Desk that Nansikombi coordinates is a small but increasingly influential unit within the city administration. Created to strengthen communication between young residents and local government, the desk serves as a place where young people can bring complaints and ideas directly to city officials.
“This is like a place where government and the young meet,” she says.
A city of the young
Masaka is a young city in more ways than one. Around the central taxi park, young men weave through traffic selling bottled water and mobile phone accessories. Students spill out of school gates in the afternoon. The city’s energy comes from its young people. So do many of its challenges.
For Mayor Florence Namayanja, that demography has shaped the way she thought about governing almost from the moment she took office. “We cannot plan for Masaka without planning for young people,” she says.
Namayanja became the first woman elected mayor of Masaka City in 2021, shortly after the municipality was elevated to city status. A former member of Parliament and former deputy mayor of Kampala, she returned to her home region at a moment when Masaka was expanding under the weight of trade and urban growth.
Located along a major transport corridor linking Kampala to western Uganda and beyond, Masaka attracts traders and job seekers from across the region. But the pace of economic opportunity has not matched the expectations of a growing youth population entering the labor market.
“Young people are often told they are the future, but many are struggling to find their place in the present,” says Martha Nalukenge, the SDG (Sustainable Development Goals) officer at Equator University of Science and Technology, Masaka. “They need places where they can be heard and connected to opportunities,” Nalukenge says.
For Namayanja, the question became how to rebuild trust between young residents and the city they are shaping. Part of the answer came through Masaka’s engagement with the Strong Cities Network, a global platform linking local governments working on resilient urban governance. Through exchanges with cities such as Mombasa in Kenya, Masaka officials were exposed to new approaches to youth participation in decision-making.
In 2024, those conversations led to the creation of the Youth Desk.
More than just an office
Twenty-two-year-old Brian Kato walked in with low expectations. A secondary school leaver from Nyendo, he had spent nearly two years moving between casual jobs after failing to secure a place at a tertiary institution. A friend told him about the desk, and he decided to try.
“I went because I heard they could link people to opportunities,” he says. “At that time, I was doing anything I could find. There was no stability.”
Through the desk, Kato was connected to a short vocational training program in carpentry run by a local partner organization. It did not change his life overnight, but it gave him something to do with his hands.
“I now know how to make furniture,” he says. “I’m not where I want to be yet, but I’m not where I was.”
His experience represents only one part of the desk’s work: connecting young people to training and livelihood support in a city where opportunities are often difficult to access.
The office also helps young people access programs and opportunities many do not know exist. Staff maintain a register of job seekers, share information on vacancies, connect residents to vocational training opportunities, and support applications for government funding schemes such as the Youth Livelihood Programme, a government scheme aimed at tackling youth unemployment. Young entrepreneurs also receive guidance on application processes, while others are linked to partner organizations working across the city.
The desk also allows city officials to hear directly from young residents. Rather than waiting for residents to come to city hall, staff organize community dialogues and neighborhood meetings where young people raise concerns ranging from unemployment and safety to mental health and access to services. When patterns emerge, they are passed on to city leaders.
“The desk was created to give young people a voice within city structures,” Nansikombi says. “We wanted them to know that government is not something distant.”
For Anthonio Kalyango, that idea became tangible when he was selected through the Youth Desk to receive support under a $50,000 grant backed by Bloomberg Philanthropies. The grant helped Kalyango expand a community conservation project that trains young people to protect local wetlands.
“Before this, many of us had ideas but no way to turn them into action,” he says. “The Youth Desk helped bridge that gap.”
Namayanja says the desk is also about giving young people a stake in solving the city’s problems. “We are enabling our youth to convert their visions into real-world solutions that respond to the needs of our city,” she says.
However, not every concern has a quick solution.
For 19-year-old Aisha Nalubega, the issue was safety. At a community dialogue, she raised concerns about young women walking home from evening classes through poorly lit streets. She did not expect much.
“But they wrote it down,” she says. “Later, we were invited again to discuss what could be done.”
Months on, most of the lights have still not been fixed. But the experience gave her hope. “At least now I know where to go.”
For Nalukenge, this is the desk’s biggest achievement. “When [young people] feel heard and seen, it creates a relationship and a belief that they are part of the government,” she says. “It is the beginning of trust.”
There are more demands than the city’s budget can meet. Not all potholes have been fixed, and street corners are still not lit. But every morning, young people continue to show up at city hall. In a city where many have grown used to being ignored, that may be the clearest sign that the desk is working.
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