No Insulin, NG tubes: Mulago’s shame laid bare

When Justice Irene Mulyagonja, a respected judge of Uganda’s Court of Appeal and Constitutional Court, rose to speak at her husband’s requiem mass last week, she did more than mourn a life lost.

She delivered a searing indictment of Uganda’s healthcare system—a system that, in her words, “turned a national hospital into a monument” and forced her into what she called “hospital tourism.”

Her story was raw, personal, and echoed the experience of countless Ugandans.

“We started at IHK, then went to Nsambya—twice. We ended up at Mulago and finally Mukwaya General Hospital,” she told mourners at Rubaga Cathedral.

“All this in just two months.” Mulyagonja remarked that while Mulago is labeled a specialized hospital, the reality tells a different story—one that reflects the broader state of healthcare in Uganda.

“Let those with ears hear,” she said. “If, on Ward 6B—the private wing of Mulago Hospital—the government of Uganda can fail to provide a simple shot of insulin, and in that same ward, you can’t even find an NG tube, then what hope is there?”

A JUDGES ORDEAL, A NATION’S SHAME

Justice Mulyagonja’s husband, John Baptist Kakooza, a veteran human rights lawyer, passed away on May 17, 2025. His death, though officially attributed to unspecified health complications, was for Mulyagonja symbolic of a deeper sickness in Uganda’s public healthcare system.

Their struggle wasn’t just about disease. It was about affordability, access, and dignity.

“I couldn’t manage the costs,” Mulyagonja confessed. “And I am a judge of the Court of Appeal. I couldn’t go around begging for money to care for my husband.”

So, they moved from hospital to hospital, searching for affordable yet competent care. When they finally landed at Mulago National Referral Hospital—the flagship institution of Uganda’s public health system—they hoped for relief. Instead, they encountered delays, missing supplies, and what she described as neglect.

“We were in 6B—the so-called private wing—and they didn’t even have a shot of insulin,” she said. “At one point, my husband needed an NG tube to help him feed. People kept saying it would be done, but no one ever came. Finally, someone admitted, ‘We don’t have it.’”

With pain in her voice, she added, “John would not forgive me if I didn’t speak out. He fought for the rights of others. I have, too. We can’t have a national hospital that’s only a building—no medicine, no equipment, no care.”

MULAGO HOSPITAL RESPONDS

Following the public outcry, Mulago Hospital issued a detailed statement defending its conduct during Kakooza’s care. Dr. Rosemary Byanyima, Executive Director of Mulago National Referral Hospital, explained that the late Kakooza had been admitted on April 9, 2025, after being referred from Nsambya Hospital.

He arrived in a fragile state, with low consciousness, severe weakness, and multiple underlying health issues.

“The patient was resuscitated and given treatment based on a multidisciplinary evaluation,” Dr. Byanyima said.

She acknowledged that doctors recommended a nasogastric tube (NGT) early in his admission, but claimed it was initially refused by the family.

“It wasn’t until April 15 that they agreed, after realizing his condition was deteriorating,” she noted.

The hospital also refuted claims that insulin and the NG tube were unavailable.

“Insulin is centrally stored in the emergency unit. It was procured and administered,” said Dr. Byanyima.

“As for the NG tube, it was inserted and reinserted as needed. The suggestion that we didn’t have these essentials is incorrect.” She said Kakooza had shown improvement under their care and was discharged on May 6 with scheduled follow-up.

“He could sit, communicate, and was even exchanging pleasantries with staff. The family expressed gratitude at discharge.” But the hospital’s defense has done little to quiet public anger.

A CAREGIVER’S NIGHTMARE: THEY WEREN’T READY FOR US 

Justice Mulyagonja’s testimony is not an isolated case. On May 21, another heartbreaking account surfaced—from a caregiver who tried to save his uncle, Daudi Nabong, after a traumatic head injury.

“We first went to Jinja Hospital. The neurosurgeon said it was too complicated and referred us to Mulago,” the caregiver explained. The trip to Kampala took over four hours due to traffic. But when they arrived at Mulago Specialized Hospital, what they found was shocking.

“I expected doctors waiting, given it was an emergency referral,” he said. “But there was no one. An intern came, glanced at the CT scans, and left. Another trainee came, observed, and left.”

After waiting half an hour while the patient’s condition worsened, the caregiver confronted the staff.

“They said, ‘The ICU is full. We don’t have water. We weren’t prepared for your patient.’” In desperation, the family took Nabong to Old Kampala Hospital, where he was finally operated on and is now recovering.

“WE WON’T DIE IN MULAGO”

If public frustration needed fuel, it came in the form of a resurfaced controversial statement from the Inspector General of Government (IGG), Beti Kamya. Speaking in 2023 at National Medical Stores, Kamya starkly laid bare the disparities in healthcare access.

“None of us is going to die in Mulago because there’s no medicine,” she said. “If there’s none, we’ll call the President and be flown to the U.S.” She continued, “You are the real victims of corruption. When there’s no medicine, you die in Mulago. When roads are bad, we drive in VXs and don’t feel the potholes. But you do.”

Her words struck a nerve with Ugandans, highlighting a healthcare system where status dictates survival.

WHO WAS JB KAKOOZA?

Beyond the headlines and the hospital corridors, John Baptist Kakooza was a man deeply committed to justice and democracy. According to the Uganda Radio Network, Kakooza always believed that political parties in Uganda should be adequately funded and allowed to operate freely.

His early political inclinations diverged from his father’s Kabaka Yeka roots. As a young man, he aligned with the Democratic Party (DP), supporting leaders like Benedicto Kiwanuka.

Though he never held a permanent position at the DP Secretariat, Kakooza played a vital role during tumultuous times. When the party faced internal divisions and registration disputes, he stepped up as Acting Secretary General.

“It was very challenging,” Kakooza recalled in an earlier interview. “The party had no resources, and we were in court constantly. But I believed in its cause.”

He, along with lawyers Elias Lukwago and Joseph Balikudembe, fought legal battles that helped register the DP under its rightful leadership. Kakooza also critiqued the existing political framework, pointing out that under the Political Parties and Organizations Act, the ruling National Resistance Movement (NRM) took the lion’s share of resources, leaving others to struggle.

“The NRM thinks killing political parties means holding on to power,” he once said. “But history shows otherwise. When Obote banned parties in 1969, he thought it was the solution. But he was later removed by a force that wasn’t even a political party.”

Kakooza admired leaders like Kiwanuka who upheld democratic norms.

“When Ben was giving out scholarships, he formed a committee and even invited Obote to nominate people. That’s the kind of leadership we need.”

He believed in ethical governance and hoped President Museveni would address the question of succession to secure the country’s political future.

A NATION AT CROSSROADS

Justice Mulyagonja’s testimony and the caregiver’s trauma are more than isolated incidents—they are symptomatic of a system that is buckling under pressure.

From delays in administering basic treatment to public officials openly admitting they’ll never suffer the same fate as everyday Ugandans, the cracks in the system are too glaring to ignore.

Justice Mulyagonja closed her remarks with a heartfelt plea: “Let him who has ears hear. We can’t go on like this. Something has to give.”

In Uganda today, access to quality health-care remains a privilege rather than a right. And until that changes and health care is better funded, stories like Kakooza’s will keep surfacing—testaments to resilience, heartbreak, and a system in desperate need of healing.