At around midnight of last Wednesday, the first police patrol pickup truck parked near my residence in Bukasa, Kirinya, Kira municipality.
One of my neighbours told me that four other pickup trucks and a huge teargas-carrying truck followed shortly. One truck was parked right in front of my gate and completely blocked it. Another one was used to block the road to my residence. Others were parked along the main road.
Tens of policemen were lined up, almost covering the full length of my wall fence. That is the situation I woke up under at around 5:30am, the time for my morning prayers. I used a smaller gate to access the mosque, which shares a fence with my residence, and its compound was by this time also full of policemen.
I asked one of the policemen: “what the hell has happened?” And I think he was too junior to answer. I returned home after prayers, wondering how my children were going to go to school.
Shortly after, my driver came and, after pleading, he was allowed to enter. Ssemujju Ibrahim II, 10, was the first to get out of the house and, from my bedroom window, I saw him throwing his hands in air, probably in total bewilderment!
All my four children got into a double-cabin pickup, ready for school. And another round of pleading from the driver began! Gunmen surrounded the vehicle and after satisfying themselves that I was not inside it, they moved the patrol truck a little to allow the car carrying the children a narrow access to pass. I think this is the first time that my children were being put at gunpoint.
They had watched me on television being showered with tear gas, rolled in mud and ejected from parliament, but they had never been a subject of direct harassment by the state.
I think that is what partly drove the emotions out of Faridah Ssemujju, my wife. My humiliation and movie-like capture from inside my compound was simply additional pain.
Siraje Bakaleke, whose notoriety is now well-recorded, was in charge of this operation, being the commander for Kampala East Metropolitan Police. There is probably no policeman who derives more pleasure from violence than this diminutive man.
It is under his command that we were stoned by a gang while arriving at Kawempe for a public rally about two years ago. And I think you all saw him commanding crime preventers to batter Kyambogo University students recently.
He and other policemen accessed my compound through a smaller gate. Albert Kuzara, the officer in charge at Kireka police station, came to me and, in a soft tone, requested that RPC Bakaleke wanted to speak to me. I gently walked towards him and, right inside my compound, he ordered his men to “grab the man.”
And indeed they grabbed me by the shirt, jacket, collar, legs, etc. By the time they were done squeezing me through the smaller gate, my jacket had been torn. The pain they caused me is now slowly subsiding.
And throughout my two-hour journey from one police cell to another, Bakaleke insulted the madness out of me, describing me as hopeless, as he repeatedly jeered.
And guess what? He blamed his juniors including OC Kireka and a one Obwetere for not having manhandled me. He promised even a more violent arrest next time.
I think Dr Kizza Besigye has now got used to this rough treatment. His police handlers are the roughest I have ever seen. They are the ones who picked me from Naggalama and drove me to Kira Road police station cells.
However, the short period I stayed inside the cells of Kira Road police station was an enjoyable one. Most of the inmates waved the FDC V-sign to welcome me and I felt at home. There was a Somali-like man who was the RP (head of inmates). We performed the lunchtime prayer with him. There are two rooms in this cell accessed through the same corridor. I was taken to the VIP (very important person) one.
That story I will tell later.Today’s story is how, like Paulo Muwanga in 1980, Gen Kale Kayihura has taken over the electoral process. You would be forgiven for thinking that Electoral Commission Chairman Badru Kiggundu reports to Kayihura. This is what happened when FDC leaders went to meet with Kayihura on October 9. Since the meeting resolved nothing, he said: “Let’s meet tomorrow at 10am at Electoral Commission.”
And by 10am the following day, Eng Kiggundu was in the EC boardroom waiting for Kayihura. He didn’t need to consult him at all!
That is the election that we are subjecting ourselves to. I can now understand why Kayihura, in addition to his Shs 412 billion budget, requested an additional Shs 204 billion for election-related operations. The entire Electoral Commission budget for the 2016 elections is Shs 376 billion.
Indeed, this is Kayihura’s election to deliver. And I get surprised when people, out of naivety, condemn Col Besigye when he says “this is no election but a liberation struggle.”
Printing of posters and T-shirts is not what one requires to win this election. This week, Kayihura has already deployed about 200 armed men, one half near my residence and another near Besigye’s.
Brenda Myers-Powell was just a child when she became a prostitute in
the early 1970s. Here she describes how she was pulled into working on
the streets and why, three decades later, she devoted her life to making
sure other girls don't fall into the same trap. Some people will find
Brenda's account upsetting.
Right from the start life was handing me lemons, but I've always tried to make the best lemonade I can.
I
grew up in the 1960s on the West Side of Chicago. My mother died when I
was six months old. She was only 16 and I never learned what it was
that she died from - my grandmother, who drank more than most, couldn't
tell me later on. The official explanation is that it was "natural
causes".
