ARIAKA

Pregnant Expectations

She walked into the hall to murmurs.  With the head of state, the chief justice, the speaker, the cabinet, MPs – all the arms of state – all in attendance.  The diplomatic corps, protocol officers, journalists of all shades and opinions, all protocol observed.

She carried a black suit case – the court of arms emblazoned on one side.  She grinned broadly to the anticipating congregants.  Dressed in black and white, she is visible.  She is enviable, as this is the first time in the history of Uganda that the budget will be read by a woman.

Mabibi and Mabwana

After the national anthem is played, the speaker calls the house to order and makes a few remarks.  He now invites the star of the moment to her act.  Namirembe Syda Bumba then walks to the podium and stuns the audience.  Mabibi na Mabwana.  This is unprecedented.  She opens her budget speech in Kiswahili.

Poor Syda

Mr.  speakers Sir, I beg that the house dissolves into a committee of supply to receive the budget of FY 2009/10.  The finance minister proceeds to read her budget. A slip here and punctuation there.  She actually pulled it off well in the end.  There were moments of oohs and aaahs from the audience.   Deep into the speech, some members could not help it.  They dozed off into the afternoon siesta.  Ms Nabira, woman of Kampala was nudged by a colleague, into attention when the camera was trained in her direction.  For a others, the eyes where too heavy.  They snored away happily. What do you do with  the tropical heat and a full tummy. A recipe for a nap.

Winners

So, what is in this budget.  Roads.  It is time the ministry of defense ceded the top budgetary allocation spot to another ministry.  This time, the Ministry of Works took the apple.  The roads department carried a whooping trillion shillings.  The country has had quite a rough time with roads; unbitumenized, pot-holed,  infested, hmmmmm,  with gulleys.  Actually, some of our rural roads are seasonal rivers.  The bridges get a nod as well.

Poor Allen

No taxes.  In this daunting time, in this era of a conflagrating world economic downturn.  There will be no increases in the local tax base. Ms Allen Kagina must now plug all loop holes in the tax administration.  She must improve efficiency in the system and yet cut the cost of revenue collection to make money this financial year.  She loses in this budget.  Her work is now cut out for her.  However, she could do with a new law.  A friendly law that boost compliance.  She must move away from the comfort of the traditional large tax payers, and move into the informal sector.

Pombe for all

More pombe.  For those in agriculture, especially those farming for the breweries, it is time to make money as duty on locally produced inputs has been lowered.  So we can now happily drink Eagle lager and Senator.  What’s more for the guys who break their back in the village everyday, they can access loans at favourable terms. A seven year repayment period for loans is a winner for our farmers.  They can also benefit from a refunded and expanded NAADS.

Education for all

The minister also put big smiles on the faces of Schools and educational institutions.  VAT has been abolished for this sector.  So you could build more schools, so UPE and USE can gain ground and take root in the coming years.  So there is no reason for absenteeism in schools.  So proprietors can earn more money.  So administrators in government schools can have more money.

Green Budget

This budget (burned) Kaveera.  It also banned the importation of second hand fridges and computers.  So the carbon footprint of Uganda can improve with less emission of Persistent Organic Pollutants.  So Uganda can reduce global warming.  The people downtown are in for a difficult year.  If their livelihood depends on the trade in used electronics, then they better strike deals with the Muyindi on Luwum and Kampala roads who import brand new.

Elect NRM

It seems the framers of this budget have their eyes set to Elect Kags 2011.  The No new taxes,  Business as usual posturing is surely a welcome relief for businesses.  The focus on roads will create jobs in rural areas where the construction will be based.  The sweet music to farmers.  The more money to schools through low taxes and a consideration to civil servants in a 5% salary increment is a vote winner.  Okay, the cost of living has gone up owing to the depreciating shilling against major currencies, the rise in costs of fuel etc.  But salary increment leaves a good feeling.  We may say, the Minister is cautiously inflating the economy to stimulate it and mitigate against a decining world trade.  But putting money in the hands of peasants 12 months to an election can not be lost to an observer that Syda Bumba is preparing the grounds for the re-election of Kags.  Enough written.

Orphaned Budget

Even the best dancers must leave the stage.  Therefore, Mabibi na Mabwana she concludes, to an uproarious audience.  She had accomplished most difficult part of her pottery.  But she the budget is orphaned.  She forgets to ask the house to adopt this budget.  The spotlight can be consuming. 

The Right Honourable Intervention

The Speaker  saves her blushes.  Since she as asked along the speech, for adoption of this and that.  She is in order.

Four years ago, a young man opened the door and bust into the office.  Dressed in black trousers, white shirt, a matching tie and an infectious smile.  He was very smart. He walked to a chair and sat down, savoring his new surrounding and the attention from new people.  This is Tom Okirya our new sales executive,  Carol, the sales manager introduced him to us.

The immediate task was to find a sobriquet for him.  This is important as the passage into acceptance in TEA.  Our Baptist, the old man was away at the time.  When he returned we had observed enough of Tom to for the Kamulian to mention without hesitation.  Pastor.

Tom becomes a pastor owing to his firm observance of Christian lifestyle.  Later Pastor Deya.  Pardon me old man, Pastor Deya is quite distasteful.  But the rule is, a sobriquet gets to your nerve.  The bad taste is the background to joining the club, becoming part of the family. 

We also learnt of Tom Elvis Ochola Okirya, a mouthful of a name.  But, thanks, Pastor will do fine. Okay.  Tom is okay too.

