Make abortion legal

The above picture taken by Stephen Otage on Thursday November 19, 2009 shows residents of Kifumbira Zone in Kamwokya , a Kampala suburb look at an aborted foetus estimated to be about six weeks old.
According to the Police, this was the third such case in the last three weeks. The impression this revelation gives is that there may be a single abortion a week, but that’s not true. In fact Ministry of Health statistics indicate that annually in Uganda, there are about 600,000 unwanted pregnancies. Of these, probably more than 50 per cent end up being expunged before the nine-month maturation.
But because our Penal Code makes it criminal to abort—unless to save a woman’s life—a lot of the abortions are practiced in hidden, unsafe conditions that many times expose the girls/women to even greater health risks—like uncontrolled hemorrhage.
Opponents of abortion either point to religious dogma or the question of life’s sanctity. They never care about circumstances of conception or its attendant realities.
In Uganda, in districts like Sironko, local research has shown that girls become sexually active by age 12. No amount of sex education is changing this—considering that some of these areas are nearly as traditional in setting as they can be. Tips on sex and sexuality are gotten from the village wells, peers and misinformed talk of adults.
But even their urban counterparts are in no better position. Internet influence, TV soaps, early exposure to notions of contraceptives—are all stimulating their curiosity for sex. Teenage and young youth sex is something we are going to have amidst us—and resultant pregnancies. Question is: Should we make it illegal to abort yet we know that thousands of our young girls are going to conceive without really seeking to? That is the reality.
When we make abortion services criminal, we arrive at a situation like that in Kifumbira Zone. A foetus crudely removed and left next to a rubbish skip.
When we push our girls into aborting in the dark, we shall have many more bleed to death in silence—increasing not only infant mortality but maternal mortality too.
Let girls/women be given the free choice to carry or cut. And when they choose to cut, let’s make sure they can do it freely and hygienically to avoid other problems. A lot of pregnancies in our country are by chance—and to ask that people keep them against their will is to subject them to an eternity of misery.
I have not opted to talk about pregnancies from rape, defilement, incest, one-night-stands, orgies, because I suppose these are fairly straight-forward—and yet we know they saturate our societies.
Please—let’s decriminalize abortion!

Mistaken identity

I watched life drown out of him. His hand was reaching out to me, begging for that last squeeze, that last embrace. He fell midway the sitting room, as he crawled towards me. I stood there in fright, my stool running freely down my legs, forming a small pool at my feet.

“Hamuka wewe,” the command in Swahili jolted me. It was the taller one. His mask on. He towered towards me. “Where is his passport?” he barked. “I don’tttt know,” I stammered back.

“Go get it,” he commanded.

I stepped into the small pool, splashing some on him—earning me a slap. I dashed upstairs. I knew where Moses kept his passport. It was always in the big case stacked in the upper shelf in the bedroom. As I struggled to stand on a stool and pluck down the case, I felt my body shiver. My hands were trembling—drops of sweat streaming from my head—midway mixing with leftovers of the stool.

As I fumbled, the thickset arms moved fast, pulling down the case—and bringing me along—sending me tumbling downwards, hitting my head on the nearby bed.

I could scarcely see as he opened the case—plucking out the passport that was lying atop of books. The rough fingers then made their way to my hair. Grabbing me and dragging me along downstairs—back to the sitting room, where Moses’ body now lay lifeless.

“Inaonesha nini,” asked the smaller, darker one who had remained down, the pistol still glued to his fingers.

“He last travelled two years ago,” the burly one replied, in perfect English. “To Nairobi.”

“What?” the other replied, surprise written on his face. “Nothing to do with Juba, Kinshasha?”

“No. And look. He is Masaba Moses.”

“Not Mabasa?”

“No.”

“Holy shit! We got the wrong person,” the burly one spat. He quickly stole a glance at me.

“You,” he pointed at me. “How were you related to this guy?”

“He was my husband.”

“For how long were you married?”

“Three years.”

After what looked like an eternity, the smaller one turned to me.

“Madam, we are sorry. Looks like we got the wrong person. Is this 11^th street?”

“No,” I stammered back, my tears gushing. “It is 10^th.”

I could see the bigger one look at me with a grin. The magnitude of their error just seemed to dawn on him. He spoke to me.

“You may never really know who we are. But we were looking for someone who has in the past six months been moving out of this country, going to neighbouring states with what we believe are ill motives against our government.” He paused and after ages returned to the narration.