I don't believe that. Who dies at 16 from natural
causes? I like to think that God was just ready for her. I heard stories
that she was beautiful and had a great sense of humour. I know that's
true because I have one also.
It was my grandmother that took
care of me. And she wasn't a bad person - in fact she had a side to her
that was so wonderful. She read to me, baked me stuff and cooked the
best sweet potatoes. She just had this drinking problem. She would
bring drinking partners home from the bar and after she got intoxicated
and passed out these men would do things to me. It started when I was
four or five years old and it became a regular occurrence. I'm certain
my grandmother didn't know anything about it.
She worked as a
domestic in the suburbs. It took her two hours to get to work and two
hours to get home. So I was a latch-key kid - I wore a key around my
neck and I would take myself to kindergarten and let myself back in at
the end of the day. And the molesters knew about that, and they took
advantage of it. Image copyrightBrenda Myers-PowellI would watch women with big glamorous hair and
sparkly dresses standing on the street outside our house. I had no idea
what they were up to; I just thought they were shiny. As a little girl,
all I ever wanted was to be shiny.
One day I asked my grandmother
what the women were doing and she said, "Those women take their panties
off and men give them money." And I remember saying to myself, "I'll
probably do that" because men had already been taking my panties off.
To
look back now, I dealt with it all amazingly well. Alone in that house,
I had imaginary friends to keep me company that I would sing and dance
around with - an imaginary Elvis Presley, an imaginary Diana Ross and
the Supremes. I think that helped me deal with things. I was a really
outgoing girl - I used to laugh a lot.
At the same time, I was
afraid, always afraid. I didn't know if what was happening was my fault
or not. I thought perhaps something was wrong with me. Even though I was
a smart kid, I disconnected from school. Going into the 1970s, I became
the kind of girl who didn't know how to say "no" - if the little boys
in the community told me that they liked me or treated me nice, they
could basically have their way with me.
By the time I was 14, I'd
had two children with boys in the community, two baby girls. My
grandmother started to say that I needed to bring in some money to pay
for these kids, because there was no food in the house, we had nothing.
So,
one evening - it was actually Good Friday - I went along to the corner
of Division Street and Clark Street and stood in front of the Mark Twain
hotel. I was wearing a two-piece dress costing $3.99, cheap plastic
shoes, and some orange lipstick which I thought might make me look
older.
I was 14 years old and I cried through everything. But I
did it. I didn't like it, but the five men who dated me that night
showed me what to do. They knew I was young and it was almost as if they
were excited by it.
I made $400 but I didn't get a cab home that
night. I went home by train and I gave most of that money to my
grandmother, who didn't ask me where it came from.
The following weekend I returned to Division and Clark,
and it seemed like my grandmother was happy when I brought the money
home.
But the third time I went down there, a couple of guys
pistol-whipped me and put me in the trunk of their car. They had
approached me before because I was, as they called it, "unrepresented"
on the street. All I knew was the light in the trunk of the car and then
the faces of these two guys with their pistol. First they took me to a
cornfield out in the middle of nowhere and raped me. Then they took me
to a hotel room and locked me in the closet.
That's the kind of
thing pimps will do to break a girl's spirits. They kept me in there for
a long time. I was begging them to let me out because I was hungry, but
they would only allow me out of the closet if I agreed to work for
them. Image copyrightBrenda Myers-PowellThey pimped me for a while, six months or so. I
wasn't able to go home. I tried to get away but they caught me, and when
they caught me they hurt me so bad. Later on, I was trafficked by other
men. The physical abuse was horrible, but the real abuse was the mental
abuse - the things they would say that would just stick and which you
could never get from under.
Pimps are very good at torture, they're very good at
manipulation. Some of them will do things like wake you in the middle of
the night with a gun to your head. Others will pretend that they value
you, and you feel like, "I'm Cinderella, and here comes my Prince
Charming". They seem so sweet and so charming and they tell you: "You
just have to do this one thing for me and then you'll get to the good
part." And you think, "My life has already been so hard, what's a little
bit more?" But you never ever do get to the good part.
When
people describe prostitution as being something that is glamorous,
elegant, like in the story of Pretty Woman, well that doesn't come close
to it. A prostitute might sleep with five strangers a day. Across a
year, that's more than 1,800 men she's having sexual intercourse or oral
sex with. These are not relationships, no-one's bringing me any flowers
here, trust me on that. They're using my body like a toilet.
And
the johns - the clients - are violent. I've been shot five times,
stabbed 13 times. I don't know why those men attacked me, all I know is
that society made it comfortable for them to do so. They brought their
anger or mental illness or whatever it was and they decided to wreak
havoc on a prostitute, knowing I couldn't go to the police and if I did I
wouldn't be taken seriously.
