Have you ever felt like you’re leading a double life? You work as a security guard by day, but when people back home ask, you suddenly become a “logistics manager”? Or maybe “operations consultant, Gulf region”? Welcome to the secret life of a Sekadama.

When I first touched down in the United Arab Emirates, I was wide-eyed, hopeful—and slightly underdressed for the desert sun. Like many Ugandans, I came with a dream, a suitcase and the kind of expectations that make you lie on WhatsApp before you even get your first payslip.

My first job? Security guard. Uniform, badge, night shifts and more walking than a village boy chasing cows. Now, don’t get me wrong—security is an honourable job. It requires focus, discipline and a bladder of steel. But for some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to proudly tell my relatives back in Uganda what I actually did.

Instead, I found myself curating a more glamorous version of reality.

“Alooo, Uncle Robert, Dubai is amazing! I’m working in… logistics. Yeah, you know, coordinating movement…of people…in buildings…at night.”

Truth is, many of us here are doing the exact same thing. You see us on Instagram with Burj Khalifa in the background and think we’re swimming in dirhams. But behind that photo is a guy who borrowed a roommate’s iPhone, took five tries to get the angle right and probably walked two kilometres home after the bus left him.

Why the double life though? Because we Ugandans have been programmed to worship titles. If you didn’t become a doctor, lawyer, engineer or at least drive a car with flashing lights, then you must have failed somewhere. Anything else is seen as settling.

So we, the Sekadamas, adapt. We live humbly, work hard and still find time to smile at the camera like life is soft. We may be sleeping two to a bed, but on Facebook we’re “living the Dubai dream.”

But here’s the truth bomb: There’s no shame in the hustle. A job is a job, especially when that job pays rent, buys food and sends something back home to build that slowly-growing house in Masaka.

Many of us are guards, cleaners, waiters, drivers, packers and, yes, baristas. And yet when you call someone in Uganda and say, “I’m working at a coffee shop,” they look at you like you’ve betrayed your clan. They don’t know you’ve memorised 16 different types of latte art, and that your name tag says “Joe” because customers can’t pronounce “Magambo.”

To be honest, I’ve learned more discipline and resilience as a Sekadama than I ever did pretending to be a big man in Kampala. We budget dirham by dirham, we survive on instant noodles and water and still find the strength to help each other out when someone’s visa is about to expire.

There’s a silent brotherhood among us here. If your shoes are worn out, someone will lend you his spare pair. If you don’t have airtime to call home, someone will hotspot you. We may not have fancy job titles, but we’ve got each other—and that’s powerful.

So let’s stop hiding behind fake titles and embrace who we are. Take that photo in your uniform and post it with pride. Write that caption in Luganda if you want. “Tuli wano ku site, naye omutima guli ku Uganda.”

And to those back home scrolling our statuses and asking, “So, what do you actually do in Dubai?”—here’s the answer: We hustle. We grind. We build. And we wear our Sekadama badge with pride.

As the great Ugandan Sekadama philosopher (read: me) once said:
“Akalimu kalimu, kasita kagula KFC.”
Translation? A job is a job, as long as it buys chicken.

So next time you think of laughing at someone working as a cleaner in the Middle East, remember: They’re out here making moves, while you’re still waiting for your cousin to send you transport.