Mbale-Election Escape to the East

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Despite most people advising that there was little threat of trouble over the elections we thought we’d be on the safe side (and take advantage of the public holiday) to go with Madame Betty, one of the Directors of UYWEFA, to their family home near Mbale. Several embassies (though not Britain’s which was reassuringly relaxed) had issued warnings and told people to make escape plans ours was to get out to Kenya if anything went disastrously wrong and wait there. There had been few signs of any problems during the campaigns but the security forces sudden less-than-discreet presence in the couple of weeks before made it seem best to get out of Kampala, which is where the general consensus said any trouble would be.

We made the four hour journey in a Matatu, a minibus taxi which is not particularly generous with room. The padding on the seats often goes and the heat from the engine burns your feet with flip-flops on so you end up looking like some kind of deranged chicken leaning forward with your feet in the air.

That immediately felt like another age when we arrived at the family home at Jami (near Kamonkoli),. Its location was on wonderfully peaceful, flat lands, which seemed to stretch for an age up to the mountains that oversee Kenya. The silence makes you realise how much noise and bustle there is even in semi-rural Kampala.

That peace and quiet was slightly spoilt in the evening as we attended a political rally of the family, and suddenly felt like a piece of, very white, meat. Hoping to just go over stand at the back and watch we encountered a different level of attention than the usual “Bye Muzungu” we have got most places we go. As it got dark and we waited for the main political event we noticed a crowd had seemed to gather around us. There was not the usual shouting and practising English just around 100 people surrounding us, silent and staring.

If that had disturbed us a bit, then we had a more difficult social situation once the person standing for MP, Madame Betty’s nephew, came to give his speech caused. This wonderfully hospitable and kind family suddenly became deranged, telling us we should get up on the stage to greet the cousin and go around the crowd handing out flyers. Our advice from ICYE and the embassy in our ears, “avoid large crowds and political rallies.” This was both so we stood our ground at one stage being physically pushed towards the stage and being told that we were ‘embarrassing’ them. Little did we know that we had been pointed out as friends of the nephew as Betty spoke to the crowd.

As quickly as Betty and family had switched to being aggressive, they switched back again and were model hosts for the rest of our stay. I don’t think there were no bad feelings on either side but it was a timely reminder as to how much politics means to those involved.

The next evening we went into Mbale, which has a lovely feel about it, and the Eastern (particularly Indian) influence obvious. It was perfectly calm as we drank at pavement-side cafes. There was little sign that it would be the centre for the only bit of election day violence the next day as an opposition MP and one of the biggest critics Museveni got shot along with a journalist as they were stopped by local police. A couple of supporters died in the ensuing protests. Typical though it was that we managed to pick out trouble, it could have been on the other side of Africa as we sat in the village watching it on the news.

The nice thing about going with the family was that we got to meet some of their extended family and friends. It was the first time I had had the chance to speak properly to Uganda’s older generation and it was fascinating to hear some of their stories. Madame Betty is the first person with firsthand experience I had heard talk about Amin’s era, “you would wake up in the morning and there’d be bodies in the streets.” Her husband was in the Ugandan Air Force and managed to avoid being one of Amin’s victims simply by being in the right tribe as they divided people up as they returned from service abroad . He died in 1990 and his family took most of his land and wealth leaving her to bring up 7 children. She reminds me a bit of my own Grandma in her obsession with status and wealth, partly I think because of her struggle to maintain hers.

‘Uncle Major’ was a close friend of Betty’s husband and retired from the army in the early 80s to set up a successful farm. Mr Bomba was another friend who’d been in the police force as a mechanic and had educated some of Betty’s children after her husband’s death. He had two wives, 48 children and 75 grandchildren. His land was vast, like an English stately home, and absolutely beautiful. He had been chased from his land by Obote’s retreating troops in the early 80s (Betty’s house had also been ransacked). It was amazing to hear the places that those who had served in the forces had been to train: Ghana, Israel, Russia, Korea….and Middlesbrough (which I am told was like paradise for a Ugandan in the 70s)!

Between them they offered a great insight into the fascinating history of the country and, as they freely admitted, into the current preference for a President that will guarantee them peace.

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