I actually count myself very lucky. I knew some beautiful girls who were murdered out there on the streets. Image copyrightBrenda Myers-PowellI prostituted for 14 or 15 years before I did any
drugs. But after a while, after you've turned as many tricks as you can,
after you've been strangled, after someone's put a knife to your throat
or someone's put a pillow over your head, you need something to put a
bit of courage in your system.
I was a prostitute for 25 years,
and in all that time I never once saw a way out. But on 1 April 1997,
when I was nearly 40 years old, a customer threw me out of his car. My
dress got caught in the door and he dragged me six blocks along the
ground, tearing all the skin off my face and the side of my body.
I
went to the County Hospital in Chicago and they immediately took me to
the emergency room. Because of the condition I was in, they called in a
police officer, who looked me over and said: "Oh I know her. She's just a
hooker. She probably beat some guy and took his money and got what she
deserved." And I could hear the nurse laughing along with him. They
pushed me out into the waiting room as if I wasn't worth anything, as if
I didn't deserve the services of the emergency room after all.
And
it was at that moment, while I was waiting for the next shift to start
and for someone to attend to my injuries, that I began to think about
everything that had happened in my life. Up until that point I had
always had some idea of what to do, where to go, how to pick myself up
again. Suddenly it was like I had run out of bright ideas. I remember
looking up and saying to God, "These people don't care about me. Could
you please help me?" Find out more
Brenda Myers-Powell spoke to Outlook on the BBC World Service
Dreamcatcher, a film about Brenda
directed by Kim Longinotto, will be shown in the BBC's Storyville strand
in the UK later this year
God worked real fast. A doctor came
and took care of me and she asked me to go and see social services in
the hospital. What I knew about social services was they were anything
but social. But they gave me a bus pass to go to a place called Genesis
House, which was run by an awesome Englishwoman named Edwina Gateley,
who became a great hero and mentor for me. She helped me turn my life
around.
It was a safe house, and I had everything that I needed
there. I didn't have to worry about paying for clothes, food, getting a
job. They told me to take my time and stay as long as I needed - and I
stayed almost two years. My face healed, my soul healed. I got Brenda
back.
Through Edwina Gateley, I learned the value of that deep
connection that can occur between women, the circle of trust and love
and support that a group of women can give one another.
Usually, when a woman gets out of prostitution, she
doesn't want to talk about it. What man will accept her as a wife? What
person will hire her in their employment? And to begin with, after I
left Genesis House, that was me too. I just wanted to get a job, pay my
taxes and be like everybody else.
But I started to do some
volunteering with sex workers and to help a university researcher with
her fieldwork. After a while I realised that nobody was helping these
young ladies. Nobody was going back and saying, "That's who I was,
that's where I was. This is who I am now. You can change too, you can
heal too."
So in 2008, together with Stephanie Daniels-Wilson, we founded the Dreamcatcher Foundation.
A dreamcatcher is a Native American object that you hang near a child's
cot. It is supposed to chase away children's nightmares. That's what we
want to do - we want to chase away those bad dreams, those bad things
that happen to young girls and women.
The recent documentary film
Dreamcatcher, directed by Kim Longinotto, showed the work that we do. We
meet up with women who are still working on the street and we tell
them, "There is a way out, we're ready to help you when you're ready to
be helped." We try to get through that brainwashing that says, "You're
born to do this, there's nothing else for you."
Media captionClip from Dreamcatcher, directed by Kim Longinotto
I
also run after-school clubs with young girls who are exactly like I was
in the 1970s. I can tell as soon as I meet a girl if she is in danger,
but there is no fixed pattern. You might have one girl who's quiet and
introverted and doesn't make eye contact. Then there might be another
who's loud and obnoxious and always getting in trouble. They're both
suffering abuse at home but they're dealing with it in different ways -
the only thing they have in common is that they are not going to talk
about it. But in time they understand that I have been through what
they're going through, and then they talk to me about it.
So far,
we have 13 girls who have graduated from high school and are now in
city colleges or have gotten full scholarships to go to other colleges.
They came to us 11, 12, 13 years old, totally damaged. And now they're
reaching for the stars.
Besides my outreach work, I attend
conferences and contribute to academic work on prostitution. I've had
people say to me, "Brenda, come and meet Professor so-and-so from
such-and-such university. He's an expert on prostitution." And I look at
him and I want to say: "Really? Where did you get your credentials? What do you really know about prostitution? The expert is standing in front of you."
I know I belong in that room but sometimes I have to let them know
I belong there. And I think it's ridiculous that there are
organisations that campaign against human trafficking, that do not
employ a single person who has been trafficked. Image copyrightRise Films (Dreamcatchers) LtdPeople say different things about prostitution. Some
people think that it would actually help sex workers more if it were
decriminalised. I think it's true to say that every woman has her own
story. It may be OK for this girl, who is paying her way through law
school, but not for this girl, who was molested as a child, who never
knew she had another choice, who was just trying to get money to eat.
