By Timothy Nsubuga

16^th January 2012:

In this second instalment of our three part serialisation of Charles Ochen Okwir’s book Portrait of a Despot, we bring you exerpts from chapter four [See: Despotic Politics & the PRA Treason Case] in which the author discusses how the government’s so-called Black Mambas invaded the High Court for the second time in two years to arrest Peoples Redemption Army [PRA] suspects.  The author says:

“…March 2^nd 2007.  It’s just after dusk.  We are at Sippers Bar in Hurlingham, one of Nairobi’s many entertainment districts!  Soothing African songs of local and regional origin are ruling the airwaves here tonight.  The volume is just perfect.  And who are the other guests in the house tonight?

Well, I would say it was a very healthy “united nations” mix.  Ultra skinny-chain-smoking and slightly crazy behaving young African girls of average beauty in the company of greying pony-tail wearing European men; you know, the type of men who, thanks to the Western media, would perfectly fit one’s imagination of a typical paedophile or sex tourist.

On the other hand, you could see middle aged black men [mostly Kenyans] with loosened neck ties, looking big and twiddling nonstop with their latest gadgets; just to impress the obedient, shy looking and thoroughly intimidated girls sitting next to them.  By this time of the evening, many are probably on their third or fourth bottle of beer, wine, or cocktail glass.  It is also unimaginable that the true “Kenyan Institution” that is “Nyama Choma” {Swahili for roast meat} will have survived this sitting.

Approximately 600miles to the west of Kenya, the atmosphere in the suburbs of Uganda’s capital city Kampala is probably no different.  Beer, roast pork, giggling girls, and music in the background was what I could imagine and hear when an ecstatic sounding Lawyer dropped me a line to break news of the momentous events of the day.  With more than just a touch of triumphalism and defiance coming through his voice, he said, “…Counsel, we have laid down our tools in protest.  Enough is enough”.

Before I even got the opportunity to ask why they had laid down their tools, my friend, like a man possessed by some kind of “Eddie Murphy” talking demon, launched straight into the details of what had transpired at the High of Uganda the previous day, March 1^st 2007.

March 1^st 2007 was of course “Black Thursday”; the day when, for the second time in less than two years, over fifty fully armed State security personnel stormed the High Court to re-arrest some of the PRA suspects who had just been granted bail.  The only difference was that this time round, the media chose to describe the High Court invaders as “…men dressed in police uniform”.

And who could blame them.  After all, ever since the infamous Black Mamba Urban Hit Squad turned up at the High Court disguised in police uniform, no one could be sure that men dressed as police officers were actually police officers.  In other words, trust in the Uganda Police Force had completely broken down, thanks to a despot’s decision to abuse the independence and integrity of an institution that should have been totally impartial.

The first time the Black Mambas raided the High Court was on the 16^th November 2005.  That very sad incident had prompted Justice James Munange Ogola, Uganda’s Principle Judge no less, to famously declare that “…the siege constituted a very grave and heinous violation of the twin principles of the rule of law and Judicial independence [and] sent a chilling feeling down the spine of the Judiciary, and left the legal fraternity and the general public agape with disbelief and wonderment”.

The Second Coming of the Devil, as I prefer to call it, had also elicited a most epic poem from the same Principle Judge.  It was a poem in which the Judge, as a “witness” this time, [what an irony] explained with poetic eloquence what had transpired at his sacred seat of judgement.  That poem should be available in the public domain.  I say hunt it down and read it like your very life depends on it.

Now back to Nairobi’s Sippers Bar on the night of March 2^nd 2007.  It is just over fifteen months since the first siege on the High Court.  In a strange if slightly tragic coincidence, unbeknown to the friend calling from Kampala to give me the “breaking news” about Lawyers downing their tools, Samuel Nathan Okiring [RIP], a very close friend who I can’t even bear to call “an ex-PRA suspect”, had just arrived from Uganda to meet me.

In fact, he was seated right next to me, narrating the gruesome story of his horrendous torture at the hands of almost certainly the very State security operatives who had just raided the High Court to re-arrest his co-accused PRA suspects.  The mixture of emotions I went through at that material time is still difficult to explain.

