What I saw when I died

On August 28, 1988, British atheist philosopher Alfred Jules Ayer penned an article for The Sunday Telegraph under the title What I saw when I was dead.

It was a recount of his experience in the ‘other world’ when his heart stopped for four minutes in his battle with pneumonia.

His first exclamation on regaining consciousness was: “You are all mad”. He was unsure though what exactly he meant by that. His other earliest remarks he could recall were to a French friend: ‘Did you know that I was dead? The first time that I tried to cross the river I was frustrated, but my second attempt succeeded. It was most extraordinary. My thoughts became persons’.

I vividly relate with Ayer’s experience, especially as my thoughts became persons when I died in a dream recently. I had been starved to death by a bunch of gluttons under whose care I had been placed.

Partly, I was a victim of my innocent big mouth that never shut in the face of misrule. That’s why, as I called out for food, they told me to feed on my words. And because I refused to eat them, I died.

To symbolise the circumstances of my death and the leadership whose victim I was, my people buried me with a bottle of Uganda Waragi. I can’t tell if I was in hell or heaven, but it was very witty company full of provocative banter.

Everyone was eager for news from earth. Milton Obote saw me first, still so eloquent and cunning. He gave me a warm hug and asked to keep the bottle of Uganda Waragi as his hand reached for it.

Idi Amin, who was now engaged in an episode of what I was later told had been their constant bickering with Ben Kiwanuka, stood up, giving me a strong handshake as he quipped: “We welcome you completely and also. Is Moses Ali still a minister?” Ben came in before I could respond: “Shut up, you murderer, you want to go back and kill him too?” Amin got incensed: “Zip it Ben, that is how you always risk by talking anyhow”.

Ben now took me to the side, where James Wapakhabulo was seated, for his turn to catch up on developments in the judiciary. “So, Jimmy, tell me about the judge called Kavuma. Is it true all I hear about him?”

As I opened my lips to start talking, I heard a sudden scuffle break out in the corner I had just left. It was Obote and Dr Kibirige Ssebunya fighting for the bottle!

“How can you be drinking when someone with three degrees is thirsty?’ Kibirige asked. But Obote overpowered him and took off with the bottle, only to meet Sir Edward Muteesa II in the corridor. Muteesa immediately grabbed his hand. ‘You man, today I won’t let you go before you tell me who killed me”.

When Noble Mayombo heard this, he came in shouting: “Yes, I also want to know who was behind my multiple organ failure”. But when he noticed that it was Obote being interrogated, he just walked back to the gate where Andrew Kayiira was standing, keenly scanning faces of all entrants as if he was particularly waiting for someone.

When Obote returned from the scuffle where he lost the bottle that had become akin to that in The Gods Must Be Crazy, he found me with Tito Okello chatting politics.

As he pulled a chair to sit, he poured a tirade of sarcasm: “I hear you people are chocking on fundamental change. I thought that without the ‘swine’ called Obote, your problems would be over. So, what is the problem of Africa now? It must be leaders who under-stay in power”. Then he burst out laughing.

Our chat was warm until Obote continued blabbering: “If this idiot Okello did not overthrow me …” Okello immediately reached for Obote’s collar, shouting:

“What were you good for? You even rigged the 1980 election”.  Obote, who was now choking, coughed incessantly, but managed to mutter these words: “I am glad that rigging ended with me then”. This is when Okello let go of his collar, and they both laughed at the sarcasm. The laughter even grew louder when Binaisa shouted from the next room: “I told you. Entebe ewooma (the chair is sweet)”.

Amin, who had, for a while, stopped talking because of Ben constantly shutting him up, joined the conversation saying: “You people said I was a P4 dropout. But I hear that with all your education, you still have little to show in terms of infrastructural development compared to what I did in only eight years. I was a servant”.

Then I woke up.

You are all mad!

jsssentongo@gmail.com

The author works with the School of Postgraduate Studies and Research at Uganda Martyrs University, Nkozi.