Dear reader, the presidential convoy is a most curious perk — whether understated or unrestrained.
In Uganda, it is a fast and furious display of grandeur. Through the presidential convoy, one can track the metamorphosis of President Yoweri Museveni’s regime. The convoy could tell the story of Uganda’s bumpy quest to break free of its accursed politics.
In the beginning, in the sun-kissed year of 1986 when Museveni ascended to the presidency, the euphoria of the revolution seemed unending. Veteran journalist and columnist Daniel Kalinaki in his book, ‘Kizza Besigye – Uganda’s Unfinished Revolution’, writes that on January 29, 1986, Museveni in his rebel fatigues stood on the steps of parliament and was sworn in as president.
On those steps, he gave his famous inaugural speech immortalized in the infamous quote, “No one should think that what is happening today is a mere change of guard: it is a fundamental change in the politics of our country.”
Shortly after the swearing-in, the freshly installed president was whisked away in his presidential convoy. Kalinaki continues, “On the way, the driver of the lead car in the convoy switched on the hazard lights, and with the siren blaring, started forcing oncoming traffic off the road. Museveni ordered the convoy to stop, and went to have a word with the driver. This was not Amin’s convoy, Museveni said.
The driver had to maintain normal speed and respect other road users. Then Museveni got back into his car and continued on the journey.”
That was the man of the people, grounded and sensitive to his fellow citizens, winning hearts and minds. Today, the convoy has morphed from its humble beginnings into a gleaming juggernaut. You will feel its raw power before your snivelling eyes behold it. Hours ahead of the presidential convoy, life as you know it stills.
Roads are closed off, traffic comes to a standstill, even pedestrians are halted in their tracks. Those unfortunate enough to be caught in the unforgiving momentum of the presidential guards (Special Forces Command/SFC) as they clear the roads, will receive a swift introduction to brute force.
In a few years, we might be required to stop breathing until the convoy passes. On November 24, cartoonist and academic Jim Spire Ssentongo invited netizens on X to share their encounters with the president and first lady’s convoys. The responses were overwhelmingly stark – the frustration, the missed opportunities, the pain of helplessness.
Below is a dash of the abridged responses:
“… He’s the fountain of honor. But his route should, whenever possible, exclude roads close to big hospitals. I see comments here of people dying while going to hospital because of the blockades.”
“I was going to hospital to work…the fools closed the road for more than an hour. I recently saw them put aside an ambulance carrying a patient … The level of impunity is immeasurable.”
“While going to school…they stopped us from 7:00am to 9:20am…that day I just canceled classes …”
“… we had to wait for an hour so that his convoy could pass…. That day I was going for a job interview, unfortunately, I reached late and I was disqualified for the job interview … I missed a juicy job because of Museveni’s convoy.”
“… We were stopped from entering and ordered to switch off our lights and engines for nearly two hours to the extent of stopping pedestrians. To me, this feels like they’re transporting a fugitive, not a president.”
“I was from Fort Portal to check on my auntie, who was admitted at the Cancer Institute, but the convoy made us wait until my auntie passed away. I will never forgive myself for not hearing from her during her last hours.”
“I always just laugh when their convoy passes, because imagine this, “you have the biggest guns but you are afraid of your people who you say love you so much””
“I mistakenly reached near the main road …I hadn’t noticed all cars were stopped, it was dark and I had just driven out of the office, tired, dazed, those SFC boys pulled me out of my car and slapped me like a thief while abusing me.”
“One time I left town from work around 7:15pm and arrived home at around 1am …” “I had parked on the roadside when in a few minutes the siren lead car stopped by and mean-looking guys almost pointing guns at me, shouted at me and told me whether I don’t know that the president uses that road.
I got so terrified, I thought guys were going to abduct me.”
“…while searching for a Safe Boda on phone, two SFC men approached me, took the phone from me and claimed I was filming the president’s convoy and without evidence I got slaps, they asked money from me to get my phone.”
“I met a man in Kawempe police who was crossing that convoy on foot…he was arrested and spent 3 weeks in custody.”
President Museveni, too, has his view of the convoy. In November 2022 while at a public rally in Mayuge district, he told his audience about the view from his plush side of the convoy.
He quipped: “I have been peeping through my car window as I travelled here for this function and I have kept wondering to myself how do these people [in Busoga sub-region] live through this sort of poverty? I have screened through all these villages where I have passed but the houses and all the other things I have seen have left me wondering how it is possible for our people [in Busoga] to survive through these hard economic conditions.”
Dear reader, it is clear. The problem is the convoy. The convoy is a bewitching seductress, felling fickle humans, luring them into the entanglement of vanity where they can do no wrong, high on the hype of their sycophantic praise singers. How far we have fallen from the heady days of 1986 when our man would get out to greet the people and win hearts and minds.
Now, the convoy has him entombed from his people – from the glassy safety of the convoy, he stares at the starkness of his fellow citizens. Where are those regime-flavored men and women of gad-draped in elaborate priestly robes, praying flowery prayers, beseeching the heavens to look past our glaring irresponsibility and save our old-man-in-the-hat-and-mask from the sorcery of that convoy?
The writer is a tayaad muzzukulu.