But
let me ask you a question. How many people would you encourage to quit
their jobs to become prostitutes? Would you say to any of your close
friends or female relatives, "Hey, have you thought of this? I think
this would be a really great move for you!"
And let me say this
too. However the situation starts off for a girl, that's not how the
situation will end up. It might look OK now, the girl in law school
might say she only has high-end clients that come to her through an
agency, that she doesn't work on the streets but arranges to meet people
in hotel rooms, but the first time that someone hurts her, that's when
she really sees her situation for what it is. You always get that crazy
guy slipping through and he has three or four guys behind him, and they
force their way into your room and gang rape you, and take your phone
and all your money. And suddenly you have no means to make a living and
you're beaten up too. That is the reality of prostitution.
Three
years ago, I became the first woman in the state of Illinois to have her
convictions for prostitution wiped from her record. It was after a new
law was brought in, following lobbying from the Chicago Alliance Against
Sexual Exploitation, a group that seeks to shift the criminal burden
away from the victims of sexual trafficking. Women who have been
tortured, manipulated and brainwashed should be treated as survivors,
not criminals. Image copyrightRise Films (Dreamcatchers) LtdThere are good women in this world and also bad women. There are bad men and also good men.
Following
my time as a prostitute, I simply wasn't ready for another
relationship. But after three years of healing and abstinence, I met an
extraordinary man. I was very picky - he likes to joke that I asked him
more questions than the parole board. He didn't judge me for any of the
things that had happened before we met. When he looked at me he didn't
even see those things - he says all he saw was a girl with a pretty
smile that he wanted to be a part of his life. I sure wanted to be a
part of his too. He supports me in everything I do, and we celebrated 10
years of marriage last year.
My daughters, who were raised by my
aunt in the suburbs, grew up to be awesome young ladies. One is a
doctor and one works in criminal justice. Now my husband and I have
adopted my little nephew - and here I am, 58 years old, a football mum.
So
I am here to tell you - there is life after so much damage, there is
life after so much trauma. There is life after people have told you that
you are nothing, that you are worthless and that you will never amount
to anything. There is life - and I'm not just talking about a little bit
of life. There is a lot of life. Image copyrightAaron WickendenBrenda Myers-Powell appeared on Outlook on the BBC World Service. Listen again to the interview on iPlayer or get the Outlook podcast.
The documentary Dreamcatcher, directed by Kim Longinotto, will be
broadcast in the UK as part of the BBC's Storyville strand in October.
Production by William Kremer. Subscribe to the BBC News Magazine's email newsletter to get articles sent to your inbox.
Dear Tingasiga, I am writing from Kigali, a city that reminds us that it is possible for Africa to get it right when we focus on what matters. Yet a reader of my journal of the sounds, sights, smells and thoughts on this visit encounters a montage of Rwanda and Uganda. Instead of enjoying a momentary interlude in my obsession with the state of health services in my motherland, I find myself constantly thinking about the case of Bukeeri and Buwunga Health Centre IIIs in Masaka District. We read in the Daily Monitor of last Thursday, that Bukeeri had run out of basic drugs for common diseases. Patients were being referred to Buwunga Health Centre III, 12kms away. My people would call that measure “okuhungira enjura omu nkukuuru” (taking shelter from the rain under a cactus plant.) Buwunga Health Centre III itself was reported to be “grappling with water shortage and power challenges as the solar system they have cannot power the refrigerator to preserve blood for transfusion, as well as providing enough light.” These stories are so routine across the entire country that they are probably received with a shrug by a population that has come to accept this as “the way things are.” But things were not always this way. Memories of a childhood spent at Mparo Health Centre in Kigezi flood back. My father was the senior medical assistant in charge of Mparo between 1954 and 1963. One of the unforgettable treats was the highly predictable arrival of a “burensi” (ambulance), piloted by the ever-smiling Mr Rubambarama, loaded with drug and other supplies. My father would invite my older brothers and I to lend a hand to Mr Rutembesa, the “ton boy”, to unload the burensi, restock the dispensary shelves and load boxes of expired drugs into the vehicle. Rubambarama and Rutembesa were such regular visitors to the health center that we considered them part of our lives. Years later, I learnt from my father that the same burensi would deliver an envelope containing his salary and that of other staff at the health centre. Not once did money go missing. Not once did staff go without pay beyond the expected day. Not once did the health centre have shortages of supplies. There was a very large billboard at the main entrance of the Mparo Health Centre that read: Emibazi n’eyabusha. Okugigura n’obushema.” (Drugs are free. Buying them is foolishness.) Why was this possible? I think the answer boils down to two things: Leadership and national priorities. The colonial rulers, from the governor down to the sub-county chiefs, considered it their duty to serve the people. There was clarity of purpose and pride of progress. Serving Her Majesty’s