Abdul Rahman
The smell of grilled chicken drifts through the narrow paths of Kiteezi, where nightfall signals both rest and hustle. Amid the noise of boda-bodas, laughter, and crackling fires, stands Abdul, a 29-year-old street vendor whose smoky grill has become both his livelihood and his story of survival.
Each spark that flies off his charcoal tells of resilience of a man who turned ashes into purpose.
Abdul’s face glows under the orange shimmer of firelight. His hands, rough and darkened by years of work, move rhythmically flipping, seasoning, fanning. The flames obey him like old friends.
“Life is not easy here,” he says softly, eyes squinting from the smoke. “But this is my office, my pride, my way to live.”
He started his grill work 3 years ago, after losing a mechanic job in town. With help of a good boss, he set up along a busy roadside in Kiteezi, where dust and hunger never rest.
For many, grilled chicken is a snack. For Abdul, it is survival.
Every afternoon , Abdul walks from his small rented room carrying chicken pieces marinated in secret spices a recipe self taught.
“My mom taught me that food brings people together,” he says with a faint smile. “Even when you have nothing, if you feed someone, you’ve done something good.”
The customers from taxi drivers to students know his spot by the glow of the coals and the familiar greeting:
“Boss, one piece or two?”
Abdul doesn’t just sell food. He serves warmth in a world that often feels cold. He listens to stories, cracks jokes, and sometimes extends a free piece to a hungry kid who can’t afford it.
“That one smile,” he says, “is my reward for the night.”
Yet behind the laughter, life tests him daily. Rising charcoal prices, heavy rains, and thugs threaten his business. On bad days, he earns less than 10,000 UGX after the boss’s share and business returns barely enough for rent and food.
But Abdul refuses to quit.
He dreams of becoming a musician and owning a small restaurant one day “a place with light, seats, and music.”
Every saved shilling, no matter how small, moves him one step closer.
“Some people see a street vendor,” he says. “I see a future artist and chef.”
As the day deepens, smoke rises into the dark Kiteezi sky. a silent prayer, a symbol of endurance. Abdul packs up his utensils, wipes sweat from his brow, and watches the dim lights of the town light up.
“Every day I tell myself: tomorrow, I’ll grill again,” he says quietly.
In that moment, his small fire mirrors something bigger, the unextinguished hope of Uganda’s working poor, whose courage burns even when life turns cold.
Closing Reflection:
Abdul’s story is more than a tale of grilled chicken, it’s a portrait of perseverance in a place where dreams are often fried by struggle.
Through his smoke and sweat, he teaches us that dignity doesn’t come from the size of your business, but from the heart behind your hustle.
@Sserunjogi Rogers Abdul Rahman
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