The 1986 SMACK Exodus Amid NRA Takeover; A Personal Experience.

Day 1 (Friday, 24th January, 1986)

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It may have happened 40 years ago, this week, but the memories still linger fresh in my mind. Yet all these years later, I still cannot believe that the entire student body of St. Mary’s College Kisubi (SMACK), was forced to flee their campus for a safe haven – behind the frontlines of “rebels!”

I had just recently turned fifteen, yet I was politically conscious of events that had taken place in Uganda. My generation knew of the “Saba-Saba” that upended President Idi Amin’s regime; we knew of the legislative coup that toppled President Yusuf Lule after a paltry 68 days in office, subsequently followed by the riots of “Ffe twagala Lule; Oba tuffa tuffe!”

We watched on Uganda Television (UTV) when President Binaisa said “Entebbe ewooma!” – It didn’t make sense then, but it seemed to explain why everyone was after that one chair… Paulo Muwanga of the Military Commission, followed by a Presidential Commission, then Dr. Apollo Milton Obote…

Our generation witnessed the military operation code-named: “Panda Gari” – the forced arrest of people that were suspected to be collaborators of the “rebels” in the bushes of Luwero; back then I wondered how hard it could be to clear bushes.

We had witnessed the dramatic overthrow of the UPC government in July 1985, ushering in the Military Council chaired by Gen Lutwa Tito Okello. We also kept tabs on the progress of the Nairobi Peace Talks between the Government of Uganda and the National Resistance Army (NRA) “rebels” under Yoweri Museveni.

Those discussions raised our hopes, yet they brought no immediate peace, since the “rebels” seemed to advance everyday towards the capital, gaining traction as they overrun different towns in western Uganda.

Indeed, we saw a lot in the 80’s, but nothing prepared us for the drama that was about to ensue; we were like actors standing in the middle of a stage with no script in hand… yet the curtain was rising fast. It would expose our peaceful existence as students, while also altering the lives of our friends, whose parents ranked high in the Government.

For instance, I remember the tall and lanky Stephen Langoya who was three years ahead of me; he was a school prefect, an excellent tennis player and the perfect gentleman – you could not tell that he was the son of the powerful Brig. Bazilio Olara Okello.

Then there was the diminutive Onekalit John-Bosco who was as dark-skinned as he was mentally astute. He had no false airs; he was a peaceful, level-headed lad who lacked the ability to speak in low tones. It would be difficult to know that he was the son of Col. Joseph Obonyo, Commander of the UNLA Airforce Base in Entebbe.

I have never met these brothers again since the events I am about to narrate…

—-

Our pivotal moment started on the morning of Friday 24th January, 1986 when boys from Mugwanya House reported that they had seen several panicked UNLA soldiers running across one of the SMACK playgrounds. This was troubling, because as ardent listeners of BBC’s “Focus on Africa,” we knew from Correspondent Henry Gombya, that the NRA were poised to reach the city.

The drama escalated very fast; a rumour went through the school that some “rebels” had entered the school premises in search of our Headmaster, Bro. Peter Kazekulya. Their missive was simple and clear: the SMACK boys needed to leave the school grounds immediately since the area was about to become a battle ground!

As if to add fuel to the fire, a short while later we saw a helicopter gunship hovering low over the school grounds, seemingly scanning for unjustified activity. The “rebels” that had clandestinely appeared at SMACK, just as quickly disappeared, but not without impact… classes ended abruptly and unceremoniously! We suddenly, urgently needed the guidance of our Headmaster.

Bro. Peter initially refused to entertain the idea; how could it even be suggested that students of St. Mary’s College Kisubi should leave their sanctuary, and seek refuge out there? And where? It was totally absurd!

I vividly recall the Brother (of the Brothers of Christian Instruction) in his long white cassock, with prominent crucifix, looking us straight in the eye as he firmly stated: “You are not going anywhere!”

If we had had social media back then, that video would have been followed by a tag scene of a few moments later…

It took the intervention of Mr. Jembe Mwakalu, aka “Pempe,” to turn the world as we knew it, upside down. But before I go any further, allow me to formally introduce this man, whose very presence was both mysterious and significant.

—-

Jembe Mwakalu was of Kenyan descent. He had joined the school a few months earlier, as a History teacher, but his lessons bordered on the political and on Pan-Africanism.

