On November 24, 2018 the country received devastating news that MV Templar had capsized on Lake Victoria killing more than 30 of its partying passengers, who were on their way to K-Palm beach located in Mpunga village, Mpata sub-county. K-Palm beach belonged to Templar and Sheila Bisase. The couple were part of the boat’s fatalities.
And as they lie quietly in their graves about 4km away from Kampala in Kyaliwajjala, Kira municipality, their brainchild K-Palm resort is also on life-support. On April 13 The Observer returned to Lake Victoria, headed to both Mutima beach and K-Palm resort to see how business is doing five months after the catastrophe that shocked and shook Uganda.
Mutima beach is where the ill-fated boat tried to make an emergency docking after it developed mechanical problems. The boat missed Mutima beach by about 200 meters, ending the lives of 32 revellers, many of them prominent businessmen/women and socialites.
You can access both Mutima and K-Palm through Mukono-Katosi road, turning off at Kisoga town, but the notorious traffic jam on the Mukono-Jinja road turns what should be a one-hour drive into a four-hour ordeal; making the trip via Lake Victoria the more favourable.
GHOST CALLED K-PALM
From Ggaba landing site to K-Palm resort, it takes about one hour using an engine-powered canoe; it takes half that time with a speedboat. As we approached K-Palm by boat at 11:57am, from a distance I noticed what used to be a blossoming resort was slowly turning into a shadow of its former self.
At close range, indeed K-Palm looked a ghost of its former, glamorous self. There is no doubt that K-Palm died with the Bisases. When we tried to dock at the wooden pier, we were advised to change plans, because it was too weak to hold our weight; the combined weight for the three of us was not more than 200kg! Not even our boat could be moored to the pier, whose wood was rotting from neglect.
Next to the pier, three speedboats sat, their engines vandalised and grass threatening to completely bury them. Patrick Muhumuza, a worker at the resort, looked surprised on seeing us and wanted to know who we were and why we were there. We are journalists, we told him.
“By the way, we are also hungry,” I hastened to add, but he did not want to hear any of it.
K-Palm has been closed to business for five months. After some haggling, Muhumuza relented to give us a guided tour on one condition: strictly no photographs. Well. Everything lay in ruins. It must have been five months since they last cut the grass in the compound.
Grass-thatched parasols where revellers used to sit enjoying their cold beers have either lost all their grass, or their chairs have broken legs and others lie haphazardly all over the place, as if thrown by drunkards fighting over the last beer on the resort.
The furious wind sweeping off Lake Victoria also brought down a towering grass-thatched roof of the main building at the resort. Two swimming pools, one for children and one for adults, have been emptied and the blue tiles are now coated with dust and silt.
The grass has not only overrun the compound, but the buildings too. Epiphytes have taken over the toilets and the reception that also used to house the bar. The lavatories that were once white have since acquired a disgusting brown colour, while a coat of dust carpets the floor.
Where the bar used to be, two empty refrigerators still stand and the only thing still working in this area is the television. The guests’ cottages with beautiful designs complete with sculptures now look more like witchdoctors’ shrines with grass taking over their lawns.
Muhumuza barred us from going inside. The Bisases’ four employees have abandoned their work, even though they have not left the premises. Muhumuza would not be drawn into what they do for a living now. We found the other three enjoying music playing off the television. They looked like they had been enjoying a swim in the lake before we arrived. I asked Muhumuza who his current boss is.
“I don’t know,” he said.
They last saw one of Bisases’ relatives last year. No one has visited since, save for a few security personnel early in January. Templar and Sheila Bisase are survived by three young children and Templar’s sister, Damalie Bisase, who we were told lives abroad.
“These guys are also not serious; how do you allow this treasure to go to waste just like that? They can’t even cut the grass, yet they have a mower? What are they still doing here when they are doing nothing?” our boat captain wondered as we walked away at the end of the 10-minute tour.
The answer may lie in the fact that there is no one to pay their wages anymore.
MUTIMA BEACH
Mutima beach, 30 minutes away from K-Palm resort, is where most of the bodies of those that perished in the lake that grim November day were hauntingly lined up in images forever etched on many minds.
It is also where the wreckage of the ill-fated MV Templar still lies after being extracted from the water. If it were up to the beach’s management, they would have it towed away to an obscure location; it is not good for business.
“Whenever people look at it, it reminds them of the tragedy that awaits them if they use the water, yet it is a long journey by road,” said the manager of Mutima who only identified himself as Christopher.
In contrast to what is happening at K-Palm resort, Mutima beach’s compound is well-kempt giving the place the look of a football pitch. The ambience of the sea breeze and trees all combine to give the place the serenity that relaxes a tired mind or one preoccupied by the images at K-Palm, like mine. The general look of the beach disguises the pain of its owners.
“Business is very slow; everyone still thinks that the boat was coming here. The only images that people have in their minds are those of the tragedy. Those who beat the odds and come, will always ask about the accident,” Christopher says. The only silver lining in the boat disaster is, it helped them to show their helpful side.
“We helped in the rescue of very many people. We are proud of that.”
WHAT NEXT FOR ‘BOAT CRUISES’?
At Mutima beach, at least, there are some things that are proudly Ugandan; like the tasty luwombo you will not find elsewhere. However, it is also true that ‘quickly moving on’ is characteristically a Ugandan thing too.
For example, in the aftermath of 2010 bomb attacks in Kampala, every public place was forced to have metal detectors; now where they still exist, they are just a formality. When accidents became so rampant, public transporters were forced to fit their vehicles with seatbelts and speed governors; now? They are no longer an issue. And after the boat accident, police increased its marine patrols. No one was allowed on the lakes without a lifejacket. Not anymore.
While on the lake, we saw three passenger boats moving our direction. One had 13 passengers, but none wore a lifejacket. The other had 14 passengers; only six wore the reflector lifejackets. A third boat had 17 people on board, but only five had lifejackets.
“People have now forgotten about that accident; it’s business as usual,” our boat captain said.
Well, it can be business as usual on the water, but it will never be business as usual at K-Palm.
And Mutima beach? Only time will tell as the jury is still out. Our boat captain later told us that ironically, the owner of Mutima beach, a woman by the same name, died just a month before the Bisases due to complications related to childbirth.
She, like Templar and Sheila, used to personally market her beach to boat cruise operators. Her death saw a dip in boat cruises heading to Mutima and the MV Templar tragedy was the final nail in the coffin. For now, the boat captain said, they do no see any boat cruise parties on the lake as it was before the November tragedy.
bakerbatte@observer.ug
