The quiet exodus: Why top professors are fleeing Makerere

In the heart of Kampala, Makerere University still stands tall—its red-brick towers and colonial architecture projecting a sense of permanence.

But behind the iconic façade, something far less visible is slipping away. Uganda’s oldest and most prestigious public university is bleeding its intellectual lifeblood: professors and senior lecturers are leaving in a quiet but steady exodus.

And it’s not just retirement, it’s frustration, burnout, and a deepening sense of institutional drift. An investigation by this writer reveals that between 2018 and 2024, Makerere lost over 30 professors and nearly 50 senior lecturers. That may sound like just numbers on a page.

But each of these individuals took decades to shape—decades of public investment, mentorship and academic rigor. Their departure isn’t just a staffing issue. It’s a national loss.

A SYSTEM LETTING ITS BRIGHTEST MINDS WALK AWAY

In Uganda, becoming a professor is no small feat. It takes years of teaching, publishing, supervising graduate students, and navigating the bureaucracy of academic life. Most of the professors currently in Uganda’s public universities were educated on government scholarships.

They are public goods—national investments whose value extends beyond the classroom. And yet, the very institutions they helped build seem unable—or unwilling—to hold onto them. Take Professors Sylvia Tamale and Joe Oloka-Onyango, two of the most respected scholars of their generation.

If you see them walking through the streets of Kampala today, you will find they remain as intellectually sharp and spirited as ever. And yet, they are no longer at Makerere. Tamale left before the mandatory retirement age of 65. She’s 63. Oloka-Onyango only just turned 65.

But both have moved on—quietly, but unmistakably. Had Makerere been a place with foresight and courage, one that valued its intellectual giants not just in ceremony but in practice, it would have done everything in its power to keep them. Instead, the system seems designed to let them go.

THE RANKINGS THAT STIRRED A RECKONING 

In July, the Daily Monitor published university rankings that reignited scrutiny of Makerere. The university was listed 41st in Africa, but it was a shared rank, tied with 31 other institutions. For many Ugandans, the result felt disappointing, even embarrassing.

Makerere was once called the “Harvard of Africa.” Today, the numbers tell a different story. According to Times Higher Education metrics, Makerere’s teaching score was 21 per cent. Its research environment scored just 6.4 per cent. Research quality reached 45.1 per cent. Industry innovation? A mere 20 per cent.

These figures aren’t just academic; they reflect real gaps in output, visibility and impact. And most of these metrics rely on one thing: professors. So, why is the output so low? Because the university is losing the very people who produce it. At last count, Makerere was operating at only 42 per cent staffing capacity.

Even among those still on the books, many are either overworked, burnt out, or actively seeking ways out. If losing scholars weren’t bad enough, Makerere’s internal governance has also taken a troubling turn. In what used to be a university guided by robust academic debate, key decisions are now concentrated in the hands of a few.

Two top offices, the Academic Registrar and the Deputy Vice Chancellor for Academic Affairs (DVCAA), have been held in acting capacity by the same individual, Prof Mukadasi Buyinza. On occasions when the vice chancellor traveled abroad, Prof Buyinza has even held three roles at once.

This over-centralization, while technically possible, is institutionally reckless. What’s more, the DVCAA position is one of the most demanding posts in the university—effectively the engine room of academic operations.

That it can be held as an “acting” post for such a long period, with no clear succession plan, is symptomatic of deeper dysfunction. In a healthy academic institution, the Senate—a body composed largely of scholars—is the seat of academic authority. At Makerere, however, that seat is increasingly symbolic.

Decisions are now made by the University Council; a body composed mostly of political appointees and non-academic figures. The consequence? A university where academics are sidelined, and institutional direction is shaped more by politics than scholarship. One insider likened it to a “good secondary school”—a stinging indictment for a university once revered across the continent.

NOT JUST RETIREMENT – BUT REJECTION 

The exodus of professors can’t simply be explained by age. For years, it was common practice for professors to stay on past the official retirement age of 65, through post- retirement contracts offered in 4-4-2 cycles (two four-year contracts followed by two years, extending up to age 75).

