Nearly nine years have passed since the deadly raid on the Rwenzururu palace in November 2016, yet for many of the widows left behind, time has done little to heal the wounds—emotional, social and economic.
Over 150 lives were lost in the violence that ensued between the royal guards of the Obusinga Bwa Rwenzururu kingdom and state forces. Now, the widows of those slain guards are not only grieving but also battling poverty, discrimination, and abandonment in a society that has largely moved on without them.
One such widow is Peace Kabugho, who now lives in a cramped single-room rental in Kanyageya, Kasese municipality. Her story, like many others, is a raw and painful reminder of how deep loss lingers.
“Life has been hard—it has been really hard,” she says softly, her voice trailing into a whisper of despair.
“I don’t even know what to tell you. Since my husband died, I’ve lived a miserable life that no one could imagine. I have pain in my heart—just leave me, I have no words.”
Peace lost more than her husband that day. In 2018, she also lost her second-born child after failing to raise money for treatment at Mbarara hospital. Later, floods from the Nyamwamba river destroyed her family home, pushing her and her two youngest children into the small rental she now calls home.
Her two elder daughters, seeing no future at home, were forced into early marriages. Despite a glimmer of hope in 2018 when she met President Yoweri Museveni, Peace says the encounter yielded little.
“We went as a team of five to State House Entebbe. I was the only woman. We were led by Hon Robert Centenary,” she recalls.
“The president joked in our language that we had come to ask for cassava flour money. He gave our group Shs 200 million. Widows like me got Shs 500,000 each. But just after I received the money, my daughter fell sick, and all of it went to hospital bills.”
Even basic healthcare has been a challenge. Peace recounts a painful visit to Rukoki hospital in 2023.
“I spent the whole day there just to be told there was no Panadol. I had to go to a private clinic in town. It hurt—no one could understand what I was going through.”
Education for her remaining children has also become an uphill battle. Even at a government-aided school nearby, the modest fee of Shs 120,000 per term is often out of reach.
“Two of my daughters had to drop out and get married because I couldn’t pay their school fees,” she says, voice trembling.
Another widow, Melvin Mbambu, shares a similar story of hardship. A mother of five, Melvin was driven from her family land in Kirabaho by relatives who told her she no longer belonged there because she had no husband.
Now living in Nyamwamba division, she struggles daily to make ends meet— especially while caring for a disabled daughter.
“My children refused to eat beans and kalo today. They want something else, but I have nothing,” she says with a weary smile. “I would have gotten used to it, but their complaints keep coming. It hurts the most when I look at my lame daughter and I have no answers.”
Melvin, like Peace, feels abandoned by the very institutions that should have protected and supported them.
“We have been forgotten—by the Obusinga, by the government. They only remember us during campaigns,” she says.
Peace adds, “I don’t want to see any politician near me again. I have suffered enough.”
Today, Peace leads a group of 38 widows in Kasese municipality trying to rebuild their lives. They gather every Sunday at the Kasese Better Living Centre to save money, lend small loans, and craft handmade goods like mats and carry-ons. But the challenges persist—and the need for systemic support remains urgent.
“Even just knowing that someone sees us and cares would make a difference,” Peace says.
Their stories are not just about loss— they’re about resilience in the face of abandonment. These women aren’t asking for pity. They’re asking for dignity, for recognition, and for a chance to rebuild the futures that were taken from them on that fateful day in 2016.
FREED RWENZURURU SUBJECTS STILL TRAPPED IN POVERTY
When the director of Public Prosecutions (DPP) dropped all charges against Rwenzururu King Charles Wisely Mumbere and 217 of his royal guards and subjects on June 13, 2023, many saw it as the beginning of healing after nearly a decade of pain.
But for most of those freed men—and the families of those who didn’t make it out alive—their freedom has brought little peace. Judge Alice Kyomuhangi, presiding over the case at the International Crimes division in Kololo, signed off on the amnesty, effectively ending years of legal limbo.
However, those released were given nothing more than transportation facilitation back to their communities. And what they returned to was nothing like the lives they had left.
“My brother, explaining our life in prison is a hard task,” says Johnson Kahuju, one of the former detainees and now a struggling tailor in Kasese municipality.