Time moves pretty fast when you consider the routine of the office.  Targets, plans, presentations orders, commissions. Or the luck of them.  But time has moved so fast that we begin to notice a certain shift in the Pastor’s routine.   You have to see the computer screen saver to understand the current blowing away the good fellow.

The screen saver captures her in a temperate climate.  Snowy, heavy clothings, but… yes..,.. and the infectious smile. Have you noticed how a smile lightens even a tense situation.  It is good for the heart I am told.  Exactly, we now noticed Tom is warmly, his heart warmed by that smiling face.

Clearly something is happening to Tom, and it has to do with the matter of the heart.  As the new year broke this year, Tom lets the cat out of the bag.  Maybe, not exactly, but through slips here and there.  Anyway the point was being made that the good Pastor had been smitten by love bug and that he was in trouble as the young beauty had captured him completely and now she was resolute in delivering him to her parents for the final benediction.

It was inevitable.  Tom had to say it. On a Monday afternoon, he called me aside and sought my presence to witness the Okwandhula as the Baruli say, his marriage in a traditional ceremony in Nakitoma to Suzan Mwebaze, the damsel who now holds the pulse to his heart.

The short message came. It was D-day.  It said we were to assemble at Bugoloobi Church of Uganda to depart for Nakasongola.  However, I could not make it to Bugoolobi on account of another travel arrangement at the office.  So Saturday 18^th went down folklore in Nakasongola  as the day the bachelor from Eastern Uganda braved the rigours of travel, risked the  dangers in the wildlife and the audacity of love to pick their very own daughter.  The inimitable Suzan.

The men in Kanzus, the women in Busuti and Gomasi.  A beautiful spectacle.  We boarded our cars  and commenced at the head of a humongous convoy, sidestepping the morning traffic jam in Wandegeya, Kalerwe and Bwaise.   Finally, we emerge at a petrol station in Kawempe and savour the Kampala – Gulu road.

Telephone.  Caller, please assemble at Migyera trading centre for breakfast and to change into the party clothes.  We’ll,  I am dressed.  We made it to Migyera one and half hour later!!!  Shock!! shocks !!!  Food is ready.  At UGX 5,000 for fish and matooke, the food here is priced beyond the means of the locals. More, so than what Kampala offers.  This is amazing as R. Kafu is two stones throw away and Lake Kyoga beckons in 30 kilometers. The hoteliers here set their eyes on the long distance travelers and tourists.  The locals must tread deeper downtown to afford some food.  But the kobe meat is cheaper, this being in the cattle corridor. Anyway, the katoogo was off the menu as the early Kampala traffic had depleted the stock.  So I settle for chapati (well done), omelet and milk tea, for UGX 3,000. 

Shock number two.  As Tom’s entourage trickle in, a car at a time, over ten of them.  So do the ladies, rushing to change into the requisite traditional clothes, the busuuti, gomezi and the men, into the Kanzu.  On these occasions, the notion of time is lost to our women.  It is enough that putting on the gomezi is frustrating to the men, but the mannerisms of the good ladies change accordingly.  They must now walk at snail pace, one hand holding the innocuous gomezi, handbag hanging on the other arm.  The catwalk starts.  The idea of time is lost completely.

After an agonizing three hours of unwinding, undressing, dressing and snail walk.  We now board our SUVs, sedans, pick ups, vans and zoom ten kilometers away.  We arrive at Nakitoma village.  We have arrived to witness Tom wrestle Suzan away from the boys of this village, and take her to nirvana, to everlasting happiness.

We park the cars and converge under a mango tree.  In Lugbara we call him ojio, otherwise omwogezi, the only man allowed to intercede for Tom.  He takes us through the sensibilities.  The women must kneel when our hosts greet us.  The men must stand, etcetera.  Villagers emerge to behold the mass of immaculately dressed people.  Where are they from?  Ahha!!! They are from Kampala.  They cower.  They watch from a distance, some whispering, gestulating, giggling etc.,

Now is the hour of reckoning.  We troop, single file, in two lines, one male and the other female. We make way to a gate.  Christian music is playing,  three tents have been arranged.  Two tents filled to the seams.  If you know what I mean.   They have come to  see the man Suzan is going to marry.  They are welcoming their in-laws.  They are glad that this Saturday will be very colourful and generous.

So, we stand in the line in a scorching Saturday Sun and wait.  But no one comes to welcome us.   There is a clan meeting going on and no visitors are allowed.  Meanwhile, the excitement is palpable. Beautiful ladies in dazzling gomezi dart to and fro.  The men can not help it.  They drool knowingly, the Old man is besides himself, the general agrees that this village is something.  There is this particular lady, she catches my eye.  She has personality, character. She walks with an aura of a queen.  She is beautiful. 

Over thirty minutes of waiting in the sun.  You got the feeling it must rain sometime in the future to cool this hot day.  It then happens.  We see a bevy of beauties, emerge with baskets.  They gracefully make their way to the lines.  Then they inoculate, they actually said - vaccinate us so we can not infect the hosts.  After a while, she steps up to me. She is smiling.  She picks a paper, safety pin and ….. !!! She fixes the picture of Tom and Suzan on the breast pocket of my coat.  Ditto to the end of the line.

We are now safe.  We are ushered in to our tent.  We stand for a short while and then sit.  The drama has long started.  We have afande, corporal etc, who guide us through the occasion. The introductions, senga is difficult to get.  She must pretend not to know us until she is appeased.  Okay, not that way.  They will bring forth many sengas, until the one – owensonga comes to acknowledge Tom.