subjects was not some meaningless rhetoric but a serious commitment to making a difference in people’s lives. The governor’s comfort did not take precedence over the needs of his subjects. The members of the Legislative Council did not consider their survival and emoluments to be top on the national agenda. This spirit continued in the early years of independence, until things fell apart following the military coup of 1971. However, the semiliterate military rulers were amateurs compared to their educated successors when it came to feeding off the national trough. In 2015 the rulers seem to consider it their right to be served by their subjects. This is illustrated by the decision by parliament to burden the treasury with another 65 parliamentary constituencies. This gross gerrymandering, designed to cater to the needs of the political class, will further deprive the people of Bukeeri and elsewhere who teeter at breaking point. The current parliament of 384 members is already too big, too expensive, dysfunctional and unnecessary. The ease of mobility and telecommunications in 2015 compared to 1965 makes the work of a serious MP much easier than it was back then. Yet the same country had a small and relatively affordable parliament of 92 members. I continue to believe that the number of MPs should not be determined by population size, but by geographic area represented. After all, besides attending weddings, funerals and fundraisers, an MP hardly serves individual concerns of his constituents. However, if we stick to a population-based approach, a ratio of 1:200,000 would be more than sufficient. With a current population of 37 million, Uganda’s parliament ought to be reduced to 185 members. Besides improved efficiency of representation, legislation and oversight, these being the real duties of an MP, the savings would go a long ways towards meeting the real needs of the citizens. Instead we now have a situation where the expansion to 425 MPs will cost the poor even more, including the added demand for a larger chamber to accommodate them. And that is not all. The MPs, distrustful of the public health services that their constituents endure, will demand even more allowances at the start of the next parliament, to enable them to travel abroad for better care. It is one area where there is unity across the party lines. In the end, the solution to the plight of the people in Bukeeri, Bududa, Buikwe, Ber, Bushenyi, Bugangari and all over the land must come from a population that is determined to peacefully reclaim their rights. http://www.monitor.co.ug/OpEd/OpEdColumnists/MuniiniMulera/Expanded-Parliament-and-plight-of-patients-in-Masaka/-/878676/2818458/-/10aa02c/-/index.html
The 9th parliament is in its last eight months, three of which shall be after elections and, therefore, of no consequence.
At the moment, every MP, for those who will seek re-election, is deeply engaged in the campaigns, with some of us having already clinched our party flags. But as we close shop, one cannot fail to question how history will judge the 9th parliament. We started off with a lot of promise, exciting Ugandans. From Speaker Rebecca Kadaga to the most obscure MP in the House, we looked and sounded a promising team.
Within a few months, an impeachment motion against President Museveni was signed by 57 of us; days later, two ministers were censured. Others, including the prime minister, were sent on forced leave of sorts. We instituted a probe against Umeme, probed deep into alleged oil maladministration, chased away nonentities Museveni appointed ministers, demanded better pay for teachers and almost threw out the budget for failure to devote enough funds to the health sector.
It was around this period that every Ugandan that had a problem ran to parliament, and proposals for Kadaga to become president started floating and looking realistic.
MYSTERIOUS DEATH
In came the mysterious death of Hon Cerinah Nebanda. We attempted quickly to summon ourselves from recess to question the cause; instead, we woke up the devil. Four years down the road, we have ended up doing things in a style that depicts us as being totally unconscious of the interests of this country! Could it be that we shall be remembered as the most disappointing parliament since independence?
Every parliamentary year, Speaker Kadaga has been laboring to enumerate the number of bills we have passed, petitions handled, questions asked and answered and motions moved. Indeed, on this front, we have achieved a lot. Yet even this can’t cover up for the disappointment the 9th parliament has brought to Ugandans.
Its worst crime, in my opinion, was to ride on a moral ticket, start off with a lot of aptitude and robustness and go cold within a few months. This, coupled with our failure to reverse even a single uncomplimentary action done by both the 7th and 8th parliaments, has made Ugandans to conclude that politicians are one and the same – self-seekers.
I believe a few of us are victims of group condemnation just because we have drowned in a sea of the remotelycontrolled voices of the NRM MPs, and some opposition turncoats. I have come to discover that in most cases, the background upon which a person joins parliament is a major determinant of his/her conduct in the House. It seems the NRM MPs are so indebted to President Museveni that he can whip them in every direction of his choice.
The question Ugandans need to ask is what precisely did President Museveni do for these people? Because, in confidence, most of these MPs will tell you how much they are sickened by the system. They will even point out for you areas where you can pin government. Interestingly, the same people will shout out loudest when it comes to defending government on the floor!
