For every landlocked nation, the sea is more than a body of water—it is a horizon of possibility, a dream of breath, of escape from geographic strangulation, of direct participation in the global bloodstream of trade. Uganda, enclosed by five countries and denied a coastline by the colonial map-makers of the 19th century, has carried this dream longer than most. On November 11, 2025, in a State Lodge speech in Mbale, President Yoweri Museveni turned that dream into a blunt geopolitical assertion that sent shockwaves across East Africa: Uganda is “entitled to access the Indian Ocean through Kenya” and, if landlocked states are perpetually denied free sea access, “there will be war.”

The phrase “the ocean” is not new in Museveni’s lexicon—he has spoken for decades about the “historic injustice” of Uganda’s landlocked status—but the 2025 phrasing was unusually possessive and combative. “That ocean belongs to me,” he reportedly declared, “because it is my ocean.” The remarks, delivered to a domestic audience but instantly amplified across social media and regional press, reframed a practical grievance (high transit costs, occasional border delays, pipeline rivalries) into an existential claim: the Indian Ocean is not merely Kenya’s coastline; it is East Africa’s commons, and Uganda has a natural right to it.

Geography as Destiny—and Grievance

Uganda sits at the heart of the Great Lakes region, its rivers (notably the Nile) ultimately flowing not to the Atlantic but toward the Mediterranean—yet its pre-colonial kingdoms traded indirectly with Swahili coastal cities centuries ago. When Britain drew the Uganda Protectorate’s borders, the protectorate stopped just short of the coast, leaving the new state dependent on the goodwill (and infrastructure) of its neighbors. Today, more than 90 % of Uganda’s imports and exports still pass through Mombasa, Kenya’s primary port, with the remaining share increasingly routed through Tanzania’s Dar es Salaam after recent infrastructure investments. Transit fees, demurrage delays, and occasional political friction have long made the corridor feel like a leash rather than a lifeline.

Museveni’s November outburst was not abstract philosophy. It followed years of quiet frustration:

• Kenya’s fluctuating fuel-import deals and port-clearance policies that Ugandan importers say add unnecessary costs.
• The completion of the East African Crude Oil Pipeline (EACOP) routing Ugandan oil to Tanga in Tanzania instead of Lamu in Kenya, a decision Nairobi quietly resented.
• A broader trend of landlocked countries (Ethiopia with Djibouti/Eritrea, Bolivia with Chile, Serbia with Montenegro) occasionally voicing similar “sea dreams” when relations sour with coastal neighbours.

Museveni invoked the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS) Article 125, which guarantees landlocked states “freedom of transit” through coastal states “on terms no less favourable than that of nationals of the coastal State.” Yet he went far beyond legal jargon, framing access as an almost birthright rooted in geography, history, and the “catchment area” of the Indian Ocean basin.

Kenya’s Reaction: From Laughter to Alarm

Kenyans reacted with a mixture of memes, outrage, and patriotic memes, and outright alarm. Social media exploded with jokes about sending the National Youth Service (NYS) to “defend every grain of sand” and photoshopped images of Museveni on a floatie in the Indian Ocean. Yet beneath the humour lay genuine unease. Kenya’s coastline is not just economic infrastructure; it is identity—Mombasa, Diani, the Swahili coast, tourism, the blue economy. To hear a neighbour call the ocean “mine” felt, to many, like a territorial claim in disguise.

Kenyan officials chose diplomacy. Foreign Affairs statements reaffirmed “commitment to hassle-free transit” and “sovereign equality,” while quietly sending delegations to Kampala to cool tempers. President William Ruto’s administration reportedly assured Museveni that Kenya would never block access, but the underlying message was clear: access yes, entitlement no.

The Deeper Politics of Being Landlocked

Museveni’s remarks tap into a global pattern. Bolivia celebrates a “Day of the Sea” every year, mourning the strip of Pacific coast lost to Chile in 1879. Serbia’s rhetoric over Kosovo sometimes includes complaints about lost Adriatic access via Montenegro. Ethiopia’s military port deals with Somaliland and Djibouti are driven by the same logic Museveni articulated: no nation can permanently accept geographic strangulation without eventually pushing back.

Yet the East African case is unique because integration is supposed to be the solution, not war. The East African Community (EAC), the Northern Corridor Integration Projects, and the LAPSSET corridor were all designed to make borders irrelevant. In reality, old suspicions endure:

• Kenya quietly fears losing port revenue if Uganda (and Rwanda, South Sudan, eastern DRC) fully pivot to Tanzania.
• Uganda fears weaponised transit delays or arbitrary fees whenever bilateral relations cool.
• Tanzania watches quietly, happy to play the alternative route card.

Beyond the Rhetoric: What Happens Next?

Museveni later clarified (through aides) that he was issuing a warning, not a threat, and was reminding the region that “peaceful access is the only sustainable model.” Delegations have shuttled between Kampala and Nairobi, and both sides have reaffirmed EAC commitments. Yet the speech has reopened a conversation that many pretend is settled:

1. Should the EAC create a binding, enforceable transit treaty with guaranteed tariffs and timelines?
2. Is it time for joint ownership of port and pipeline infrastructure (a “common ocean corridor”)?
3. Or will every economic disagreement keep resurrecting the ghost of “the ocean belongs to all of us”?

A Dream, Not a War Cry

The “dream of the ocean” is ultimately not about annexation or conquest. It is the very human longing to breathe freely—to trade, to grow, to imagine a future unblocked by someone else’s border post. Museveni’s blunt language shocked the region into remembering that geography is never just geography; it is power, identity, and survival.

For now, the Indian Ocean remains Kenya’s coastline and everyone’s highway. Whether it stays that way depends less on fiery speeches than on quiet, boring things: standardised gauges on railways, harmonised customs software, and the political will to treat neighbours as partners rather than gatekeepers.

The dream need not become a nightmare—if the gate is genuinely open.