He was a brown man, leaning more to the side of overweight, than fit. His eyes were slightly off centre, giving him the aura of someone with wider vision – and I use that analogy endearingly, because Jembe brought political flamboyance to our school. His wife was quite the opposite – petite, calm and sweet; she taught English Language Studies.

It was rumoured (without any verification to date) that Jembe was a fugitive from the Kenyan government, following the failed coup plot of 1982. Regardless of his previous circumstances, he ended up cocooned within the precincts of St. Mary’s College.

The moniker “Pempe” came from his wacky wisdom, one random evening during Prep, when he opined that the world was dominated by “Pempe,” the male sexual organ! His argument was that it was the greatest tool for marketing women’s products… “Have you seen how lipstick comes out? It’s like… Pempe!”

“Your Bic pen and its cover are shaped like … Pempe! Even the tampons that women use are shaped like…” and all of us deliriously chorused: “Pempe!”

The sudden appearance of Jembe “Pempe” and Mrs. Mwakalu in Kisubi, and their subsequent disappearance after the war, are musings for another day… today’s story was more ominous.

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Soon after the mysterious “rebels” had vanished, an impromptu gathering happened beside Kiwanuka House, close to the entrance to our dormitories.  Students had gathered around Mr. Jembe Mwakalu, who was now suddenly adorned, believe it or not, in a camouflage jacket with a military cap!  Eish, this man was an enigma!!

We were in disbelief and hushed in awe as Jembe logically weighed in on the situation: “We are caught in the middle of adversaries, the UNLA on one side, and the advancing rebels on the other,” he stated. “It’s better for us to be behind the frontlines of the stronger adversary… therefore, I suggest that we heed what those “rebels” said.”

Then came the call to action: “Go and pack some bare necessities, plus a warm jacket and we shall walk to Kawuku!!“

What does a boy do?! Bro. Headmaster had said: “You are not going!” and now, the mysterious Jembe Mwakalu had just said “Let us go!”

Reader, we were young and we were scared; AND we had seen UNLA soldiers fleeing. Who then were we, to risk staying in school, even after hearing the “Voice of Reason?”

If I was torn in indecision, the gunshots that followed helped clear my mind; I run to my dorm, Lourdel House, and put a few essentials including “grub” in a bag, ready for the trek. I went with my gut feeling and the majority.

I empathize now with Bro. Peter for his stoic will during those most turbulent days… Envisage trying to counter a looming exodus without any administrative or security authority to back you up!  Imagine having to answer for anything that could have gone awry with 500 school boys, heading into a war zone… Petrifying!

In the end, Bro. Peter gave in and tagged along with his students. Those who remember say he didn’t carry any bag – I believe he had faith that we would be back at school by nightfall.

—-

We exited the school through one of the side gates, close to St. Theresa Girl’s Primary School. This route is remembered by some as the path to “Luswata’s (drinking) joint” – not that I would know… but I had heard.

This sea of testosterone walked the 2 km to Kawuku, going past the turning to St. Joseph’s Technical Institute (Techo) as well as the convent of the Sisters of Immaculate Heart of Mary Reparatrix, Ggogonya; Oh, how we wished those nuns could have accommodated us… but I digress.

As we crossed the main Entebbe road into Kawuku, we found that the “rebels” had taken complete control of the trading centre and strategically positioned their mortars and other baffling military paraphernalia, facing Entebbe, and naturally, SMACK.

We soon got to know that these were Uganda Freedom Movement (UFM) “rebels,” under the overall command of someone called Andrew Lutakome Kayiira.

In the run up to that victory, different forces opposed to the government had allied in their strategy to win multiple smaller battles, thus disorganizing the UNLA. This group in Kawuku were poised to “cut off” and then “close in” on the strategic town of Entebbe.

No single “rebel” appeared to have full military attire; most of them had either camouflage pants, cap or jacket; most of them wore gumboots and were of divergent age and height; however, these rag-tag soldiers gave us a calming sense of security as they directed us to walk towards Ssisa, a town I was hearing about for the first time. Ssisa was 8km from Kawuku.

Needless to say, we were exhausted as we stopped at the recommended point –Ssisa Primary School. It was a small school with its own playground, adjacent to a church. It looked like a good place to rest as we awaited the order to return to school. By then it was early evening.

