Some clever people were debating electric mobility in Uganda.

There was talk of import duties, tax incentives, local manufacturing, BEVs, PHEVs, CKDs and SKDs.

By the fourth abbreviation, Uncle Rwamiti was already looking for the door.

But beneath all that technical language was a simple disagreement.

One side said:

“Don’t give tax incentives to imported electric vehicles. Give incentives to local manufacturing. We need Ugandan factories and Ugandan jobs.”

Fair enough.

The other side said:

“Yes. But factories need customers.”

If new electric vehicles remain too expensive, few Ugandans buy them.

If few people buy them, charging infrastructure develops slowly. Banks hesitate to finance them. Technicians don’t specialise. Dealers remain small.

And investors see no market worth manufacturing for.

So somebody asked a better question:

Why must it be either/or?

What if Uganda temporarily reduced taxes on affordable new EVs to help create a market, while giving even stronger incentives to companies that assemble and manufacture locally?

Grow the market AND grow manufacturing.

Uncle Rwamiti had been quiet.

Eventually he cleared his throat.

“My neighbour grows excellent coffee,” he said.

“I keep very good cows.

I could grow my own coffee to prove that I am independent.

Unfortunately, my coffee is terrible.”

Someone laughed.

“So I sell him milk. He sells me coffee. Meanwhile, I improve my cows and he improves his coffee.”

He scratched his beard.

“A wise village does not manufacture everything. It makes sure it has something valuable to exchange.”

Apparently economists have a complicated name for this:

Comparative advantage.

Uncle Rwamiti calls it common sense.

But something else had just happened.

We had begun with taxation, industrial policy and electric mobility—subjects most people would never voluntarily read about.

Somehow we ended with cows, coffee and two neighbours.

The economics had not disappeared. People had simply found a way to engage with it.

And therein lies a problem much bigger than electric vehicles.

Governments, universities, researchers and development organisations possess mountains of valuable knowledge: reports, research, strategies and evidence.

But knowledge cannot change people’s lives if the people it is meant to reach never willingly engage with it.

Sometimes what is missing isn’t another report.

It is a story.

That is Uncle Rwamiti’s work:

Turning knowledge that matters into stories people are eager to engage with.

Making sense of change through ethical storytelling.

— Uncle Rwamiti