Still, at the risk of vexing colleagues who sit on the left side of the speaker, I contend that if the sixty of us in the opposition had remained steadfast, calculated every move we have been taking, acted selflessly and remained true to our positions as opposition, the 9th parliament would have been very different from what it has been.
Many times I have asked my leader of opposition why exactly we are in the opposition yet we seem to be acquiescing in the NRM sinful deeds?
Recently, I almost croaked due to frustration when colleagues abandoned me on the floor as their shadow minister for Local Government to join the NRM in clamoring for new districts and constituencies. In the very period, all the public universities had remained closed for three weeks due to striking staff over salary enhancement.
PROMISING HELL
When medical staff in the country’s hospitals were on strike over low salaries, colleagues on both sides of the House were promising hell if their constituencies were not subdivided further into smaller units! Imagine passing a motion for creation of twenty-three new districts on a day you are also passing a motion to borrow over Shs 1 trillion!!
Soon after being sworn in to represent Mukono municipality, I was requested by journalists to predict what the 9th parliament would be and I remember telling them that I expected it “to turn itself into a constituent assembly and spoil even the little that remained of the 1995 Constitution”. Today, as I look back, I see that my prophecy was not far from the truth.
When the opportunity to amend the Constitution presented itself, we pushed it away, citing lack of time. Worse still, the NRM caucus introduced a term that had never been heard of in the history of Ugandan politics – sole candidate. In this, we were saying that President Museveni shouldn’t only lead Uganda for life but he should also stand unopposed. What more would one need to turn Uganda into a kingdom?
From what I hear in the public domain, I can predict with ease that the disappointed Ugandans who are going to the polls without any civic education and full of vendetta against politicians are likely to recklessly choose leaders basing on nonissues – turning the august House into a big joke… or can we as the 9th Parliament use the remaining few months to redeem the fading image of the House?
The other question can be: “how do we get Ugandans to kick out the devilish NRM system that is killing every institution in this country?”
The author is DP president for Buganda region, and MP for Mukono Municipality.
Presidential aspirant AMAMA MBABAZI was an angry man on Wednesday, September 9, the third day of his eastern public consultative tour after police using rubber bullets and tear gas broke up his rally at Soroti Sports Grounds.
Speaking to NBS TV at Soroti hotel later, Mbabazi vented his anger at what he called a “rogue government.” Lawrence Misege listened to the recording and below is a slightly-abridged transcript.
How do you describe your day?
It was a bad day for Uganda. It was a bad day for democracy because I did not believe that my own government would behave like a rogue government. I can’t believe it; we came in according to the plan the organizers had agreed with the local police.
We headed straight to the venue where the public consultative meeting was to take place. In the morning, they had cancelled the original venue [Soroti Independence Square] and when I was informed about it on phone, I told our people to cooperate with the police.
They went to a new field, the sports ground, and you may have noticed that at the time I arrived the tent had not been fully erected. Obviously this was meant to disrupt that public rally.
I know from the information I have gathered now, that starting yesterday [Tuesday] and with greater intensity this morning, there was an effort to mobilize people here against the rally; actually they tried to mobilize people to demonstrate against my arrival and to use violence against my supporters; the people refused and I want to use this opportunity to salute the people of Teso and particularly the people of Soroti municipality for refusing those rogue ideas from some MPs and leaders of this area.
Can you be specific on those leaders you are talking about that tried to mobilize against your supporters?
Yes I am going to do so because I am going to write to them. I am to write to government; I’m going to write to Parliament to protest because I cannot believe that anyone within their proper senses would engage in a thing like that. We are in a democracy that’s what we fought for and many of these fellows who simply come up do not know where all this came from.
They behave like rogues, absolute rogues; anyway, it failed, the people of Teso refused, they refused and you saw the warmth with which I was received when I entered town.
As I was entering the playground, some police officer came to me; I later learnt he was called Mr. Acaye. He came to me and told me as I was moving that this public rally was unlawful. But as he was talking, the young people who were near looked agitated and I advised him that it was not safe for us to continue talking [at that spot] because he could have been injured.
So, we went to the podium and we sat together and he told me that he had been instructed by the Electoral Commission that this public rally was unlawful. I told him it was not unlawful.
I know the law very well, when I wrote to the national Electoral Commission about my public consultative meetings, I was not requesting their permission because I don’t need their permission. The law only requires me to notify them and I met that requirement; the law requires me to notify the police and I did.
In the case of police, the IGP [Kale Kayihura] wrote back to me saying it was alright he had cleared me. I didn’t seek his clearance either because I don’t need it but anyhow he wrote back. The electoral commission did not write to me; they have not told me anything that they seem to be talking about.
This Electoral Commission, I think it is behaving in a manner that totally undermines the purpose for which they were set up because they were set up to conduct democratic elections in Uganda but it appears that the things they do are intended to undermine that very principle of democracy and therefore I think we are headed in the wrong direction in terms of the management of our elections now.