The community of Ssisa were extremely sympathetic and before long, some volunteers had started preparing a hot meal – porridge. I don’t know where the firewood came from; I don’t know who brought the huge saucepans and the water for making this gruel.

It didn’t even matter that they used low-grade maize flour, but that porridge, though slightly burnt, with its imaginary sugar, was the best gift you could give us hungry boys, with no guarantees on any other meal. We were “refugees” and this was now our temporary camp.

We settled there as best we could, some on the steps of the church, others on the school benches, in classrooms that had neither window nor door, and others near the fire. I remember moving from group to group, wherever I had friends, reliving the events of the last few hours; this day would not be forgotten.

That night, in the moments of solitude, my mind filled with all manner of thought: What would happen if the “rebels” suddenly decided that we should all be enlisted? Would I make a good child-soldier? If we died there in Ssisa, how would our parents get to know? I imagined how each of my siblings would take the news and it broke my heart.

I listened to the sporadic sounds of distant AK47s as well as the natural sounds of crickets trilling and over-enthusiastic mosquitoes whining; it was a poignant reminder that I was alive!

It had been such a riveting day and I had gone through it unscathed. I now psyched myself to not only stay alive, but to ensure that the next day would be brighter and better! Yet as fate would have it, the next day would descend into chaos…

Day 2 (Saturday 25th January, 1986)

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We had successfully gone through one night, away from the sanctuary of our school, St. Mary’s College Kisubi. It was serene and quiet, that early morning of Saturday 25th January; the shooting had stopped and even those pesky mosquitoes had gone into slumber.

While some boys decided to make more porridge, the rest of us were enthusiastic to get back to our alma mater. One uncomfortable night without a bath was more than enough for me – I will not speak for other boys…

We were in high spirits as we made the 8km walk back to the main road. I prayed that our school had not been ransacked, as was common practice in Uganda; I recall how during the 1979 war after taking refuge in the village, we heard an announcement on Radio Uganda that our home in Kampala had been “looted.” That was the first time I ever heard that term and I hoped that I was not a victim yet again.

As we got to Kawuku, we found that the “rebel” numbers had grown. They also seemed to be in a state of heightened alert; they were not as jovial and talkative as on the previous night. Soon, one of their senior officers came and engaged us with gentle chastisement over our ignorance… “We have not yet even engaged the enemy,” he said, “We shall launch our offensive at 9.00am, so please turn back immediately!”

Oh dear! Oh dear! Oh dear! I felt like we had just wasted 8km worth of energy! About Turn! And just like that, we started what seemed like a brand new walk towards our “camp” in Ssisa, and hopefully towards the breakfast we had left being prepared.

People, let me advise you, here and now; and hearken to this wisdom from a (near) veteran of war: In times of conflict, always eat when you get the opportunity; you cannot predict what happens next!!

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At exactly 9.00am (as had been stated,) and just as we drew close to our “camp,” heavy gunfire suddenly erupted behind us! Forget the AK47’s that we had almost gotten used to – these were mortars and heavy machine guns. Ggwe!! We “scattered!”

We run past Ssisa Primary School; we run past those saucepans, now abandoned, and we kept running until we couldn’t any more – thoughts of survival overshadowed the need for food!

My friends Hannington Hakiza and Patrick “Mutayimbwa” Nsubuga (RIP) had managed to pick mangoes along the way, but fear has a way of making everything heavy; they dropped those mangoes and run. Another friend, Richard Kibirango simply let go of the encumbrance of his bag without a second thought. And he wasn’t alone! I can laugh about it now, but back then…eish!!

My bag too became too heavy… but it was such a nice blue sports bag; I remember spotting a middle-aged couple standing at the door of their simple house, looking at the spectacle before them – I run over and placed it in their hands; I saw the sympathy in their eyes as I told them that I would return for the bag on my way back.

—-

Several combatants kept filing past us in single file, urging us not to run, and to remain calm… and soon enough we were soothed. The problem with being in a state of peace is that you soon remember your other problems – like accumulated fatigue and real hunger.

Every time we encountered anything edible, we descended on it like a plague of locusts – people selling local pancakes (mandazi or kabalagala) would be overwhelmed by hungry boys; sugar cane plantations, mango trees and cassava gardens were game for all and sundry!

Kids who were “born yesterday” will likely wonder why we didn’t just buy “daddies” or plastic bottles of soda; they will wonder why we didn’t make phone-calls to our parents… to those kids, I will politely hold my chagrin behind gritted teeth and sigh; those things did not exist back then! We are part of the last generation of “original” human beings!

