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‎“I Recorded My First Hit in a Mud House” — Fyn Ekoz Breaks the Silence for Broke Ugandan Artists
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‎In Uganda, talent is everywhere—but opportunity is rare. The road to music success is hard, bitter, and full of pain. You don’t need a microphone to sing here. You need hunger. You need tears. You need madness. And for many broke artists, that’s all they’ve got.
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‎Ask Fyn Ekoz, and he’ll tell you exactly how it feels to start with nothing.
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‎“I recorded my first hit in a mud house. No windows, no electricity. Just wires on the floor and hope in my chest,” he says. “We had to steal power from a neighbor just to mix vocals. And when it rained, we’d stop recording because water would enter the mic.”
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‎It wasn’t glamour. It wasn’t showbiz. It was survival. Fyn Ekoz, like hundreds of talented youths from Kampala to Hoima, knew what it meant to dream in darkness. No manager. No sponsor. Just one belief—that his voice could change everything.
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‎Uganda’s music industry is brutal when you’re broke. Studios charge high. Promoters ignore you. DJs don’t even look at you. Some radio stations ask for money before they play your song. And still, artists keep going. Still, they create.
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‎“I once performed for five people. Two of them were drunk. One was the DJ. But I gave it my all. That’s how you earn respect—when no one is clapping,” Fyn says.
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‎He remembers walking barefoot to events. Carrying borrowed speakers. Singing at school parties and weddings for free. “I begged for stage time. I even slept in a bar corridor in Masindi after performing,” he adds. “People think I’m strong. I’m not. I’m just tired of being ignored. That’s why I sing. I want the world to hear me even if it doesn’t see me.”
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‎Today, his name is rising. From Nakulabye to Nalweyo, from dusty villages to Spotify playlists, Fyn Ekoz is known. But his journey wasn’t easy. It was bloody. It was lonely.
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‎Many young Ugandan artists believe they need a manager or a flashy video to get started. But Fyn disagrees. “If you wait for perfect conditions, you’ll rot in the ghetto,” he says. “I started with what I had—a voice, hunger, and God.”
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‎He didn’t wait for the industry to open the door. He kicked it.
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‎“I had no transport to my first radio interview. I walked 11 kilometers. And they didn’t even play my song. But I left that studio with fire in my bones. I said to myself, ‘They’ll regret not listening.’”
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‎His message to every struggling artist is sharp: Start with what you have. Borrow a charger. Record in a chicken house if you must. Upload. Promote. Repeat. And above all, don’t quit.
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‎Fyn encourages artists to use social media smartly. “That’s your radio. That’s your stage. Record yourself. Post. Tag people. Don’t wait for attention—command it.”
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‎And as for collaboration, he believes in unity among the broke. “Work with other struggling artists. Build each other. Stop competing for crumbs. One day, someone will go viral—and they’ll pull the rest up.”
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‎He also urges artists to protect their work. “Even if you’re broke, register your songs. Copyright them. Join Uganda Performing Rights Society (UPRS). One day, that paperwork will save you.”
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‎Fyn Ekoz is not just an artist. He’s a survivor. A fighter. A symbol of what it means to sing when no one is listening. Of what it means to record hits in mud and rise with pride.
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‎His final message?
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‎“Don’t cry because you’re broke. Cry if you give up. Broke is where the story begins. If I made it from a dusty room with no mic stand and no fanbase, so can you. Let your pain become your power. Let your hunger be louder than their silence.”
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‎Uganda’s music industry may not be fair. But it still has space—for the bold, the crazy, and the broke dreamers who refuse to stop
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