Sam Okiring, the “Attorney General of the Rebels”, [as one Kampala friend once called him jokingly] was totally unaware that I was now faced with a very uncomfortable situation, a dilemma in fact!  Here was a visibly traumatised friend, a great friend, a brother to me in every sense, sitting very humbly in front me, not knowing what the Kampala friend on the other end of the phone line had just told me.  In fact, to show you how traumatised Okiring was, I will tell you a very sad little story.

On this hot, windy, and unusually dusty Nairobi afternoon, Sam Okiring, myself, and another friend were walking on the paved footpath of Ngong Road towards Adams Arcade to catch a Citi Hoppa bus.  Then, out of nowhere, a Ugandan registered vehicle with heavily tinted windows came from behind and suddenly pulled up in front us.  I hadn’t even noticed it.  But Okiring’s reaction on that day told me something powerful about what he had gone through at the hands of Museveni’s merchants of death.

First of all, he froze dead in his tracks; right there!  He then quickly, almost instinctively, turned his face away from the vehicle to avoid being recognised.  That didn’t seem to help.  He then tried to flee, but quickly decided against it.  Finally, with a torrent of sweat rolling all over his face, his shoulders dropped and he said, “Oh my God”.  That was it, Okiring had resigned.  All within a matter of seconds!  That “Oh my God” exclamation, as I understood it, was Okiring asking God why; why are you taking me back there again?  What did I do to deserve this?  It was very sad to see a close friend in that state!

But that is exactly what your typical modern despot, like his ancient ancestor, is capable of “achieving” in his quest to silence any form of political dissent.  Depending on how the modern despot judges the level of threat you pose, he could treat you harshly and then release you.  But not before he has instilled so much fear in you to make you think and believe that you are being watched and listened to all the time.  In fact, after he regained his composure, over a drink, Okiring told me that “…Museveni can make you stop trusting your own shadow”.

That car incident gave me a glimpse into Okiring’s state of mind, a state of mind that gave me real cause to worry about his health.  In fact, it made me appreciate, perhaps for the very first time, what sustained physical and psychological torture can do to a man. But let us go back to that phone conversation I had at Sippers Bar with the Kampala based Lawyer, a young man whose security I will not compromise by disclosing his full names here.  What a tragedy!

Before I hanged-up on the Kampala friend, a number of disturbing questions were already racing through my slightly intoxicated mind.  How prudent, I wondered, would it be for me to reveal all to Okiring there and then, just when all seemed to be going well for him that evening?

I imagined, perhaps out of fear that Okiring may still be in the very early stages of his recovery from the psychological trauma he had endured at the hands of the nasty “Men in Black” who had just raided the High Court.  In a nutshell, my dilemma was essentially about how he would react to the news.  The poor old chap didn’t even know that in those few seconds and minutes, I was having a very serious internal debate about his fate.

In the end, even though I was still unsure, I took the risk and told him what I had been told by our ‘learned friend’ who had just called from Kampala.  The gamble paid off.  The news didn’t affect him, at least not visibly and in the manner I had feared.  On the contrary, he looked jubilant.  Even in the dimmed and slightly promiscuous lights of Sippers Bar, I could see that he was fighting bravely, as usual, to hold back tears of joy.  Then, as if by magic, we moved closer to each other and went for one hell of a hug, a big fat hug that went on in total silence for what seemed like eternity.

We were like kids who had just been re-united at their father’s funeral.  And yes, our father’s funeral it was; because for Sam Okiring and I, as Lawyers, our beloved father was the rule of law that Museveni’s regime had just massacred in cold blood by the second siege on the High Court…” END

‘Portrait of a Despot’ is now available for Ugandan based readers to purchase from Uganda Bookshop [opp Christ the King Church,] Makerere University Bookshop, Kyambogo University Bookshop, Jicca Bookshop in Wandegeya, Matti Bookshop on Kampala road, and from Silkon Book Centre and Rise & Shine Bookshops in Mukono.

Worldwide customers can also order a copy of the book by clicking on the title of the book here Portrait of a Despot.  END:  Please login to www.ugandacorrespondent.com every Monday to read our top stories and anytime mid-week for our news updates.