The interlude of music - local music, traditional music plays in between activities.  But I can not help it.  The Baruli must be true Ugandas.  Their lexicon is an imbroglio of words from Buganda, Bunyoro, Luo Busoga, Lamoghi.  Theirs is a hybrid language.  The dance is runyege.  And the food includes Kalo (cal) millet bread common in the north, and eastern parts of Uganda.  They have luwombo.  I now understand the militancy of the Buruli against Buganda.  They do not quite belong in Buganda.  They are a different, unique people.

When the senga finally acknowledged Tom, a stream of ululation filled the village.  We ululated to thank her for not denying Tom.  We now waited with bated breath to see her.  Before Suzan could come, her sisters preceded her.  In a way, it is a display of beauties for the bachelors to espy.  This family is demonstrating to us the availability of more damsels.  But today we want Suzan. 

The clouds crack, and rain descends on us.  We are safe in the tents, but the poor girls getting on with the show are drenched thoroughly.  They bear their cross majestically.  Sitting meekly as the rain swept their make up and ruined their hair.  The rain abates and the show continues.

Susan finally comes.  Her choice of gold and red is fantastic.  She has adorned her face.  She looks like a pharaonic queen.  She is beautiful.  Tom is truly a lucky man.  God agreed.  He opened the sky again and drenched Suzan.  It is a baptism.  An initiation into a new life.  A life with Tom for good, and for ever. 

I travelled to Kenya over the easter weekend to enjoy a scrabble tournament and tour the Kenyan rift valley (soon to come: My Easter Kenyan Odyssey). On the Akamba bus, there were quiet dicussions about Migingo Island by some  passengers.  But the animation in their arguments is lacking.  This reflecting the general public mood in Uganda, where the matter has been left to politicians and technocrats to amicably resolve.

On arriving in Nairobi, the newspaper headlines is dominated by the reports of the thawing relationship between the president and the prime minister, then Migingo.  Why is the Ugandan flag flying on the island?  Why are the Kenyan fishermen on the island paying taxes to Uganda? And many more questions. The animation is consuming.  A call for drastic action on Uganda is made by sections of the politicians, including war.  The president’s action on Migingo is being sought with many commentators lampooning Mwai Kibaki, calling him a weak president.

Agitations
In Kiserian, where we camped for the scarbble tournament, Kenyan players, seek my opinion on Migingo with many claiming it as a Kenya Island and asking Uganda to lower the flag and withdraw the police and military units from the island.  The mention of Migingo gets people’s attention, and the ensuing conversation takes a marked direction, an agitated state of mind is clearly visibly; finger wagging, contorted faces, rising tones, widening  eyes.  A fight, not yet, but the people are clearly prepared for it. The accepted mindset on Migingo here is clear.  It is a Kenyan Island and Ugandans have no business being there, period. 

Schedules
If the truth about this island be told, we should revisit the Constitutions of Uganda and Kenya, which details the border points of the two countries. In the schedules that map out the countries, it is agreed that the border in lake victory run in the northerly direction in a straight line along the pyramid island.  The pyramid Island clearly lies in Kenya according to the schedules of the two Islands. But there the schedules are silent on another island, Migingo, which lies west of the pyramid island.  This Island clearly lies in Uganda.  Migingo therefore can not lie in Kenya.

Global Warming
But Migingo Island comes to the fore owing to global warming and the activities offshore in the last decade, which has manifested in the dwindling levels of Lake Victoria.  This has meant that many islands on the lake, incliding Migingo have gained ultitude, and in the case of Migingo it’s strategic importance.  It was the smugglers on the lake who gained this knowledge where they included the island on their circuit. Later the Revenue Protection  Services, an anti smuggling para military outfit under now Major General Kale Kayihura, learnt of the island and followed the smugglers to break their back.  At the time, their was no bilateral tension as the activities of RPS had a mutual benefit to Uganda and Kenya.

Moi Exits Kenya
But the politics in this region has changed. President Moi, who was the leaqder of Kenya at the time RPS was operating has left the political scene. A new wave of political despensation has swept Kenya since 2002, with political leaders in the country making and breaking their election promises, new corruption scandals emerging that has dissaffected the Kenyan populace.  Public frustations have now soared to new heights.  Matters are not being helped now by new revelations of corruption, the scourge of post 2007 election violence in a year of famine in parts of the country.

It appears convinient for politicians to create avenues for people to expend their frustratiosn.  Migingo is a perfect excuse.  Media reports carry stories of politicians working up the youths against Uganda.  Their no sympathy for Uganda. The youths have taken the rhetoric against Uganda literally, they uprooted 100m of the railway line slippers in Kibera slums, effectively cutting off the economic life line to the hinterland, including areas served by the raily system in Kenya itself.  It is self defeating. 

Church and Warfare
It appears the Migingo controversy has also found  home in churches, where it was reported a religious meeting in Nyanza province sat to draft a resoultion to government. They  advocated for war to resolve this impasse.  In fact police had to deploy on the muhoroni road to Kisumu, to disrupt an assembly of youths who had taken the message their leaders and where bent to stop the traffic of goods to Uganda. Some commentators have sized up the military capability of Uganda and concluded that the country has not won any wars even when they are in a perpetual state of conflict.  Thy cite the failed Operation Thunderstorm, the percieved humiliation in Congo by Rwanda early this decade etc.  Their conclusion, Kenya can beat Uganda hands down in a war.