“The people we work for told us he has been going to Juba and visiting Zaire. He was mobilizing guns to uproot this regime. It is unfortunate that we got some of our facts mixed up. But that is how we operate. In our world, it is called collateral damage.”

The smaller one interjected.

“Consider yourself lucky. We could have taken down both of you. At least you can live to get another husband.”

I stood there rooted like a statue. How could these men who had brought my innocent husband’s life to a grinding halt speak to me thus? Who the hell did they think they were? I was now ready to put up a fight. With my fists slowly clenching and in a trance, I moved towards what I thought was the smaller man. I hurled myself at him—only to hit the chair hard. They were nowhere to be seen.

Bukenya, Kazini deaths--why can't the conspiracies go away?

When news trickled in the newsroom Sunday morning that the Vice President’s son, Bryan, had died of injuries sustained after a motor accident 19 hours before, we all were heartbroken. It was not much so because he was the VP’s son—but well, it was a young life gone too early.
Twenty six years old, a Law graduate from a reputable UK university, promising cadet, a young woman and child left behind… But just as we were going about doing the story—people began asking questions. So, how come he’s the only one who died in a car that had four occupants? And how did the driver manage to disappear—only to be traced later—at a brother’s house looking every inch unharmed?
And this was a boy in military academy—what was he doing out at 5am yet the rules are clear on cadet trainees? Was he getting preferential treatment being the VP’s son? And the mother of them all came from the driver’s statement: Bryan kept telling me to drive fast but when the car crashed, he was fast asleep! Ok, would this guy break his sleep, issue instructions at the driver—and go back to slumberland?
I now understood why the conspiracies could not just fade away despite Police explanations saying the accident was just that—an accident. I understood when people began philosophising on Prof. Gilbert Bukenya’s political ambitions, his courting Baganda Generals etc and the possibility that by sending his son to the army—he was embarking on creating his own turf. Remember majority of PGB boys now were actually Muhoozi’s recruits. I understood why the conspirators could not just let the accident be an accident.
Then, in the same week comes Maj. Gen. James Kazini’s death. It is visible that he was killed by a lover at her house. Draru, the lover, says she did it in self defence as the General moved to strangle her—and was pointing his gun upwards. Again the tongues begin wagging. First, where did the woman derive the confidence to tell all folk and sundry that she was responsible?
Surely, which murderer rushes to admit culpability with no single strain of fright? She was either deeply in a trance—or again at the conspirators argue—was aware of a stronger backing. But again—did she say the General was holding a gun—and detectives on the crime scene did not see any such gun—not until three hours later when Kazini’s official pistol was discovered wrapped nicely in a brown handbag in his car?
What about the claims of using a handle of a carpet cleaner to hit the General? The pictures from the crime scene show a white metal bar lying next to the soldier—obviously a frame but not of a carpet cleaner. And it is a bland instrument, how it effected a deep cut is strange. So, in the bars and elsewhere—the theories went into full drive. Kazini was a troubled man. Accused of creating ghost soldiers, charged, convicted and abandoned.
But could it also be true that he was paying for sins where not only him was the sinner? Was there fear that with his appeal rejected he was on the path of full disclosure? What beans was he about to spill? Might Draru actually be an extra in a scene dominated by bigger actors? What of talk that the General had some good millions on him—and there could have been people trailing him—for whatever reasons?
The Police have again asked people not to speculate. Draru has confessed before a magistrate that she killed Kazini. But citizens, of this increasingly cynical country, will not just keep quiet.
Question is: Has the government lost credibility so much that even when it explains away a straight event people can’t just take it. Reminds me of the tale in primary school. Of the boy who while herding cattle in the forest kept shouting that wolves were attacking and whenever villagers ran to his rescue discovered nothing. They got tired and when he shouted they ignored him. But one day, the real wolves struck. He screamed and screamed—but everyone knew it was a prank. The wolves devoured the cattle and the boy.
Food for thought.