Then Mr Acaye said – well, he actually rose and left. Shortly after that, they attacked; the police attacked; you saw what happened, they were using tear gas canisters, they shot people, there are so many people who are injured. I have seen some of them; one was shot.
I have got a report that one was shot with a live bullet in the foot. I certainly have seen others who have been injured; there are four who are still in hospital unconscious, this was not provoked; nothing had happened.
I was just entering; nobody had done anything. People were happily receiving me; that was all. So, I think the actions of the police were obviously not provoked; it’s unlawful and it deserves the condemnation that any rogue action by any state agency deserves.
You talk about leaders and MPs who mobilized against you; who are those leaders you are talking about?
Yes I told you that I will answer that; in fact I am going to write to those individuals registering my protest to them. I am possibly going to look at other actions; I have talked to my lawyers about it. I would like to see what legal action we can have against these individuals who behave like rogues.
Does this change your perception about the NRM government that you served for close to three decades?
Well, you know I have told you many times that this government has veered off the course of our struggle that’s the reason why I have decided not to remain with them in government because I am really committed to the core principles of the struggle; democracy and unity, noble principles that our people gave up their own lives for.
And the fact that I am out, is evidence that they [NRM] had actually started veering off. This is further evidence of what I have been protesting about.
Can you authoritatively tell the nation what your stand is in regard to your membership in the ruling party?
I am a member of the ruling party. NRM has many people, I actually believe majority of them don’t subscribe to what is happening now; they don’t support it and I think the big debate in NRM is whether we should have change or not and that will be the debate within NRM itself; that is a big question in NRM that has caused division.
So, I belong to that group that does not subscribe to what is happening now, the direction the government is taking and we think we need to change it.
What is your relationship with your longtime friend [President Museveni] now that the two of you are going to appear on the same ballot paper?
I think my relationship has nothing to do with this. Really again as I have said many times before it’s not about me, it’s not about Mr Museveni. I mean, what is a man in all this? One man!
Even the victories we have attained before, they have not been because of one man; all these victories have been as a result of collective actions always. You may have individual actions like in war and things like that but ultimately it is a collective effort that matters.
So, one man doesn’t matter so much and as far as I am concerned, we are not talking about principals, we are talking about a system; we are not talking about individuals; this has nothing to do with my relationship with him.
(Commenting on the EC’s position on illegal public rallies):
Those EC chaps who are saying that [my rallies are illegal], are illegal themselves. I think they don’t know what they are talking about. I am talking about the laws of Uganda and anyone in the Electoral Commission who says that kind of thing should stop it because they don’t know what they are talking about.
I ate an under-age duck. It was really little and scrawny but it was the only meaty creature aside from us humans, which was wobbling around the compound. We had eaten the rest of its family and were now down to just it. My father and I walked it to the banana plantation, lay it down, caressed the area around its neck and then murdered it in cold blood but later ate it with so much relish, steamed and spiced. You see, we were broke; there was no money to buy food, so we had to eat what was available. When my mother told him that we had run out of charcoal, my father would nod and then go out of the house as if to go on a shopping trip to the mall. The trip would lead him to trees in the compound. He would cut down the dried branches and build a fire and behold, food would get cooked. The food, by the way, was mostly immature matooke from my mother’s garden. I think we once had pawpaw sauce and posho for lunch. I cannot quite remember whose bright idea it was but yes, we ate that too. I have never drunk so much sugarless porridge in my life as I did back then or read by candle light for so long because electricity too abandoned us in our time of need. That might explain our dark complexion given all that soot. Life was, to say the least, hard but it did not last forever, we came through it together. This is not to write a praise report on my mother but the story would not come together if I did not say this. Throughout all this, the chick never left or threw tantrums. Of course, it was not all smooth sailing but they stuck together through thin. So when I hear that Nalumansi left her husband of one year because he was fired and he has not been able to find a job for the last eight months, I do not understand because in my mind, it is not supposed to be this way. Yes, poverty sucks, it is scary even but it is just that, poverty. A situation that can change. Now this is not to say that people should be comfortable having little or nothing at all and expect that everything will be normal. We should all strive for the best in life but love and relationships should never be built solely on how many dollar signs one has imprinted on their forehead. Yes, romance without finance is a hard paper. Passionate kisses, hugs and sweet words will not pay the bills but money with no love and the perks that come with it is also less than ideal. Money can be made, true love, however, cannot really be bought. Do not even tell me about money-hungry 23-year-olds and their confused granny brides. Personal finance adviser, Michelle Singletary, wrote that money may not buy love, but fighting about it will bankrupt your relationship. So, let us make love but money too. Sounds to me like a good, manageable and balanced deal. I still do not think being broke justifies stinginess. Disclaimer: I do not eat ducks and I love me some money, good ol’ money. jnapio@ug.nationmedia.com http://www.monitor.co.ug/artsculture/Heart-to-Heart/Yes--poverty-sucks-but-stick-by----for-a-while/-/691230/2863860/-/i4gh0y/-/index.html
Is it Sam Bagenda or Dr Bbosa? How should I address you? I ‘m comfortable with either. Actually, on official documents, I write Sam Bagenda a.k.a Dr Bbosa. Many people know me by the name Dr Bbosa, which I tend to use quite often, especially for easy identification or when I want someone to act quickly.