A plethora of Organisations
However, if the domestic politics in Kenya was troubled that much, should Migingo offer the pill to cure an internal disease?  For a start, a war with Uganda is unnecessary, as the Migingo case can be resloved through bilateral or even regional initiative as Paul Kagame, the Rwandan president told us this week on a working visit to Uganda.  Already, we have the East African community??? Then a plethora of Lake Victoria organisations - Lake Victoria Fisheries Organisations, Lake Victoria enviromental Management Program, even a Lake Victoria Urban Councils etc,..who work under the aegis of EAC.

Risky Business
It is true Kenya offers Uganda and other countries in the hinterland  a passage to the sea, an important economic life line. But is also true that Uganda is Kenya’s leading trading partner, and the country offers Kenya the route to lucrative markets further afield in Southern Sudan, Western DRC, Rwanda, Burundi, Central African Republic all the way to Angola.  Whereas Uganda can chart alternative routes to the sea through Dar-es-Salaam, Kenya can not afford to lose its markets upstream.  In order to grow their presence in Africa, many Kenyan business have set up post in Uganda whence they hope to penetrate the continent.  You have to wonder what wisdom Kenyan politicains have to want to destroy that strategic relationship.

Small Fish
Migingo is small fish, President Kibaki’s silence is a loud and luadable message.  Keep quiet. Stop fishing omena.  Go for Nile Perch.  Uganda is more importantb than a whismical Island .

Stoct taking
After stock taking, it dawned on Kampalans that the time was now to right a wrong of so many decades.  The original Nakivubo war memorial stadium is now taking shape.  With the parking yard burnt down, now is the time to take on the mighty Owino market.  Burn it down so that we can now have the parking yard for all the fuel guzzling SUVs to park for the banene to enjoy an evening or weekend respite without the tensity that is the arua around the stadium today.

A better place
Kampala will also be a better place.  Thinking of the traffic jam?  Yes, with a recalimed Nakivubo, the jam that normally starts on Namirembe road and infect the whole city will reduce by a factor of three.  We can now arrive in time for everything.  To reach the taxi, park, the bus park, the office, the shops, upcountry and even out of the country.  We will reclaim three quarters of lost time that is consumed by the jams.

Delirium
That is a good thing. Asking how, time is wealth, is it not? Now, with the added time the productivity of the residents and dwellers and visitors can be expected to match the reclaimed time.  Measured in economic terms, we can now double our productivity.  The overall contagion of the inferno on the economy in real time will generate gross domestic product manifold, using last year as the base year.

Good for business
With the improved terms of trade, we will add another five years on the life expectancy in Uganda as people will reach the hospitals faster to get treatment, leave the bar fast to hit the sack, get to that ATM faster to replenish their wallets, eat better food - which will not decay on the trucks, all thanks to unjamming the city.  Our womyn folk can reach the hospital and find the nurse has arrived on time for her to deliver that bundle of joy. 

A message from the mountain
It is good feeling.  Behold thee mortals in Kampala, as the dust settles in Nakivubo, there will arise a great saviour that will deliver thee to the promised land.

A whiff of the gas from the bowels (E kinyapo)
You must emerge from the reverie now.  For if you do not you will remain firmly in the annals of day dreaming.  As the embers died down that fateful dawn, the traders resolved to rebuild their lives (literally).   Keep the prize away from the hyenas.  The wails and mourns had attracted the hyenas hmmm!! as well as certain people whose idea of redevelopment is skewed upside down.  The traders remained on the ground rebuilding their shattered lives.  They spent the night and the day nailing this and hammering that, that for someone who saw Nakivubo three days later could not believe the fire story.

Crying more than the berieved
The political machine swung into action.  FDC chief camped in Nakivubo and offered loads of building material.  Then the celebrities did their thing, as a Social Responsible thing to do, Chameleon offer millions so that Bobi Wine offered tens of millions.  Mukwano offered millions and a certain bank, waived the loans traders had taken. In between many well wishers offered their token of goodwill and prayed for the matter to rest.  But a one seya, who made his mark by fraternising with the folks in Owing and their ilks in Kampala was in for a shocker.  He arrived to ridicules and heckling. Finally, some one through a pair of shoes at him.  Harraaam!! the seya picked up clean pairs of heels and beat a hasty exit.

Grand Entrance
To put matters to rest. To stop this small thing of: Sh 100K, I mean tens of millions. The old man, he of the Ssabagabe distinction, the holder of vision and the omnipresent, enduring leader of this republic made a grand entrance.  I want this circus, this nonsense to stop.  He offered a billion shillings.  The shear weight of that offer put to rest any lingering intentions as the maestro had again proven his superiority.

Trouble is, he meant that money to come from a kitty that supports NAADS, a government/donor partnership to uplift the lives of farming communities in Uganda.  So the optimism can not last forever, that is if the traders can understand the ramifications of digging your hands in the family cookie jar.

Kampala was on fire yesterday.  The parking yard for Nakivubo war memorial Stadium caught fire in the wee hours of yesterday morning and raged for six hours.  According to press reports, millions worth of goods and more millions in cash was lost in the inferno.  The government has now instituted a cabinet subcommittee to look into the cause of the fire.  They will await the police report after investigations into the causes of the fire.

When we awoke to TV news of this fire, the anguish on the faces of the traders was to much to bear. Lost livelihood is what ringed loudly.  The risks to our economy, our country when finally computed, will ring in to billions of lost revenues, but the ramification is skin deep.