Snub not an RDC

“Do you know me? Do you know what I do? I am unbwogable.” I will excuse you for thinking that these are lines from Gidi Gidi Maji Maji’s once-a-hit “Unbwogable”. But no, these are not lyrics—these are comments of an RDC slurred.
You see, in the northern town of Gulu is a man called Milton Odong. The short, stout, suspicious—looking man, known to break into delirious laughter even when circumstances dictate otherwise, serves the war-ravaged but now recovering district as its deputy Resident District Commissioner. Plainly put, he is one of the hundreds of President Museveni’s minions in districts.
This guy, with his bloated ego, believes he should be chief guest at whatever function he attends in Gulu. To invite him—and relegate him to a mere guest—is an act of sacrilege in his world. When the Police, who had organised a workshop on gender-based violence, missed this point, the reality hit them hard.
According to Daily Monitor, November 3, 2009 (page9), after the United Nations Development Fund for Women (UNIFEM) country representative, Ms Forster Jabbel, had given the closing remarks as the chief guest, the burly deputy RDC jumped onto the podium, grabbed the microphone, and wondered how some good-for-nothing diplomat could “close” a function where he was present.
“This is a conspiracy to deny me a chance to tell the Police very crucial messages. This must not be repeated,” he fumed, and I think—with foam forming in his mouth. From the newspaper report, he decreed that UNIFEM and the Police would never hold any other functions in the district, unless invitation cards to Mr Odong were addressed thus: “With pleasure, we would like you to grace this function as the chief guest, where you will dole out your immense knowledge blah blah!”
Ms Teresa Awelo, one of the organisers, looked on terrified and later told journalists: “I don’t know him and he’s not qualified to talk about sensitive topics.”
I could not help—but like Odong—laugh in derision when I read this story. Just how far will these Presidential protégés go in abusing the rest of us nobodys? Why do these characters—who have been offered a lifeline—especially after failing in mainstream politics—think we owe them the air we inhale?
The cliché about absolute power corrupting absolutely comes in mind here—but again is it not said that the cubs get their spot from mother leopard? Who remembers a President Museveni—looking into the camera—and wondering to this nation how the Kabaka for two solid years had refused to meet him. HIM, Museveni, President of the Republic of Uganda????

Barya victory---did I predict it?

Of course this is no grandstanding. But slightly over a year ago, I wrote in a little known website (theivorypost.com) that Prof. Venansius Baryamureeba was the best suited to become Makerere University's vice chancellor. Yesterday, the University Council seemed to agree and gave him the mantle. As a journalist, I realise the precarious position this places me in--since now we must turn to watch him closely. But for now, I think he deserves the benefit of doubt. Below is what I wrote then:


Who is best suited to be Makerere’s next VC?
By Don Wanyama TiP Columnist
Published August 3, 2008

I have read from the print media that the Makerere University vice-chancellor slot will be available in the coming year. Prof. Luboobi, who has been at the helm for five years, may not get a kisanja (another term) because apparently, a committee set up to review the rules guiding the search process has put an age shelf on the position.
A vice-chancellor must be between 40-60 years at the time of appointment and not beyond 65 at retirement. This means my good old Luboobi, who currently has six decades and three years to his plate, is technically cancelled out.
I have also learnt that his second-in-command, Prof. Bakibinga, tried to put up a spirited defence for the current team but the council could not hear any of it. He wanted their terms renewed but the members had other ideas. “Go,” they decided.
And indeed go, Luboobi’s team must. What intrigued me was that when the council asked anyone with interests in the matter to step out before voting was done, a host of fellows left. I want to imagine that the action meant they will be fronting themselves for the ultimate job.
Their names and titles go thus; Assoc. Prof. Lilian Tibatemwa (DVC Academics), Prof. Venasius Baryamureeba (Dean ICT), Mr. Olal Odur (Academic Registrar), Prof Edward Kirumira, (Dean faculty of Social Sciences) and Associate Prof JB Nyakana (lecturer faculty Arts).
Now, these are some of the best brains at that hill and I want to imagine they all have their eyes set on the prize. So, how do we proceed? By elimination method I suggest.

Assoc. Prof. Tibatemwa A focused lady I must admit. I attended a few functions as a student leader where she was chief guest and her presentations were perfect. She seemed to grasp her stuff well. She is also a woman and maybe the only one in this bull race. But look, she has been with Luboobi for all these years. With Bakibinga, she has deputised Luboobi for the five years. True, her academic portfolio may not have been as scandalous as Bakibinga’s administration and finance docket, but she can not pass the buck. There is general consensus that Luboobi has failed but he can’t fail alone. He has failed with his team, Tibatemwa inclusive. I don’t see her being any different. She should go with the current crop of leaders. She was also at the core of the aborted restructured retake fee payment schedule, which plunged the university in a destructive strike in 2005.

