Tony Mushoborozi
Just a few days ago, as I observed my beautiful 10-month-old baby, I was struck by how defenceless she was. Profound. And like all profound things, it made me think of how defenceless we are against the power of the state. In that moment, I realised the importance of why the state must always consider that in that fact while dealing with us, the same way a parent deals with a toddler. Yes, you have awesome power, but be considerate enough to not use it against the innocent. Little did I know that fate was about to give me a practical lesson to that effect in the most diabolical way possible.
On December 23, at around 7:30 pm, I was riding my bike on the expressway from Kajjansi to Kampala. As soon as I got out of the toll gate, I found a few dozen cars holding and I knew the president was passing. I waited with the rest and after a few minutes (thank God), the convoy passed going northwards to Kampala and we were given the green light. I entered the Entebbe-Busega section ahead of the cars, as is always the case with big bikes and shot northwards towards Kampala. As I joined the Northern bypass at Busega, I saw an old beat-up police Nissan pick-up truck struggling by and I thought, police on patrol. So I passed it and kept going. As I was approaching Lubigi, I was shocked to see that I had caught up with the president’s convoy. It must have been going unusually slow this time because I was not that fast, considering the power of the bike.
Anyway, I slowed down and gave the last SFC pickup truck a wide berth. Little did I know that the old Nissan I passed some kilometres away was also an SFC vehicle, and they were now chasing me down, unbeknownst to me. I had just committed a blunder and I didn’t even know it yet. Having slowed down, I suddenly saw the same Nissan truck overtake me, chasing down a Mercedes that had just overtaken me. As soon as I saw the soldiers on the pickup stopping the Mercedes, I knew I was in a bit of a pickle now. But in my defence, I had passed them because I thought it was a police truck on patrol, and because the old Nissan truck was lagging far behind the convoy. Oh so I thought.
Anyway, I slowed down and stopped behind the Mercedes. A soldier asked me to pull away from behind the Mercedes to the shoulder of the road. Which I did. I was ready to explain myself and apologize, but sadly, you don’t just explain yourself to these elite soldiers. The soldier who had ordered me to park on the shoulder approached me with obvious fury. I could smell it through his black mask. Without warning, he struck the front components of my bike with such force that I dropped the bike. He then descended on my 67kg frame and rained kiboko on me like I was a dangerous snake. It was a big shepherd’s stick that we Banyankole call enkoni. The stick was heavy and thick, the type you would expect the SFC to possess. He first struck me on the left side of my chest as I was in the process of dropping the heavy bike. Then he walked to my right, growling questions at me to which no answer was satisfactory.
One of the questions was, why did you pass us even after we tried to wave you down? The thing is, I passed then in a section where the street lights were not working. They had been in a dark vehicle, wearing dark clothes, in a dark section of the road, trailing far behind the convoy, on an old police pickup. There was no way of identifying them as part of the convoy, especially at night. But that answer was an anathema to him.
He really rained kiboko on me. On the chest, left arm, right shoulder, everywhere on my torso, pretty much. But it was about to get worse. He switched up and went for my legs. He struck me across my thighs at the back. I instantly felt my legs go numb. Now that’s a feeling I had never experienced before. He rained many more kibok in the legs, probably because he realized it was delivering the right amount of damage. By now, the Mercedes driver was also being interrogated nearby, though for him he was spared the kiboko. Because who beats a Mercedes driver? The biker is fair game. The Mercedes driver, that one might be connected.
In a desperate moment, I pulled out my work ID and pleaded that I was just a journalist on my way to town, and not in any way about to harm anyone. That is when he stopped the extrajudicial punishment and went to talk to his supervisor in the car. The supervisor then came and gave me back my work ID and asked for my National ID. I gave it to him, he took a look and waved me on. By now, I could feel my legs start to swell.
Back to my toddler story, I was the defenceless baby here. Compared to the state’s awesome power, we are all worms individually. But they used it against me liberally. The fact that I was not allowed to defend myself even verbally for the first several minutes still hurts. The funny thing is that I am glad it ended the way it ended. How could I be angry with the state after such a small beating when some people are going through worse over much less infractions? There are innocent people going through actual hell under the power of the state, case in point, Dr Kizza Besigye, Eddy Mutwe, etc. I walked away with swollen legs, but that is nothing compared to what could have been. I could have been shot dead, for instance.
Thank God it ended like it did, in pain, but at least I am home.
Happy New Year.
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Written by
Journalist with Daily Monitor, NMG, Uganda Writer beating procrastination Trades motorcycles and rides a lot Starting-out chef
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