Lost Livelihoods …and Revenue

With close to 1000 people out of jobs, in this era of the credit crunch, the country stands to loose billions in revenues.  Many of the traders lived out of Uganda and contibuted significanlty to their local economies.  Therefore, the risk to educatFire disaster ill-preparedness

This fire comes two weeks after Nakumatt and Molo fires killed more than 150 Kenyans. The The EastAfrican joint report on the region’s ability to fight fires makes a sombre reading. Uganda is not prepared for an inferno.  Woe betides us if any fires flared in our city.  Well, the story was vindicated as the Nakivubo fire as affirmed.

The head quarters of the fire fighting institution, the police fire brigade happens to be a stone’s throw away from the Nakivubo scene.  They arrived at the scene 90 minutes late according to press reports.  At the snail pace of 5 centimeters per second the fire truck took forever to arrive.  Yet when they did, there was no water or foam or both, and the trucks were too few to be of any importance to put out the fire.  So they called for reinforcement. Firefighters were to be the knight in shining armour. Unfortunately, the fire company could only look angazi in the face of a fire out of control.  There is no access road, there is no water, too many crowds, the fire fighters claimed. Like the police, they were toothless as the fire was beyond their control.  According to the police spokeswoman, speaking to CBS radio, some action took place and some goods were salvaged.  The looters were stopped from having a field day. That response came a little too late to stop the fire.

Conspiracy theorising

So what caused the fire?  Tongues begun to wag.  A bus company has been given the Kirussia side of Nakivubo stadium to redevelop into a terminal, in a four year UGX 12,000,000 a month deal by the stadium management committee.  Having no access to the parking yard, some people are now claiming that the bus company could have started the fire to rid the place of the traders and create the important entrance.  The bus company deny this claim. A picture in the New Vision showed a police officer pointing at a hole in concrete, suspected to be the point where the fire was introduced.  It was a blackened hole, apparently recently blasted through the concrete walls of Nakivubo stadium. Was this arson? Who could have done it?  Then the claims that a blust was heard before the fire begun.  Could it have been a grenade lobed through the hole? Kampala does not go o sleep these days.  The night life around the city is alive 24hrs, again with improved security around the country, buses travel aroun the clock.  It is therefore possible to hear a loud bang at night. But the explosion could also have been the result of power outage.  Enough said.

We have to go back in time to understand the suspicions of the traders.  A decade ago, I used to shop for my wardrobe at a shop on Luwum Street. Maurice, the shop owner one day told me of the threat to his business.  The landlord had asked them to vacate the building.  However, the shop owners needed more time to relocate.  One Monday morning, the traders awoke to a grim sight.  The building was razing to the ground; and there was nothing to do to save the merchandize.  Maurice had luckily, taken the threat seriously and had got a shop on Wilson road.  A short while later, trucks ferried materials on the sight and construction work commenced in earnest.  Alarmingly, there was no police investigation as to cause of this fire, well, at least no reports were published.

In the years that followed, many dilapidated buildings on the street met the same fate; tenants asked to leave then an inferno.  Does that ring a bell?  The police will investigate the causes of the Owino fire, if to assuage the public anger, but as the traders are licking their wounds, we will wait for the report.

In the wrong place at the wrong time

In the late 30’s, the British Colonial government gazetted a swamp at the foot of Old Kampala, Nakasero confluence into a National Stadium, to welcome the veterans of the first world war.  It was called Nakivubo war memorial Stadium.  It was the only one of its kind in Uganda and would offer the avenue for the locals to cool off their steam.

The stadium sat on five acres of wetland and would comprise the complex and the parking areas around it; for the population of the city estimated at 10,000 at the time, would fit in nicely and the upper class would not have trouble parking their cars.  When Idi Amin Dada took power, the area around the stadium was an inviting place for hawkers and vendors of merchandise.

 An idea was then mooted in 1972 to turn it into a market.  An obscure Adhola man, common at the place gave it the name; Owino market.  So Owino as we fondly called it grew into an amorphous establishment that came to define the life on the fringes; a microcosm of the national character of Uganda. 

An unplanned business settlement where the rules of the jungle reigned supreme over establishment.  Pickpockets, vagrants, hawkers and vendors and prostitutes and… a kaleidoscope of cultures and character, all seeking a livelihood thrived.  But people were happy as everyone got something in this market. The pick pocket, the bargain seeker, the discount seller.  Anything from agricultural produce, clothings, upholstery to electronic goods mostly second, pirated and stolen found a ready market.

(coming soon, why burning the market is a blessing in disguise)

In the last two weeks, two momentous events happened in Uganda.  The leading parties started what many people now view as political manouvuering  to capture or retain power in 2011 Ugandan elections.  First off the block was, Forum for Democratic Change FDC), whose name suggests that no change of democratic credentials has come to Uganda.  Indeed its leadership is composed of leaders of NRM who have jumped ship.

FDC held a delegates conference in Mandela National Stadium east of Kampala where the party Col.  Dr.  Kizza Besigye defeated Lt. General Mugisha Muntu, former army commander of the UPDF to retain the party presidency.  With over 800 delegates attendinjg this function, it is not lost on political watchers FDC has a powerful mobilization machinery.

Takinfg the cue, H.E President Yoweri  finally made the cabinet reshuffle that had lingered in the grapvine for over six months.  And what a reshuffle. We saw the appointment of a first lady, also MP for Ruhama county of Ntungamo district to the Karamoja portfolio.  We saw Syda Bumba, transfered from Labour to the all important Finance docket.  It is the first time in Uganda that a first lady is a Minister, forget that hers is a junior portfolio.  It is also the first time that a women has been appointed a finance Minister.

