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Thursday, May 1, 2014

Song of the hunter

Song of the hunter
Flash Poem
Sam Mwaka-karama
The hunter looks-in the water urn himself, to believe
For it is a lie to say; there be not a drop of water.
The vengeful tongue of the sun rake the tall big hunter
No moisture in the air – no saliva – dry throat
There is worldly emptiness – the leaves are down.
Fruit trees barren – no birds to fly the winds
It is still and alarmingly quiet – the day is asleep
In hot broad day light.

The hunter looks-in the water pitcher himself, to believe
One more hill, not a rabbit – not a squirrel
O! Providence how do I return my tortured feet today?
The blade of my spear is plain and bloodless
Is not this my day?
Is not my wife’s pot clean off the vegetable?
What makes my front empty O! You Ancestors!
That my path is rare and unlikely – this day
That my way is thorny this blaze… of an afternoon
Is not the grinding stone of my woman musical?
With what song do I brave it, tonight!
O! With what song do I wet her heart tonight?
The water pitcher falls empty on my waistband
Ulu ulu ulu ulu ulu
This was poverty?  That no animal cross my path this day…
How was this ever, poverty!
What makes my front empty you ancestors?
My ulurugucc… feel heavy and limp!
My spear feels hot and sharp – but alas!
My limps jerky – stiff, dry with no rhythm
Not a rare beat in my step
Ulu ulu ulu ulu ulu
Has not a double-crosser entered my house in my absence?
With what might he have crossed my wake O! You spirits of old…
How do I enter my home kraal without a kill…
How do I stand a bloodless spear at the door of my hut?
What is my well-come-back home – you ancestors?
Where is the skull and tongue - I should roast in the open bonfire tonight?
What is my big story!

O! You ancestors – turn not your faces from me…
That the wind not be perennially wiping to my disfavor
Hear my cry O! You ancestors – that I might run into the unlikely odd!
That in the dying hour, my spear might sink into the warmth…
Ulu ulu ulu ulu ulu ulu
Did not I, make my juge-juge thanks and offer?
That today I must return my feet in lack and shame
What must I do – what must I do?
  




Monday, February 24, 2014

My achievement on Net

        My achievement on Net
        Sam Mwaka-karama
            I joined the net in the mid 1990s. Three years after print publishing my newsletter MONAKK – that had quickly folded-up due to lack of funds. The new popular ‘dot com’ jargons appealed to my ear, heart and mind so much I had to get to know the prideful sounding ‘online’ systems. I too was still a proud man then. And to me the net symbolized just that! Uniqueness!  
                It was fun sending a letter to a friend and getting response by Email till I shockingly learnt that one mail could be sent instantly to so many email addresses at once! OMG was it fan! So that was the dot.com one could write a whole article and instantly mail it to so many Email addresses… marvelous!
                There was a whole broad spectrum of areas of discussions; political, economic, trade/business, travel issues, Visa factors and many-many more areas of discussions kept us busy often exchanging Email two, three, four even five times a day.
                Google was to me a wonderful [sound-name] I likened to the [goo-goo] cry of those large, long-winged Owls. The bird associated with wisdom and wizardry.  
                It was sickening: say if one went to an internet cafĂ©, paid. Then found no mails from friends! That was the limit! It was how vital exchange of information was among friends back then in the 1990s.
                By the turn of the century a new jargon had appeared Blog for me that was it! As a writer this was my place. I became a blogger and uploaded selected articles and an occasional poem I wrote.
                Actually finding my way around configuring my blog page was challenging. But I did really enjoy the trial and era moves. The reading and re-reading of the instructions and guidelines and the terms and conditionality. And the ‘learn more’ every turn of the way. It was a whole study.
                Google was great as a powerful search engine. I got to search and even just came across so many new website. I recall at one time perhaps in 2008 or earlier, I was looking for some site under the letter ‘C’ and noticed ‘CreateSpace’ so I diverted from my original search to explore CreateSpace and in the process registered as a member. But never went back for nearly four years…
In the meantime, over the years I had developed my book; ‘The Water Trap’ and wanted to publish with Amazon. Thus began my Indie publishing process April 2013. And by November 2013, my book went live on Amazon eBook stores worldwide. This January 2013 I utilized Google translate to self publish my book in German and Dutch/Flemish. ***
Writer is an Independent Thinker, Blogger, Author and Indie Publisher

Wednesday, January 29, 2014

Writing was not the easy way out...