Jog our memories a little bit; how did you become Dr Bbosa? He was a character I played in the then popular local drama series That’s Life Mwattu.
It used to show way back in the early 1990s. Dr Bbosa was funny, greedy and a womaniser. He had all the character traits men associate with. Eventually, Dr Bbosa became a darling among the viewers and thus, the name stuck.
For how many years have you been acting?
I started around 1986. I think I was in my early 20s then. This was still with the group, Ebonies.
Initially, I had joined as a singer but after about three years, the director and producer of the group, J.W.K Ssembajwe, wrote a stage play entitled The Dollar and told me I was going to play a part in it.
I took it as a joke but he insisted. I acted as a priest. I remember really being nervous doing it but afterwards, the feedback I got was overwhelming. People seemed to have loved my character. That was when it rang a bell that I could probably do some acting. That is how I started.
Why have you stuck with acting? I have three formulas that help govern my life; passion, patience and persistence. Since I have a lot of passion for acting, I have never dreamt of leaving it.
But have there ever been instances where you felt like walking away from it all? No. The Ebonies are the ones who spotted my talent and I feel like they made me who I am today. So, there is that special attachment that I have with the group, especially with Ssembajwe, who insisted that I act.
What became of some of the other famous characters that were part of the group? Well, Nakawunde (Harriet Nalubwama) is now saved and is based in London, while Vicky (Rose Kamya) is doing her own thing in Boston. Sadly, some passed on like Dick (Paul Katende).
Do you have a family? Yes. I have a wife, Mrs Patience Bagenda. They say a Muganda man does not count his children and once I do it, I would have violated the saying. But just know that I have a good number of them. The youngest is six years old. I’m not so sure how old the eldest is though. You know, some of us fathers do not usually get to know some such petty things like the children’s age because of the many things we tend to have running through our minds.
How old are you, by the way? I am also still confused about my age. Sometimes, I think my late mother was not so sure about it. But I’m old enough. Depending on the mood, sometimes, I will say 40 and then other times, I will say I’m 20.
Tell us about your education background. I completed Primary Seven at Kitante Primary School along Kiira Road, Senior Four at Lubiri Secondary School in Mengo and Senior Six at Caltec Academy in Makerere. I have a Bachelor of Commerce (BCom) from Makerere University. I graduated in 1985.
The tabloids have been awash with stories of scandals within the group. What is happening? Whatever trash they were writing including that the group was breaking up were all imaginations. I think it is high time they wrote a hilarious play.
Do you respond to anonymous phone calls? No, I usually do not. I learnt my lesson. People, including those I did not know, would call to tell me all sorts of problems. For example, there were students calling for money to pay their school fees and even women calling me to cater to the needs of their children because their husbands were not at home.
How do most people describe your personality? Those who do not know me think I’m proud and unapproachable. But I’m a very cool, down to earth and patient man. In fact, my wife says the way I am very patient with so many things is annoying. What do you think wives ought to do in order to safeguard their marriages? You know, men have very stressful moments. We keep thinking about so many things. Sometimes, we almost run mad thinking about work, the welfare of the children and wife, among other things. At the end of the day, we are so fatigued and stressed and need comfort. And this is when the wives come in. When your husband comes back home in the evening, receive him back warmly, ask him how his day was and if he tells you it was bad, give him hope and assurance by telling him all will be well. The other two things the wives need to do is to be very supportive and lastly, prayerful. There is some kind of psychological satisfaction a man feels when he knows his wife is prayerful or goes to church.
To upcoming actors
I will still go back to the three 3Ps that govern my life.
You need to be patient because things do not come easy. Do not be like those guys who just enter the industry and suddenly, one starts craving to drive a hammer. You will not get anywhere with that kind of attitude.
Secondly, you need to be persistent and keep telling yourself that you will get there. Thirdly, and the most important of all is that you need to have passion for what you do. It does not even matter at the end of the day if you are getting peanuts. Sometimes, it is not all about the money but rather satisfying your conscience. With those three things, you cannot go wrong. You will definitely get to the top
At around midnight of last Wednesday, the first police patrol pickup truck parked near my residence in Bukasa, Kirinya, Kira municipality.
The 9th parliament is in its last eight months, three of which shall be after elections and, therefore, of no consequence.