These are not simple appointments.  It is a political chess game where the master has his eye set on victory.   There has been a lot of realighnment in this reshuffle.  The removal of ex-officio MPs from cabinet vis  Salim Saleh, Dr. Ham Mulira and Dr.  Suruma; the demotion of vocal local government minister Lt.General Otafiire to Trade and Industry from Local government etc. The retention of Vice President Prof. Gilbert Bukenya and security minister Amama Mbabazi means that an electoral cabinet is complete.

The president has created a formidable machinery for other FDC, DP, UPC, JEEMA, PPP and other parties to contend with.  And yet in the last two years, the present has promoted young officers in UPDF, and the police.  There is yet another story on army reshuffles in today’s issue of The Daily Monitor . Whereas these are routine exercises that should not excite anybody, as the army spokesman has from time to time reaffirmed, a clear trend is forming.  The older, tried if tired officers are not supple enough for the political dispensation.  You need young and vigorous men who are in sync with the needs of the future.

The President could not allow FDC glow in the victory of a successful election.  So in terms of the media capital, he has quickly placed NMRo in the limelight.  Every talk show, newspaper, TV stations, bimeeza is giving the president valuable mileage over competition.  This is important for sustaining the the momentum for the 2011 election and stifling the voices of espexcially FDC which had attempted to steal the show.

In some quarters, the first lady is expected to bring investment to Karamoja in a manner her predecessors could, She has the eyes and ears of the big man remember. That expectation has the potential of returning a huger Karamoja vote for the movement.  But Karamoja has always voted movement, what could now be different? It is unclear now, though beyond the mystery, The EastAfrican’s magazine artcle this week by David Kaiza suggests - Keep the old lady in tow.  She is known to defy her husband especially regarding her ambition to run for MP.  She is also known to offer ideas on touchy topics contrary to the guidelines set by the party. 

The most telling of all the appointment is the elevation of Syda Bumba to the powerful finance ministry.  This move is a winner for the women vote.  IT is a first in Uganda.  This move will also change the mindset in Buganda.  Buganda has more cabinet bost than any other region other than the west. To give the powerful post to a Muganda, coupled with improving relation between Museveni over the land bill, we are expecting  a more favourable Buganda attitude to the movement.

It is important to win Buganda to win the country.  To appoint Mrs Bumba, thought to be a sister to Ahmed Seguya, the bush war army commander of NRM will heal the haemorrhage and bring the region back in the NRMO fold, an important move to win any national election in the country.

Where is UPC, DP and others?

She is gone, gone for over two decades now.  Her name, simply Joyce.  Variously Joy, Aiiko, Happy: okay a similar joyful sobriquet.  She died a painful death.  I saw for a time, a short time; her misery in her eyes, her life, her suffering.  She was young.  Very amiable, very beautiful, very promising.  She was the first victim of HIV/AIDS and represented the trilemma the disease paused to us.

She is my sister.  A primer who our dad loved dearly.  Our grandfather loved her so much he called her his mother.  For an old man, it was the ultimate expression of affection to a child and this signifies an important posturing.  A mentoring inrecent speak to play a crucial role in the clan.  However, fate would now rule in a completely different direction.

As Joyce blossomed to a dashing beauty, the politics of the country was taking a turn for worse. Especially for Lugbara, seen in the country as henchmen to Idd Amin Dada.  So Tanzania People’s Defence Forces and the groupings of  libearting soldiers descended on WestNile and drove the Lugbara into the then Zaire (now Dr. Congo) and Southern Sudan. 

The disturbance thrust her into Zaire.  For a sensational beauty; chocolate skin, dimples - you understand - she was a hotspot.  The war paved way for her to traverse that vast country.  She travelled deep into Congo.  She went to Kisangani, Gbadolite and ended in Kinshasha and joining the society of the high classes.

The thrills of high living knows no bounds and Joyce enjoyed it to the full.  We all do.  Do we not?  But along came the mystery of a disease.  It has the combination of sicknesses.  Fever, loss of appetitie, atrophying skin cells and a cocktail of other complications and stigmisation.  The treatment of this sickness, she was advised was seek the forgiveness of people who so loced her, but whom she had forsaken; she had been away from home for over five years.

The traditional spiritualist beseeched her to go home and make peace with her clan; for the clan missed her and they wanted to see her.  In African spiritualism, the clan is a powerful centre on which the lives of people is centered. So in the first rainy season of 1987, Joyce made the imperiloius journey of travelling over 2000 km from kinshasha to Arua.

Offude woke up to an amazing discovery that May morning.  The story of the return of the prodigal daughter spread like bush fire around the valleys and hills of the of the village.  The news of the strange disease also followed and people wre eager to see the lost one.  When the clan council sat to receive her, the patriarch was shocked when Joyce made her case.  Amvile denied ever wishing any evil on his grand daughter and suggested that she visit the hospital for a qualified opinion on her affliction.

It was also decided that her sibling would nurse her to full recovery whence she would settle down in the community. The next morning, Joyce and Madira went to Arua hospital where the girl was prompt;y admitted for medical examination.  She was admitted into a special ward where people where people with serious sickness were admitted.

When it occurred on Madira that his sister was suffering from SLIM, the new disease that conscricts people, he lept in alarm and jumped throw the window into the road, running wildly to deliver the sad news to the clan.

He cursed the day he qwas borne, crying that his siter had killed him.  It was known in the 80’s that contact with a person suffering from HIV/AIDS was a licence to die.  And that he had earned his death by nursing his sister. 