“Whenever I remember those days, I just cry, even when I’m alone. Eleven of our colleagues died in there. Just know—it was terrible.”
Kahuju, now working at a sewing machine he rents for Shs 30,000 a month, is a father of five. His life, like many of his fellow former prisoners, has unraveled.
“Ninety percent of us came back to find our lives destroyed—our families displaced, our wives divorced us, and our land was sold. At least I had a skill, but many of my friends have nothing now.”
The psychological toll has been immense. According to Johnson, at least five of the released men have since developed severe mental health issues. One of them, 65-year-old Yusufu Thembo Ngwali, reportedly no longer leaves his room.
“We were innocent,” Johnson insists. “If we were really the terrorists they said we were, wouldn’t we have done something by now? It’s been two years since we were released. We’re just trying to live. But we’ve suffered for nothing.”
He recalls the horror of the 2016 palace raid—being stripped at gunpoint, watching everything in the palace burn, and being cut off from any form of identification or support.
“We lost our national IDs. Now, without them, we can’t access government programs or even register phone lines. One of my friends spent Shs 150,000 just trying to replace his ID.”
THE KINGDOM RESPONDS
Now, Johnson has become a quiet advocate for change, pleading with the government to rethink its role in resettling and supporting victims like him.
“We’re Ugandans. The government shouldn’t only remember us during elections. We’re broken—mentally, economically and socially. I just pray they remember us now.”
Despite the state’s silence, the Obusinga Bwa Rwenzururu has tried to keep the issue alive. On December 7, 2024, former CDF and current state minister for Trade Gen Wilson Mbadi delivered a message on behalf of Omusinga Charles Wisely Mumbere, reminding the president of his unfulfilled pledges to the kingdom’s people.
Juliet Best Bakoko, the Rwenzururu minister for Gender, Rehabilitation, and Disability Affairs, praised the king’s persistence.
“The Omusinga has never forgotten his people. He’s constantly engaging with the government to push for the resettlement and welfare of our people.”
Some progress has been made. A few orphans of the fallen royal guards have received scholarships to study technical courses. Bakoko says they have reached out to agencies like NARO, NDA, and Reproductive Health Uganda, drafting proposals and memorandums of understanding to support vulnerable groups.
“Our five pillars as a kingdom guide us to make sure widows and orphans are prioritized. But we still need more external support,” she told The Observer.
POLITICAL VOICES AND BROKEN PROMISES
Former Kasese Municipality MP Robert Centenary was deeply involved in pursuing justice for the kingdom’s subjects during the early days after the raid. He worked with Winnie Kiiza and other MPs to raise the matter at the International Criminal Court (ICC).
Centenary remains disappointed in the government’s follow-through.
“The state has done almost nothing for the widows and victims,” he says bluntly. “While in parliament, we couldn’t do much because the cases were still in court. But even now, after the charges were dropped, these people have been left voiceless.”
He also addressed allegations that he misused a donation made by President Yoweri Museveni, which was intended to support widows of the royal guards.
“Yes, they got Shs 50 million through my connection to the president. But then some NRM candidate told them there was more, and that I had taken it. I had planned to help them manage that money properly, but once the rumors spread, they turned against me. I withdrew.”
THE STATE’S POSITION
On January 22, 2025, President Museveni issued a directive for ministers to prioritize support for the victims of the 2016 raid. Godfrey Kabbyanga, state minister for ICT and National Guidance, says efforts are underway.
“We’re working with ministries like the Rwenzori-Luweero Triangle and Finance to ensure that programs like the Parish Development Model and Emyooga cater to these affected people,” Kabbyanga told The Observer.
He also cited several promises made by the President, including building a new home for the Omusinga, providing vehicles and tractors, and other forms of development support.
“We just need to be patient and follow the process. The President knows what was promised. And once delivered, those benefits will reach even the royal guards who are suffering now,” Kabbyanga said.
For Johnson and the hundreds like him, that patience is wearing thin. Many feel forgotten—heroes turned prisoners, victims turned ghosts in their own communities.
“We are not enemies of the state,” Johnson says with quiet strength. “We are its people. All we ask for is a chance to live again—with dignity, with peace, with purpose.”
Their voices echo across Kasese: a district rich in culture, pride, and memory—still waiting for justice to be more than just words.