Our relative peace was shattered when we got word that one of our classmates, Baluku, had been shot! There was renewed anxiety and panic as we waited to get word from those further back.

Baluku eventually came from the rear, hobbling on one bloody foot, but thankfully alive! He showed us the hole in his tough leather cowboy boots. Apparently, the bullet had deflected off the heel counter of that rugged shoe, grazing him in the process. After that incident, nobody wanted to be with the stragglers; we tried to up the pace.

By mid-afternoon, we reached the trading centre of Nakawuka. which is about 15 km from Kawuku. We were spread out thinner with the older, quicker boys leading the pack; I must have been in the middle group. As we recuperated in our small groups, a decision was made that we should press on towards Budo… Yes, you heard right, towards King’s College Budo!!!

This “decree” sounded like sheer madness to me, because I had once seen the signpost for Budo; it was on Masaka Road!! Eish!!! My own school, SMACK, was along Entebbe Road… Masaka Road could just as easily have been in another country!!

The thought of “pressing on” was so, very depressing! And besides being weary and hungry, the thought of appearing at Budo in this state was absolutely dismal. Allow me to explain…

King’s College Budo is, without doubt, the most elitist, Anglican-faith, mixed school in Uganda. It was (and still is) the choice school for royalty in the Buganda Kingdom – after all, the land for the construction of the school in 1906 was donated by the Kabaka of Buganda.

Budo also has a very respectable, long standing academic (and sometimes social) rivalry with our Catholic-founded SMACK. The other traditional male schools of notable mention at the time, included perennial rivals, Namilyango College (also Catholic) and Busoga College Mwiri (Anglican).

To go to any of these competitors crying for help was to give them leverage and bragging rights over us! Oh, but I thank God that Budo was the school in our path, and not the “fumblers,” Namilyango; otherwise we might have preferred to trek another day in search of another point of refuge.

Some of the older boys that were more familiar with the geography came up with another nifty option – since we were trekking in the general direction of Budo, we might as well go the extra mile towards Trinity College Nabbingo, aka TRICONA; after all, unlike Budo, Nabbingo was also Catholic! As heart-warming as this sounded (wink!) we chose to go with the Budo idea – now if we could only reach there!

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I learnt that day, with a lot of humility, that most (if not all) villagers are pathological liars; Budo, they said, was “just over the hill,” or “just past that valley.” I lost track of the hills and valleys that we passed. Either their sense of distance was skewed or they intentionally wanted to keep our hopes alive. I realise now that the final stretch from Nakawuka to King’s College was about 10km, but it certainly felt like 30!!

When the slowest group eventually made it to Nakawuka, they decided not to go any further; the community therefore directed them to an incomplete house on a hillside, and that’s where they pitched camp for the second night, together with our Headmaster, Brother Peter.

—-

That arduous journey of Saturday 25th January 1986, did finally end, with my friend Herbert Kamuntu leading us into the environs of Budo; Herbert had studied in Budo during his Senior 1 before crossing to SMACK for his subsequent years. We trusted him to know the geography well and he did not disappoint – he led us into Kings College, through the Girls end!!

Thinking that they had been attacked by “Abayekera,” the young ladies all fled in the direction of the boys’ end, screaming and raising a raucous. You can’t blame them though, because we had walked over 30km, covered in 2-days grime of sweat and dust, and looking every bit like invaders! The Budo boys immediately rushed out to protect their girls and soon recognised that we were not the enemy.

I remember seeing the pity in the eyes of my Kitante Primary School friend, John Dumba as he listened to my incredible narration of the recent events. I was suddenly happy to have friends there; people like Nicholas Ssengoba and Fred Bagenda (RIP) were amongst those who were on hand to help.

At that point, it was really important to have had either relatives or close friends in Budo. The Primary School connections definitely helped.

Hannington (my best friend of 42 years) had his cousin, Stephen Shalita, as well as friends from Buganda Road Primary School.

Another good friend, Arthur Gasasira had been in Nakasero P.S. He had a multitude of friends like Colin Kakiza, Stephen Eriaku (RIP), Felix Okoboi and Windsor Ibaraah.