The clan sat to consider this sad turn of events; and on advice of the medical authorities, arranged to receive Joyce.  After a week of admission at Arua hospital, Joyce returned home to await the inevitable out.  Death.  Poor girl returned to an uncertain future.  The nights were long and the days longer.  Many of her sisters and cousins avoided her like the plague.  She was truly alone and frightened. Her only companion was her grandfather, who having lost his sights, could not fathom the physical condition of his granddaughter.

The demands on her was great.  Having weakened hopelessly, she needed nursing.  Her own brother was too distressed to face her.  So one morning, the sad news was announced that Joyce had left us to join her ancestors.  Her mourning was muted.  The old women crying that such a beautiful child would have been a great service to the clan.  They wished to see her children.  Her grandfather mourning the passing of a child before her time.  She should have outlived him so that she could to bury him.  For a child to die before her time is such a calamity to befall the family.

It was now time to bade farewell to the departed girl.  As the her final resting place was prepared, mourners gathered.  But they could not dare reach the coffin.  Everybody peered from a safe distance.  Lest the disease should jump like  a tick on the onlooker.   When the grave was done it was time to lay her to her place.  A spectacle unfolded.

The mourners refused to touch the coffin and hosit it into the grave.  No ball bearers, no body.  In fact people run for dear life, avoiding the misfortune of being picked to bid farewel to a fallen sister.  The entreaties of our elder, my uncle to respect the dead fell on deaf ears.  Finally, Mzee Primo, the elder made a most startling decision.  He told the crowd, who now stood several metres away that he would bury his daughter, alone.  The crowd murmured something about the mental standing of this man.  Then a miracle happened, two drunken men stepped forward to help.  And so it entered in the Offude folk lore that Joyce was buried by three madmen.

Madira and Mzee Primo are alive today, and they are a powerful testimony that, HIV/AIDS can only be transmitted through other means other than contact with the sick.  The courage of Mzee Primo is a shining example that the sick can receive care without the risk of infection.  His story helped the community around Muni to better manage HIV/AIDS cases.

I wish Joyce lived long enough to benefit from advances in the care and treatment of HIV/AIDS cases.  Maybe Ariaka would have shared her love.

May the soul of Joyce rest in Eternal Peace.

They are over 17,000 people; young, old, mostly black, you could see some white face; others on wheel chairs.  They have assembled next to game stores on Lugoogo by-pass near Nakawa.  Some, like Stanbic Bank came in teams as big as 500 members while others came in as individuals. They had responded to an important fitness whose top price is UGX 5,000,000 (USD 2600) top prize and some bragging rights.  

 

A glance at the island of the by-pass and either side of the road; four-wheel drive cars, some new, others not so new.  The cars are Toyota Corollas, Carinas; Japanese  SUVs while a Mercedes, a BMW can be spotted hither and thither: a sure sign that
Uganda’s mainly middle class and bourgeois had congregated.  The scene on the road looked more of a grasshopper festival.  A galore of yellow stretching over a kilometer, simmering in the morning sunshine.

Should you join the mass, you meet an old friend last seen 10 years ago.  Some are greying; clearly aging, others are overweight, the folly of too much work (sic) and good living.  Many hold key positions in government, academia, the corporate world while some have ventured into private business.  The police chief was in attendance.  In the humming sounds you must speak in overtones.

Many of them optimistic about their winning prospects despite the telling sign of the spindly legs on oversized waist-lines.  Of course others have what looks like a trim body.  But many Uganda’s do not exercise regularly.  They are wearing yellow sleeveless shirts bearing the registration numbers; have strapped a running chip on their shoes and happy to be there.  I ran as contestant number 2186.

Some runners are warming up.  Running up the road and then down the road.  They are taking this race very seriously indeed.  To some runners, it is a way of proving that they a class apart from the onlookers. Yet it could be some show of bravado.

So when the MC announces the eminent START.  The moving mass edges closer to the starting line.  I also move along and meet the Stanbic Bank team.  They are all fired up, but keep together; the herd mentality I guess.  You know safety in numbers is an important motto in this circumstance.

The MTN marathon is starting in five, four, …., fire.  The MC tells us over the public address system and off the marathon race goes. It is followed by the  half marathon race and…..  At 7:20 am, the gun goes off for the last race, the 10km race and the sea of humanity jostle.  The stampede is incredible.  You have to shove to run, stagger, fall; pick yourself up and run.

At the first turn, left into Jinja road, I think the leading pack have made a mistake. Instead of turning onto Wankoko and join Spring Road, the fellows run right ahead on the Lugoogo hill.  I am told MTN had made last minute changes and now runners must contend with a tougher course.

Up the hill in quick strides and breezing towards Uganda Management institute, two things hit me.  An encounter with open sewers at the institute.  Now, I thought we were lucky with National Waters and Sewerage Corporation treatment plant on spring road, but this, this can not help.  The stench depletes the needed oxygen to make the stretch to Zain round-about.  I also notice that the runners have taken the dual carriage road so that vehicles have to pack on the kerbs. 

You can hear the curses of the taxi drivers while other passengers remark about the spectacle.  Uh! That one is too fat to complete the race.  She will soon collapse.  Ayaa ayaya!!! That one must be sweating in the pants.  On and on as you ran past the frustrated motorist the comments keep coming.  To disprove the skeptics, the hormones surge and you trudge on even faster.

