Justice and Constitutional Affairs Minister Norbert Mao has triggered a fresh debate over Uganda’s architectural direction by likening the redesigned State House Entebbe to a shopping mall.
Speaking with candor at a World Intellectual Property Day event in Kampala, Mao didn’t hold back.
“I felt bad when the Chinese destroyed the old State House to build this one,” he said. “The old State House had a history.”
A visibly disappointed Mao went on to say the new design reminds him more of Kampala’s commercial centers than a seat of executive power.
“It looks like Akamwesi, it looks like Forest Mall. It’s some common place. It’s like a shopping mall,” he remarked, triggering murmurs among attendees.
The State House in Entebbe isn’t just any building. It’s the official residence of President Yoweri Museveni and symbolizes the epicenter of Uganda’s executive authority. But to many, it’s more than just a workplace—it’s a national landmark, steeped in political history.
Originally built during the colonial era, the old State House overlooked Lake Victoria and featured elegant, colonial-era architecture. It served as the residence of British colonial governors and later Uganda’s presidents, including Milton Obote and Idi Amin. The building bore silent witness to pivotal chapters in the country’s post-independence journey.
That legacy changed in the early 2000s when the government, with Chinese support, tore down the original structure to erect a modern facility. The move was framed as part of a broader push to modernize national infrastructure.
While the new building is certainly more spacious and better equipped for hosting diplomatic engagements, it’s drawn criticism from cultural heritage advocates.
Mao’s comments have once again spotlighted a lingering concern—Uganda’s historical architecture is quietly disappearing, often replaced with utilitarian designs that lack soul or national character.
Critics argue that this approach, frequently driven by foreign contractors, overlooks the importance of preserving cultural identity through architecture.
Peter Mulondo, a Kampala-based heritage conservationist, echoed Mao’s sentiments in a phone interview. “We need development, yes. But we also need memory. We can’t demolish every historical building in the name of progress,” he said.
The Ministry of Works and Transport, which oversees infrastructure projects, has yet to respond to Mao’s remarks.
However, his comments have sparked a wave of conversation online, with many Ugandans echoing the call for greater sensitivity to national heritage.
Whether this latest critique will lead to a broader policy discussion on architectural conservation—or remain a passing headline—remains to be seen. But one thing is clear: Uganda’s built history is becoming as contested as its politics.