John managed to get me a top bunk decker in Nigeria House – it belonged to someone who had gone home for medical treatment. I shared that bunker with a friend, David Mbonye, with so much distance between our backs that we risked falling off on either side. The next day, he too would be lucky to find another empty bed.

The Budo student body went out of their way to help us settle it; they organised mattresses for the boys to use in the space of their main hall and even found for us basins to use for bathing; I’m sure we needed it.

—-

King’s College also offered us a hurriedly prepared supper in their dining hall; it was the first time in my life that I encountered Anyoya, aka “Githeri” – beans cooked together with maize kernels. Even in my temporary “refugee” status; and with all the hunger that I felt… that meal just failed to go down! I’m sorry. I was glad however for the black tea that was offered and the chapati from a nearby vendor.

After supper, we were invited to join the Fellowship that was taking place in their chapel; we got to learn that night that Chapel was one of the safe spaces for boys and girls to mingle freely… of course we went for fellowship!

The Praise and Worship was significantly different from the Order of Mass that we were used to at SMACK, but we had every reason to be grateful as we prayed to the same God, Almighty.

Throughout the rest of that evening and late into the night, we heard the distant sounds of artillery and gunfire and even saw streaks of light as bullets flew in the distance; we interpreted this as NRA’s final assault on Kampala. As we contemplated how long it would be before life returned to normal, I shuddered to imagine the possibility of having to trek back to Kisubi on foot!! There is a common term that we used back then: “I would rather die!”

I reflected on many things that night, as I clung to the edge of that bunker. I was suddenly conscious of many things that I had taken for granted for far too long – like having a place to sleep, in a secure location; having food on my plate (even if it was Githeri…) and just being alive and well!

This time around, I didn’t just hope, but I prayed that the next day would indeed be better. I don’t know if any of us SMACK boys dreamt that night, we were drained after all the hours walking and running between the new towns.

I wondered if anything could go wrong after all the prayers made that evening; unless, perhaps, if God decided to punish people that had gone for Fellowship with other intentions…

All I could now do was rest and wait for the start of a new day.

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Day 3… and beyond (Sunday 26th January, 1986)

I woke up on Sunday 26th January, 1986 in a bed that wasn’t mine and yet I was at peace. I would get to know later that the NRA had successfully taken over Kampala. Some of the people who came to Budo that day gave varying accounts of the takeover; one even claimed to have seen Yoweri Museveni with a few of his commanders, in a makeshift camp outside Nabbingo.

I worried for my family because we always seemed to be affected by the different regime changes. My mind flashed back to July 1985, following the overthrow of President Milton Obote; some UNLA soldiers raided our house in broad daylight and shot at my uncle, Ben Ochen, missing his head by inches. It was scary listening to the orders they barked at us in Kiswahili. Those soldiers eventually made off with a car and our watches.

A few nights after that incident, another soldier shot at our dogs for barking at him through the wire fence. Simba, a purebred Labrador (that had been gifted to my dad as a puppy) was hit in the shoulder. People who love dogs will know the pain we went through as we treated it back to health. Oh, how I prayed that it was peaceful at home.

I was oblivious to the fact that my schoolmates who had camped in Nakawuka with Bro Headmaster, had started the return journey to Kisubi, on foot. They would narrate later how they saw several bodies at St. Savio Junior School, Kisubi.

One of the more bizarre stories came from our HSC students; Alex (now Dr,) Gasasira as well as some other S5’s did not make it to Budo. They found themselves a convenient location within Nakawuka, which had several cement slabs, perfectly suited for rest.

It’s only the next day that they learned the chilling news (no pun intended) that they had used the local morgue…

Bro. F.X Aganze who was Deputy Headmaster at the time, retold how he and a few teachers had taken refuge in the staffroom until the gunfire became unbearable; each then took his own path. He sheltered at the Marianum Press in Kisubi.

The first boys back in school would also recount how they found a cow in the compound, dead from bullet wounds. Needless to say, they had a lot of meat for supper that night.

—–

On BBC that day, there was talk of soldiers retreating in parts of the country. In Budo however, the frustration was with water that had also receded. I needed to wash some clothes, so we were forced to go down to “the pond,” an area that had been earmarked for the Budo swimming pool. I had no other complaints that day; God heard all my prayers. There was even no Githeri.

Under those circumstances, I am happy that I got to make new (and now lifelong) friends from our Budo age group – people like Robert Ogwal (aka Rasta Rob MC,) Asanasio Waliggo (RIP), Sandor Walusimbi, Dixon Okello, Steven Shalita and several others.