Assoc. Prof. JB Nyakana Let me be candid here. We all know that academicians usually border on the paranoia. Nyakana is a true embodiment of this. I remember meeting him near the geography department, which he headed for years, in his white gum boots and speaking in a baritone. Admittedly he is a great academician. His problem is that he borders on unprincipality. He has been the deputy chairperson of MUASA, the academic staff group, and was very vocal when lecturers laid down tools demanding for better pay. I remember watching him and MUASA spokesperson Kiggundu make a case for the teachers on TV.
But reports indicate that when the state infiltrated the association and caused the lecturers to abandon the strike, fingers kept pointing at Nyakana. Some unconfirmed reports claimed he sold out. Now, impeccability is a necessary yardstick, he fails here. Besides, apart from being a head of department and MUASA chief, not much sits on his administrative plate.

Mr. Olal Odur Let me go personal. In my first post on this site, I narrated how Olal Odur blatantly told us a lie about our transcripts. After assuring us that they would be ready a month after graduation, I still have friends (two years after), who are yet to get their transcripts. That is how bad the section he heads is. There are also questions about his academic standing. I am not sure but I think he has no PhD. He might have helped start a successful Institute of Long Distance Studies, but his stint at the orange building (Senate) has been poor. He took over from Ngobi, who had just taken over from the controversial Mukwanason Hyuha, but a lot need to be done, especially the transcripts office. I also recently met a young lady who had paid an official at senate to get her brother admitted irregularly. This place still stinks. To elevate him to vice-chancellor would be a big miscalculation.

Prof. Edward Kirumira He is a smart guy, no doubt about that. A smooth talker and open diplomat, Kirumira would be a prefect choice for VCship. But wait a bit. Has he not been in charge of the social sciences faculty for ages? What physical development has he got to show for that time? Nothing. This gives you an insight into his development ambitions—if they exist.
He is also accused of being a member of the “Masaka clique” the group of deans from the central region, who have run down the university. He is too soft to take on Makerere and its gigantic problems.

Prof. Venasius Baryamureeba aka Barya I can’t hide my admiration for this guy. He is just your perfect CEO. He may be an academician but he knows a thing or two on marketing and that is why his faculty seems to be very different from the rest in Makerere. When other faculties like technology are admitting that they have equipment which is three-decades old, ICT is becoming the best information technology hub in the East and Central African region. What is one of Makerere’s most recent faculties is really giving all the others a bloody nose. Maybe it has something to do about Barya’s youth, maybe his acumen, maybe just him, but acknowledge it; none of the other guys above have shown leadership, innovation and focus like this youngest dean in Makerere. His major undoing could be his politics. He is known to be closely connected to Bidandi Ssali’s PPP, and on the Kfm Saturday talk-show hosted by Simon Kasyate, where he is a panelist, Barya is known to criticize the government.
So, will the powers that be sacrifice sycophancy and let merit succeed? We have to keep our fingers crossed.
____________________________________________________________________________________*Don Wanyama is an alumnus of Makerere University. He currently works for The New Vision publication as a news sub editor. His blog is http://dwanyama.blogspot.com

Museveni; the coward on criticism

Two weeks ago, I watched a documentary on unemployment aired on NTV. It explored its causes, using case studies of graduates who have 'tarmacked' the roads for ages after university.
But what was disturbing was a clip in which President Museveni placed the blame on subjects students study at university. He singled out Literature in English as one of those “redundant” subjects, wondering what one could do after studying William Shakespeare. “Shakespeare said this in this year, so what?” the sarcastic President asked.
I don’t think Mr Museveni's choice for Literature as a subject to berate was accidental. Literature emphasises critical thinking, using works of fiction, at times reality. Most literary works draw inspiration from real life, with authors either seeking to celebrate or criticise these aspects of life. It trains learners to look beyond the surface, equipping them with investigative and analytical skills.
It is therefore very understandable for President Museveni to berate such a subject. I mean which leader would not be worried about many students studying George Orwell's Animal Farm and discovering how revolutions (read liberations) can be abused? Which leader would not turn in their seats with unease if most subjects know about a certain Napoleon taking on the same behaviour and mannerisms of the Farmer Jones he deposed? Just imagine the strife we would have if half this country understood the concept of "eating eggs and drinking milk" as propagated by Squealer - and was able to name and shame modern-day Squealers? Who would feel comfortable reading Shakespeare's tragedy of Macbeth, cognisant that the betrayal and deadly ambition therein abounds in their neighbourhoods? Is it not Achebe who talked of old women feeling uncomfortable whenever bones were mentioned in a tale?
Leaders who have skidded off the path of the ideals they promised have found safety in muzzling critics who can ably alert societies about the ills. It is why the likes of Alex La Guma were banished by the South African apartheid regime. Does it surprise anyone that during the riotous moments in Europe in the 1830s and 1840s, students and lecturers of Literature were targets of the monarchical repressive regimes, many arrested and incarcerated?
Mr Museveni's argument of promoting science subjects at the expense of arts/humanities is hollow and escapist - mainly because employment in this country has ceased to be a question of merit. I know of several nursing graduates who are unemployed because every time they have applied for a job at a district, the commissions have asked for bribes that they can't raise. Those who have been able to oil the palms have been employed, irrespective of their competencies. The same cancer has eaten most public institutions and is gradually rearing its ugly head in the private sector.
Unemployment therefore, is an indictment on those charged with the duty of planning for this country. The Asian tigers we admire are able to predict human resource needs of their countries - at times decades in advance - and deliberately influence training in that direction. What do we do here? Let majority children get half-baked primary school education, go to facility-less secondary schools and fizzle out thereafter - adding to the statistics of the unemployed. Meanwhile, the few with the means send their children abroad to Ivy League universities and remind us about why we should not study Literature.
Can anyone explain why a President who sees no value in Literature at one point had an adviser on literary affairs? Saw it fit to back a local Literature guru as his party's spokesperson and keeps lacing his speeches with metaphors and similes - all literary qualities?

