Uganda’s PDM war on poverty hits a wall
In an ambitious effort to lift millions out of subsistence and into the formal money economy, the Ugandan government has poured trillions into the Parish Development Model (PDM).
But on the ground, the picture is more complex—and often more sobering—than the glossy statistics and budget speeches suggest. According to the ministry of Finance, 2.63 million Ugandans have so far benefited from the PDM initiative, which aims to empower rural households through small-scale investments in agriculture, livestock and other local enterprises.
By the end of June 2025, the government says it will have disbursed a staggering Shs 3.3 trillion to over 10,589 parishes. A further Shs 1.059 trillion has been earmarked for the 2025/26 financial year. But questions loom over how this money is distributed, how much of it truly reaches the poor, and whether it is making any lasting impact.
In Kisanga parish, Maliba sub-county in Kasese district, LC1 chairperson Eric Sarambi is skeptical.
“We conducted a survey with the GISO,” he said, “and the truth is, maybe two out of ten people can show anything they gained from the PDM. Most used the money to cover urgent problems— school fees, medical bills. People are poor; the first thing they think of is survival.”
Sarambi notes that while the national figures suggest 45 per cent of beneficiaries invested in livestock, his parish tells a different story.
“A good goat costs up to Shs 500,000. With a Shs 1 million grant, you can buy two goats, but that leaves no money for building a shelter or feeding them. Most people here live on just one acre of land, which is already shared between food and coffee crops.”
Farming, too, comes with heavy costs. Renting an acre goes for Shs 200,000. Preparing, planting and maintaining that land can double the figure.
“You spend Shs 10,000 per kilogram to plant beans and then sell the harvest at Shs 1,500,” Sarambi said. “That’s not profit—it’s a loss. And when the rains fail, as they often do, you lose everything.”
For Sarambi and others, the issue is not just economic—it’s political. While PDM is technically open to all, he alleges that in his village, 98% of recipients are NRM party supporters.
“The ones running the program are NRM cadres. If you’re not connected, you may be asked to pay just to be considered.” That concern is echoed across the district. Interviews conducted by The Observer reveal reports of informal fees and favouritism.
A 60-year-old woman in Kisanga said she had to pay Shs 100,000 in ‘form fees’ and ‘computer charges’ before receiving her money.
“I had to call my son in Kampala for help,” she said. “They told me the money was for forms, for the computer, for the supervisor’s transport.” Not everyone had to pay. Reachel Biira, another beneficiary, told us her brother-in-law was the officer in charge.
“I didn’t pay a coin,” she said. But for many, the money came and went without transforming their lives.
“Can we postpone that question?” one woman said when asked what she had done with her PDM funds. Another, who used her grant to buy iron sheets for her house, expressed doubt she could repay it.
“I’ve supported Museveni my whole life and never got anything. If they come for the money, they’ll have to take my house.”
In theory, the PDM is meant to empower Uganda’s poorest households. In practice, it’s also a deeply politicized operation. Former Kasese Municipality MP Robert Centenary calls the program “a campaign tool for NRM.”
He claims many opposition members are excluded or discouraged from applying.
“If you’re not NRM, you’re often treated like the money isn’t meant for you.” Ronald Evans Kanyike, MP for Bukoto East in Masaka, echoes that frustration.
“We have nine parishes, but only six parish chiefs. And without them, PDM doesn’t function. On top of that, it’s been politicized. People see it as a reward from the NRM, not as a development tool.”
Kanyike says the misuse goes beyond favoritism.
“People use the money to buy alcohol, take new wives, or spend lavishly. It doesn’t break the poverty cycle—it just funds a weekend.”
The recent launch of the Parish Development Model Information System (PDMIS), meant to track and evaluate disbursements, was met with derision by critics. “That’s just postmortem,” said Centenary.
“They’ve already spent Shs 3 trillion without oversight. Now they want to monitor what’s left?” Uganda’s broader economic picture remains troubling.
According to the Uganda Bureau of Statistics (Ubos), nearly half of all households reported a significant loss of income during the Covid-19 pandemic. As of 2022, over 56% of the population faced moderate food insecurity.
The poverty rate, using updated standards, hovers at 30 per cent, with multidimensional poverty above 50%. Against this backdrop, the PDM’s Shs 1 million per household may seem like a drop in the ocean. Yet for some, it’s a start. Julius Mukunda, executive director of the Civil Society Budget Advocacy Group (CSBAG), sees both promise and pitfalls.
“The model has shifted from demand-driven to supply-driven,” he said. “Money is given whether people have a plan or not. That makes them lazy.” But he also points to success stories.
“Some women’s groups have pooled their funds, hired extra land and labor, and boosted production from 10 to 80 bags of maize. That’s transformation.” Still, Mukunda questions whether PDM’s potential can be realized at scale.
“They’ve spent Shs 3 trillion. Now they’re adding another trillion. Will it change anything without reform?”
PDM was envisioned as a bottom-up approach to economic development. But unless corruption is tackled, monitoring systems enforced, and inclusivity guaranteed, many fear it will go the way of other well-intentioned programs: lost in paperwork, politics, and poverty.
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