For some reason, I don’t remember the girls; we saw them, but didn’t get to interact with them. Imagine the kind of romantic stories we could have been writing now… “We met in ’86, in Budo, where we had taken refuge…”

As I think back now, I realise that while we made friends with the Budo boys, they cleverly shielded the girls from us. Perhaps that is another reason that the school made arrangements for us to be dropped to Kampala the next day.

——

On the morning of Monday 27th January 1986, the school bus was in place to transport us into the city. As we drove past the main signpost of King’s College Budo, it hit me afresh that I had trekked from Kisubi to Masaka Road!

We now clearly saw the aftermath of all the recent fighting in that area; there were several bodies strewn in spots around Kyengera and Natete; several cars had been abandoned – most were burnt. Masaka road that is a major highway to western Uganda was eerily devoid of traffic.

In several places, there were makeshift roadblocks that had been erected to monitor who was either coming or going; luckily the School bus was not disturbed. We were eventually dropped off at City Square, from where we dispersed to our various homes.

Back in the day, there was no “Boda-Boda,” so you either took the Uganda Transport Buses (UTC) or went down into the taxi park for the kamunyes. I walked over to my parent’s restaurant, that was behind UCB building, before eventually getting a ride home.

What surprised me, then, was how blissfully ignorant the world was of the SMACK students’ ordeal between 24th and 26th of January, 1986. Most of the journalists could have been under cover… no pun intended. Several parents were actually shocked to see their children suddenly appear at home, with stories from Budo.

One of my friends Charles Mwaka “accidentally” met his parents at the Savio gate after trekking back from Nakawuka; he went back home with them.

—

Back at home, I must have narrated my story a thousand times; I remember how enthralled my cousin, Judith Aijuka was, not so much by the ordeal as by the names of new places… Kawuku, Ssisa, Nakawuka, “Nassisa” (okay, this one was made up for poetic purposes.)

A week or so later, my uncle, Henry Otim (RIP) drove with me to Ssisa, in an attempt to retrieve my sports bag. The road was very bad, but my uncle was really patient, driving really slowly as he listened to my point-by-point narration of events. He even stopped at every spot that I remembered something memorable. It suddenly sounded incredulous, even for myself; I imagined he would only truly believe if we actually found the house where I said I had left my bag.

I tried to remember the faces of the kind couple; I tried to recall what their house looked like… but everything suddenly appeared so different, away from the pressure of fear. There were no people running; no soldiers marching.

As we stopped to look at our “camp” it seemed so forsaken with no signs of life, and certainly no saucepans of porridge… The route was rather quiet and even lacklustre. We kept driving slowly until finally… finally, I saw the house! I was vindicated; the trip had not been in vain!

The couple was there. They were very happy to see me and spoke so animatedly about all that had occurred, but unfortunately I could not understand it all; They spoke no English, and we spoke no Luganda, yet somehow, we understood each other perfectly. They had kept my bag safely. I left them with a bar of washing soap and some money.

That couple and the community of Ssisa renewed my faith in the humanity of Ugandans; The Ubuntu spirit. God bless them all!

We would remain at home for a few more days until it was finally announced on radio that we could return to school. When we returned to SMACK that term, it wasn’t quite the same… Jembe Mwakalu and his wife were not there anymore; there are also several students that never ever returned… Wherever they are today, I hope they realise that they are not forgotten.

—-

In 2020, several OBs and well-wishers under the leadership of SMACK Old Boys Association President, Charles Odaga, walked that entire route from St. Mary’s College, thru Kawuku, Ssisa and Nakawuka up to Budo, where they handed an appreciative plaque to the Headmaster, Mr. Patrick Bakka Male (RIP). It was a symbolic gesture to officially thank the school for having taken care of us during those memorable days.

Today, 40 years after the first exodus, I re-echo the sentiment of all my peers by saying: Thank you, King’s College Budo, especially the lot that were in school then, under Headmaster, Mr. Eliezer Bawuba (RIP)!!!  Despite the rivalry (and that Githeri), you showed that you were brothers, in our time of need, and for that we are eternally grateful. Gakyali Mabaga!

Duc in Altum!

Peter Odeke (Old Boy, St. Mary’s College Kisubi)

Email: [email protected]

X: @podeke