Makerere ring-fencing; the vice is spreading

Some things in this country just keep sucking. With all these parochial calls for districts, tribal interests, ring-fencing, blah blah, one would imagine that the “intellectuals” would rise above this and maybe be the voices of sanity.
But how do you explain this? Makerere University lecturers met last week and voted to have the position of vice chancellor “ring-fenced” for only Ugandans. According to the academic staff association chairperson, Mr Tanga Odoi, they would not recognise a non-Ugandan if s/he assumed the position that falls vacant at the end of the end of next month. Letting a non-Ugandan become vice-chancellor would be equal to “mortgaging” the institution to foreign control, they argued.
So, here they are our elites. These guys have forgotten that in the 21st century, advancing notions synonymous with the early Stone Age just can’t stand. Even in the pre-civilisation era, tribes realised the importance of neighbours—that is why we had cross-kingdom trade. It is why Arabs came to the East African coast and people from the coast scoured the hinterland for goods. Yes, that our forefathers knew no man could be an island—but our modern day academics are yet to imbibe this fact.
What Makerere University needs is fresh, focused leadership that appreciates its problems but importantly has the right work method to help it compete with other institutions at a global level. This kind of leadership does not necessarily have to be home-grown as the Tanga Odois of this world seem to believe.
The world is quickly becoming a global village—and progressive thinking must be outside the box. We can no longer work; behave like we are marooned on an island. It is why even dictators strive to cover their behinds—knowing a Hague exists. It is for the same reason today that surgery can be performed in Uganda but with the expert surgeons sitting somewhere in the US.
Makerere University’s global rankings have received a battering lately because the institution has failed to demonstrate its presence (through publication of research) on the world stage. And this is not a problem that will be resolved by an inward looking leader—as the lecturers are demanding.
To address Makerere’s complex concerns also call for someone with some level of exposure and probably international connections. By seeking to ring-fence the position, lecturers might just be eliminating the right solution to their problems.
Makerere should not exclude people from competing for the post of vice chancellor just because they are non-Ugandan, and similarly, no one should be favoured for the position simply because they are Ugandans. It would only be fair and in the institution’s best interest that all candidates are subjected to the same standards of evaluation and the position offered to the best candidate, Ugandan or not. Kyambogo University went this road—why is Makerere chickening?
I personally know a couple of good brains at that hill, who can help steer Makerere from the knee-deep mud in which it is stuck today. One such person, I believe, is Prof. Venansius Baryamureeba. He has been decorated by over 1001 universities/agencies for his accomplishments in the ICT sector. His faculty has become a role-model of sorts—in the region. But I would not want to imagine that he can become vice chancellor because opposition from without was curtailed on technicalities. Let him, and others like Prof. Ddumba, face competition from other deserving candidates—whether Cameroonian, Kenyan or Malagasy.
I have lately witnessed an injustice take place. A friend—a competent person at their job—lost a job just because they are Kenyan working in Uganda. It looks like as a country, we are embracing xenophobia with alarming interest. But it is boiling down even to our single units—family, clans, tribe, districts etc. That’s why suddenly Banyoro can’t stand Bafuruki, Banyala resent Baganda, Jopadhola ‘hate’ Iteso—and vice versa, etc.
Why are we taking this path?? Why??