This made sense. Academia isn’t sport—scholars grow more valuable with age, not less. But now, even these post-retirement contracts are being denied or quietly phased out. Some professors have had their contracts terminated without clear cause. Others were subjected to toxic work environments or outright threats.

For people who have given their lives to the university, the message is unmistakable: your time is up—not when your wisdom fades, but when politics decides. What’s most painful in all this is the lost potential.

Uganda’s higher education system depends on places like Makerere not just to teach, but to inspire, to question, to lead national conversations. When professors walk away—not to greener pastures, but often to quieter lives—the system doesn’t just lose knowledge. It loses continuity, mentorship and innovation.

And the public, which paid for their education through taxes, loses its return on investment. Makerere’s leadership has responded to criticism with statements, many of them defensive, some tone-deaf.

But words alone won’t rebuild trust or stem the loss of talent. What’s needed is institutional reform, intellectual humility, and a real commitment to protecting what matters most in any university: its people.

A SYSTEM RIGGED IN REAL TIME 

In the last 10 years, under pressure to align the university with the political interests of the Museveni government, those contracts have been quietly eroded. First, the structure was shortened to 2-1-1-1. Then it became just a single year. And even, that could be denied arbitrarily.

For those viewed as politically inconvenient, applications were dismissed without explanation. For the well-connected, four-year contracts were approved without question.

MOVING GOALPOSTS, POLITICAL FAVORS

Promotions, too, have lost their grounding in academic achievement. In theory, moving from lecturer to senior lecturer—or from associate professor to full professor—requires a combination of teaching, publishing and mentorship.

But at Makerere, those standards have become elastic. At times, promotion committees have demanded evidence of supervising multiple master’s and PhD students, even in departments where no such programs exist.

At other times, they have insisted on evidence of attracting large research grants, effectively turning scholars into fundraisers. Ironically, there is no clear benchmark for how much money is “enough.”

One professor recalled being told informally that their application lacked “weight,” despite ticking every formal box. For others, even securing a meeting to discuss promotion meant navigating gatekeepers whose authority often outranked their qualifications.

WHEN PROFESSORS KNEEL

Perhaps the most demoralizing shift is not in policy but in culture. In a university meant to be governed by ideas, senior academics have found themselves needing to “seek audience” with administrative officers—sometimes with lesser academic credentials—just to discuss their future.

“You have professors kneeling before people with bachelor’s degrees,” said one source, voice heavy with disgust.

“At Makerere, the professor should be the boss, not a beggar.” Faced with this new order, many simply walked away. Professors Sylvia Tamale and Joe Oloka-Onyango—arguably two of the most revered academics of their generation—never bothered to apply for post-retirement contracts.

Nor did Prof David Bakibinga or Prof Maria Nassali. They left with quiet dignity, rather than submit themselves to what one former lecturer called “institutional humiliation.” Their exits have left an aching void.

Professors like Tamale and Oloka-Onyango were not only deeply accomplished researchers but were also outspoken thinkers, passionate mentors and public voices of conscience. Their departure isn’t just a loss to the university; it’s a loss to the nation’s intel-Professors like Dominic Dipio, Patrick Mangeni and Godfrey Asiimwe submitted applications for post-retirement contracts.

They were denied—again, without explanation. Makerere’s defenders might point to budget constraints or restructuring. But that argument falters under closer scrutiny. Many of these academics didn’t leave for private universities or foreign institutions.

They either joined smaller public universities elsewhere in Uganda, or left academia altogether, choosing peace of mind over endless bureaucratic battles.

A CULTURE OF FEAR AND SILENCE

At the root of the exodus is not just policy, but fear—a creeping, corrosive fear that silence is safer than speech, that compliance is more valued than contribution.

The space once reserved for collegial debate and academic independence has shrunk, replaced by suspicion, political maneuvering, and a sense that real influence lies not in scholarship, but in proximity to power.

When a university begins to treat its professors as liabilities rather than assets, it forfeits its claim to excellence. And when contracts and promotions are no longer tied to work, but to obedience, the rot sets in—quietly at first, then irreversibly.

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