Suddenly, there a mad rush.  Somewhere opposite the Electoral Commission, runners panting and scrambling.  For water. Give me water.  The courtesy take too long.  So they descend on the watering point and tear package of Rwenzori mineral water to shreds, pick their fill and run on.  I ignore the water.

We now turn at the traffic lights into Kitante Road (Yusuf Lule).  This hill is stiffer and longer.  I change into quick steps while breathing easy, swinging the arms close to the body. The masses soon fill this road and suddenly it is a yellow flow up hill.  For many people it is a challenge to forget.  So they stop running and start walking.  I overtake many runners as the stretch rounds about the Garden City shopping mall. 

Again change tact and use the long stride.  I run smoothly upwarsd.  Many people ignore the yellow cones and invade traffic on the right lane.  The motorist must be bewildered.  But they behave well and stop to allow the wave through. At this point running the mass have become the walking mass.  Some people openly ask for boda-bodas to make part of the race.  Ofcourse that is illegal.  But they take the boda-boda anyway.  A young boy is riding a bicycle with his (dad?) closely behind him.

We now encounter another hill. A smaller hill I thought. The round about at the golf course should be an easy take.  It is not.  Instead of rounding and proceeding smoothly on Kitante Rd, the route is diverted via Fairway hotel.  This is cruelty.  I can not believe this.  At this point my body is weakening.  I feel some pain in the lower back.  I slow down.  What a waste.  But this hill, I must conquer.  There is no point in walking.  I could as well stop and take a boda-boda; and be done with this race.

A number of runners must be feeling my pain as I see many with hands on their hips. Phew here and phew there.  Anyway, I trudge on until the slope on Lourdel road.  We descend back on Kitante rd and continue to Mulago round-about.  This must be 5 km, half way the race.   Then take Kiira road, climb the hill next to Uganda Museum.

Someone remarks that the race is won.   Kiprop had done this distance in under 27 minutes.  A world record it is.  There is no point in competing.  Just run to cross the finish. We now approach the Kayunga stage.  I see a muzungu holding a bottle of water.  He offers it to some runner who declines it. I edge closer to him and take the bottle of Rwenzori Mineral water.  I gulp some and spit it.  Gulp a little and swallow.  Then pour the rest on my head to cool the heating body.

At this point, my thighs give up.  There is pain in my thighs and I want to give up the race.  Not now.  Pain in the lower back.  Now, I have pain in the thighs. It is now a race between the body and the mind. I slow down.

 Despite  slowed down, I still overtake people who have given up running altogether.  They are now determined to walk the rest of the distance.  To them it must a walking race.  My pace is now reduced to a few steps per second.  I should maintain this pace to the finishing line.  So I trudge on, running slowly. 

On reaching the Kiira road police station, I turn to the left, onto Lugoogo By pass road.  I now feel a little energized.  But there is another problem. My insole is sore.  It is aching.  This reduces my pace further, but I resolve to run on to the end.

We run past Kololo SS and onto home stretch.  It is now a painful experience as my troubles is unrelenting.  I run.  On seeing the beckoning finishing line;  I haul the body a little. I gain some pace and run.  Raise my hands up in triumph and cross the finishing line.  I stop.

My body is engulfed in heat.  I am burning up.  Where is the Red Cross? I cry out.  No answer.  My whole body is on fire.  Run on.  Warm up.  Keep warming up.  Someone yelled to me.  I can not run.  My body is on fire.  I feel dizzy. This yellow  mass is dizzying.  I find some place and sit down.  A minute.  Two. Three minutes and I up.  Give me water. Where is water?

I finally spot people moving to the Lugoogo Tennis Club area.  I follow them.  Moving slowly up this hill and finally I find some water.  A good Samaritan gave it to me.  I pour the water on my head.  Gulp some. Spit and drink the rest.   More water please. I find some place to rest.  Plunge into a mess of  packaging material and rest.  Aha!! I espy Nduume.  A scrabble player protégé who is volunteering in this marathaon.  He brings plenty of water bottles.  I wash my face.  Douse the body and drink.

I regain my composure.  The body has cooled down. I walk around the area.  Move to the tents.  I see the corporate tents.  Toyota Uganda, Stanbic Ban, MTN, Bank of Uganda even Ministry of Education and sports tent.  The tents are serving breakfast.  Mostly fast foods and carbonated drinks.  People are taking pictures.  They are having a good time.

I walk further and find the Red Cross.  It is a huge makeshift paramedic assembly.  Blankets on the slim mattresses.  People being massaged.  Some grimacing in pain.  Others, bottle in handle having their thighs, calves and backs being massaged.  It is my turn.  I have pain in the lower back and the thighs, I tell the assistant.  He applies some liniment on my thighs, press, press.  Lie on your tummy, he implores me.  I oblige.  He presses the lower back, raise my legs and massage the thighs again.  These guys must be enjoying myself I you know what am thinking, especially doing this to certain people. 

It is over, move out and wander around the tens.  Meeting people I last saw at campus.  It is a good feeling.

You must give to Philip Besiimire, Aggrey Kagonyera and Eric Van Veen for the audacity of thinking outside the box.  The trio is reputed to have muted the idea of a fun run.  But the Uganda Athletes organization decided it should be a marathon.  

The MTN Kampala marathon is a living testimony that if you match thought with resources, the world is at your calling.  From a single curious event five years ago, MTN Kampala marathon has evolved into a Ugandan sub-culture.   The mothers in northern Uganda can afford maternity services courtesy of the proceeds from registration fees, the effect on the MTN brand is tremendous as the event deepened its value into our psyche as a nation.