I got the taste of it--state violence

Friday September 11th might just turn out to be one of those dramatic and significant days in this country’s history. It was the second day in which Kampala had become a battle field. Security agencies were fighting rioters who had taken to the streets protesting the government’s decision to block Kabaka Mutebi’s trip to Kayunga District.
From the first floor of our Namuwongo offices, we were getting all kinds of reports from the field. Corpses littering the suburbs, shops looted, a police post overrun by rioters, wanton shooting—and no signs of relenting from all sides. The news was coming in thick that at times you didn’t know exactly what to focus on.
Then, disappointed that our weekly Panel of Journalists show on Kfm had been called off for fear of state reprisal or possible closure, at about 7.30pm, a tip came in that UPDF soldiers had surrounded the Kabaka’s palace and placed him under house arrest. One of our editors immediately called the army spokesman, Lt. Col. Felix Kulayigye, who admitted that there was a deployment, but added “we are doing it for the Kabaka’s security”. We then placed a call to Gen. David Tinyefuza, the coordinator of intelligence agencies, who rubbished the claims.
There was no way we were going to run such an explosive story without our own verification. That is when we decided to go to the palace. As chief sub editor, I rarely go to the field—in fact never go to the field. I am an in-house operations guy, waiting for copy and ensuring it is processed well. But this was a big story and above all among the editors who were still in the newsroom, I seemed the only one with a good geographical grounding of the area—Kyambogo, Banda and Kireka.
We hit the trail, our political editor Charles Mwanguhya, senior reporter Tabu Butagira and myself. We left the car at one of my relative’s house in Kyambogo University and walked to the Banda palace. But we saw no activity there—apart from some laughter emerging from servants’ quarters. As we left to go to the other palace at Kireka—10 minutes away—we got a call from one of Buganda’s ministers, telling us the Kabaka was calling off his trip to Kayunga. We took the statement off the phone.
Locating the Kireka palace was not going to be easy because whereas I know the hill, I didn’t exactly know where the palace is found. I then called a friend, Dalton, to help guide us—he stays just below the hill. He joined us and led us to the palace—only that he too didn’t exactly know how its structured. That is how we found ourselves exactly at the palace’s main gate without even knowing we were there.
“Ninyi nani (who are you)?” was the welcome call we got as an array of soldiers ran from inside the gate to our car—about 20 metres away—as they cocked the guns. “Toka kwa gari,” one of them shouted, with the others surrounding us. We got out, our hands raised. “Ka chini (sit down),” a burly one near me retorted. As I moved to kneel, I saw a heavy boot land on my right shoulder, sending a chilling, sharp pain through my body. I tumbled, in the process hitting the same hand on the now ajar car door. With my balance lost, I fell. But as I struggled to kneel, a second thud came, this time sending me sprawling on the tarmack.
At this point I heard someone, probably their commander, ask them to stop and direct the others who had cocked not to fire. I was then ordered to remove my shoes (what is the purpose of this shoe-removing ritual whenever there is an arrest?)
We were then asked to identify ourselves—which we did, with our identity cards. Asked about our mission, we were candid, telling them we wanted to ascertain if indeed the army had besieged the Kabaka. Their commander, a dark, medium height fellow, and looking the youngest among them—then asked who exactly our “leader” was. I told him to speak to Mr Mwanguhya, since I was visibly angry—fuming to be exact.
But one incident struck me. The moment we said we were journalists from Daily Monitor, one of the soldiers had become excited, telling the others in Swahili, a language I speak, read and write, that they were expecting us. “Wacha hawo, afande ametwambia (Leave them, boss has told us about them).” Apart from their leaders, the rest, nine including three women, looked very drunk—and with no alcohol smell, we could only guess what they were high on.
Apparently, Lt. Col. Kulayigye, after receiving our call, knew we would make an attempt to get to the palace. From what they asked us, it was clear that he instructed them to compel us to tell them who had given us the deployment tip. Basically expecting us to break the oldest covenant of our trade: Never disclose your source.
One of the female soldiers moved close to me, this time all of us seated in the car—with only Mwanguhya out—and inquired if Daily Monitor was part of Bukedde, the Luganda publication of our competitor, Vision Group. I thought it unwise to respond to such ignorance and kept quiet.
Another asked if we spoke Luganda, or were Baganda. I told him we could “gamble” some Luganda. He them said: “Benyini babyeletedde (they have brought this upon themselves)”. This could have meant that the Baganda had courted trouble themselves. Realizing the implication of this statement in front of journalists, he quickly qualified it: “We love both the Kabaka and the President.”
Making no headway in the amateurish interrogation, the commander let Mwanguhya join us. He then came to my window—and apologised for any “embarrassment” we may have suffered. He asked us to report what we had observed and wished us a safe journey.
In the car, Lt. Col. Kulayigye called Mwanguhya trying to inquire about what we had seen. It is obvious that we had seen was a choreographed scene. Colleagues had been calling me earlier, saying NTV was running footage of the Kabaka’s palace being calm and their reporter, hoodwinked, was reporting that all was well. The army knew journalists would go to the palace and must have re-organised their deployment. At least the 10 we saw were clearly soldiers. When some of the royal guards came out to see what was going on, they were quickly ordered back.
Back in office, typing away the story on the page proved difficult as the pain in my shoulder kept increasing. My boss, Daniel Kalinaki, asked our sports editor, Mark Namanya, to come and help as the driver took me to AAR.
Later, as I lay on my bed, I thought myself lucky. I had throughout the day seen photos of corpses, people killed by bullets. I had come face to face with some of these trigger-happy soldiers, but gotten away with a sprained shoulder. Maybe it could have been worse, like it was with Kalundi Sserumaga, the host of a political talk show, Spectrum, on Radio One. After appearing on a show on WBS TV that reviews events of the week, he was bundled into an unmarked car and until this blog was posted, no one had an idea where he was or whether he’s alive.
These, we were told, were common occurrences in the Amin regime. So, have we come full circle?

A book worth reading: It's our turn to eat

When the National Rainbow Coalition (NARC)—a loose conglomeration of opposition parties in Kenya won state power in 2002—most of the country chose to wine and dine. The celebration was not just because 24 “dictatorial” years of President Arap Moi were coming to an end; it was because most Kenyans perceived this as a burial of two major ills that had defined Moi’s regime; tribalism and corruption.
NARC, under Mwai Kibaki, had run on the change ticket and had promised to make graft and ethnicism history in Kenya. The man charged with the duty of fighting corruption by the new government was John Githongo, a Western-trained journalist and a former country director of Transparency International, who was barely in his 30s.
It’s Our Turn to Eat is a dramatic narration of Githongo’s hopes, just like of all Kenyans, which were raised in 2002, only to be dashed a few years later when he, just like most countrymen, realised that the change in leadership—only meant that. Corruption and tribalism under Kibaki had taken an even more cancerous jacket, enveloping the state with unrelenting vigour.
When Githongo was named anti-corruption czar, little did he know that his tribesmen, who were plotting a grand lootocracy of the country, were actually expecting cover from him. He even misunderstood the President’s gesture of offering him an office next to his (Kibaki’s) as a show of trust and support.
Determined, Githongo plunged into his job with the fervour of a newly-ordained priest. However, some months into his work, he realised something was amiss. Informers gave him tips that seemed to point to a mass theft of Kenyan public money by a clique of top ministers, most, like Githongo, hailing from the President’s central region. A deeper investigation is what led to the unearthing of the infamous Anglo-Leasing scandal, a major thrust upon which this biography is built.
Githongo discovered that the ministers had created a procurement scheme in which a non-existent company, Anglo-Leasing and Finance, purportedly based in Liverpool, UK, had been paid up to $750 million (Shs1.5 trillion), for supplying “ghost” goods and services to Kenya. When he confronted the suspects with this information, he was reminded about his Kikuyu roots and told his loyalty lay first with the tribe. Sure that these ministers were acting alone, he approached the President with the information and for his hard work, Kibaki announced Githongo’s demotion during a cabinet reshuffle, only to retract it verbally the next day!
It is at this point that Githongo, like many idealistic Kenyans who had injected faith in the new government, realised how things had remained the same. Like the animals in George Orwell’s Animal Farm, they saw no distinction between the pigs (NARC) and man (KANU).
But in telling Githongo’s story, renowned journalist Michela Wrong, who served as an African Affairs correspondent for the BBC, Reuters and Financial Times, also weaves the heart-rending tale of governance and politics gone wrong in Kenya. She exposes the misperception of state and resource control as an opportunity for self-enrichment and aggrandizement by a ‘tribe’ or clique in power, a concept from which the book derives its title.
Interestingly, the appeal to tribe by a small group of political vampires even when obviously the larger section never gets anything or only settles for crumbs is not just Kenya’s story. You can remove the Kenyan principals in this book and you will conveniently get replacements from about three-quarters of the rest of Africa. Such is the continetality of the corruption theme and bad governance.
So, what makes this book stand out? Michela Wrong’s narrative style is unique. She sets the book on a fast tempo that at some points, one thinks they are watching an action-packed movie. She is also a stickler for detail and mentions the nitty-gritty, which blend well with a pendulum swing into the historical and political past of Kenya.
The book’s integrity credentials are engraved further by the fact that despite being English, Michela Wrong bats no lid in exposing her government’s complicity in aiding vice in Africa. She writes about the British government’s decision to turn a deaf ear even when it was clear graft was eating away the Kenyan fabric and the UK was in position to call the shots. Instead, relying on cooked-up figures of economic recovery, they inject millions more into Kenya, knowing that the money will only end up in the purses of few politicians. The World Bank country directors, for example, opt to rent Kibakis’ house and live next to them!
When Githongo realised he was exposed and lacked political support, he opted to go into exile, instead sending his findings to the media. As the Kenyan public bayed for blood, some of top ministers named resigned. But like is the typical African plot, the now-soiled Kibaki brought them back to cabinet when the tempest had passed.
Anyone interested in Africa’s double tale of betrayal, sleaze, and manipulation, countered by patriotism, determination, hope, should have this book in their shelves.

Monitor will soldier on...despite harrassment

I am writing this from the cold confines of my work station at the Daily Nation head offices in Nairobi. With print copies of my home papers not easy to come by, I have been hooked unto the net for the online versions and this morning, the headline that immediately caught my attention, just after logging unto the Monitor website was, “Bunyoro: Police grill Monitor editor”.
The long and short of the story was that top detectives had for over six hours on Wednesday grilled my boss, Daniel Kalinaki, the managing editor, over the publication of a letter by President Museveni that basically was calling for alienation of immigrant communities in the elective politics of Bunyoro region. This region has lately been discovered to be rich in oil, and the State is trying to make love overtures to it.
What followed the publication was a general public furor, with a bigger section of the population accusing the President of sowing seeds of discord and tribalism. Leaders of the immigrants in Bunyoro have subsequently written to the President and disputed his assertions. Some have threatened to sue him for high treason!
And trying to dodge the tempest, the high powers have moved to crack down on the messenger. I have it on good authority that the Daily Monitor sourced that document from a very reliable source; it is not in doubt that what the paper ran was an authentic document circulated by the President to his presidency minister, Beatrice Wabudeya, who is heading a team trying to “correct the historical ills of Bunyoro”.
The President’s cocoon now is to claim that the document was adulterated and that simple spelling mistakes occurred in the Monitor version. He also claims that the document was confidential and never meant for public consumption! What State House cannot contest is the fact that Museveni penned a document whose details were largely captured by the Monitor report. In fact some of his minions from Bunyoro, like Minister Matia Kasaija, have come out with blazing guns to back that position.
You would expect the President, in this charged atmosphere, to come out and defend his position; for I believe he had pretty good reasons for writing what he wrote. Why then employ his terror machine on innocent relayers of information? Is this not an admission of faulty thinking on his part? Has he finally realised that what he was saying was foolhardy? Or is he, in his mistaken thoughts convinced that he can stop the wheel of truth and debate by threatening professional journalists?
In these summons and harassment of my boss, I gain a sense of personal relief and gratification. Many people have tried to mudsling the Monitor by claiming it is a sell-out after its majority ownership was taken over by the Aga Khan. Others have tried to ridicule us, considering how young our newsroom is. Others have tried to give an impression that we were silenced when it comes to sticky issues regarding the presidency.
But once again, we have demonstrated that we still cherish the core values for which our paper was founded. We have sent a clear message to the public that nothing is too hot to handle, even if it involves the presidency. We have proved that we shall continue setting the agenda despite how “young or unexposed” we are. It is why we broke the Temangalo story and exposed the daylight misuse of power and influence. It is why we brought to light the freedom Lt. Magara was enjoying even as families of those he shot, maimed and killed were wallowing in misery. And it is why we stayed on it until justice was seen to be done. It is why one of our journalists, Moses Akena, was detained this week for refusing to be used as a state pawn in a hopeless political contest. It is why the press association yesterday demanded that former IGG Faith Mwondha be investigated for detaining our photojournalist, Stephen Otage.
The bottom line is that we believe in fairness but never silence.
And that will continue, even if it means handcuffing us at the altar of truth. It was the determination I read in Mr Kalinaki’s text that he sent me the night before his quizzing, saying he was not cowed by the CID summons. No believer in truth and press freedom should!