Writing
Was not the easy way out…
Sam Mwaka-karama
A walk on the streets of Kampala or other up-country towns will show
You how much penmanship is there among the street people: art pencil doodlers, Illustrators, painters, musicians, clowns, and comics… name it Uganda has them. Natural talents of which writing is a pillar is not lacking in our Country. In some districts as would be usual and certainly natural, many young talents get suppressed by poverty and, who will tell you that actually to defy poverty, your small talent properly practiced would make you even a success.

I am one of really very many Ugandan self made writers. At least I know many who are like me - a number of them older ones, never made it beyond several even a few newspaper articles and, retired Largely unknown beyond their generations – I am like many of them, perhaps that I made an unguided break-through in Indie writing and publishing on Amazon is The only unique valuable inborn element of talent I have, that somehow with practice materialized. And which I would like more Ugandans to follow.

I have had two manuscripts with a conventional publishing company in
Kampala that are ten years dead and very unbelievably so… even before that, actually way back in 1994/5 I had an earlier manuscript dead in Nairobi Kenya, with a stint in jail appended to it: I just walked away easy at the remote end: “Bolicks, you think I won’t ever be able to write another book manuscript – watch! And today I have an eBook live online through Amazon Kindle Direct; an American publishing company.  

Suffer the African publishers: the most successful African publishing firms [at least I am sure about those in Uganda – apart from the newspaper houses] are run by unknown self made businessmen who are mostly shy of being [public figure] paradox of the myth around the publishing industry in Africa. Are the bizarre dead end manuscript junk-yard African witers suffer. It gives me profound joy to applaud the tremendous bailout – online publishing firms have developed. The opportunity is suddenly there abundantly and, for a talented person the intricate online publishing challenges in technicalities is the real sieve of the merits.

Academic writers Versus Academic reading book markets…

          Strange but true - Lately I have been reading on some blogs issues raised by ‘re-discover the wheel’ writers who are urging the educated world to insulate itself by discovering this ‘academic publishing’; sort of explained would mean, academics writing and publishing for their own closed market.
          To me it is still the same old thing; who reads ‘Lancet’? And who has been reading all those classic academic Journals, texts and newsletters since time immemorial? Why talk of academicians writing for the academicians’ market now - that has been the norm for centuries!

          The argument raised by some of the Blogs on the subject of developing books by and for the academics, is to me invalid; that the academics don’t ‘make wealth’ out of what they write is a paralysis of sorts: There are whole publishing houses whose entire systems thrive on works exclusively for and  by academics… and these are not small printing press departments on campus – they are fully fledged international publishing houses. If the academic writers don’t ‘make wealth’ then they should sort it out between the academic writers and the academic publishing houses and perhaps their marketing systems.

          The bugles and trumpets have been heard over the blogs – like when it happened a few years ago in LA and the Hollywood writers were on the streets for the first time. This time it is the academic writers and the issue of ‘wealth making’ over their publications. For some of us outside the box… it’s a shocking discovery! That, actually academic publications of great packaging and note were more “quantity” output than “quality” works. As a Laureate was more recently remotely quoted as having said.    
          The world of the academics is a complex one and complexity as it is known psychologically, might cause paralyses of sorts even, en masse… and it is the fear of the unknown we outsiders might bite the end of our pencils about. And when that happens in the confines of the upper echelon of academics and its publishing sphere of influences… which is now a much wider global body of associations, affiliations, then trouble is up there in the winds. If they called the other one a “spring” then this one might be the Penguins’ “Chill”.
         The African academics will tell you that “Rascals” are bad. And Africa writers should refrain from [writings that don’t count] – and then it is the same academics that turn around and applaud rascal stories…

          I am currently refreshing my knowledge of ‘Tom Sawyer’. The Mark Twain Adventure story. To me old Mark Twain was a rascal who wrote awesome rascal kid tales. He was also a word miser… he thought-out most of the story details quietly; perhaps seated on his benign arm Chair, and only let-out the barest essential; ‘cut a long story short’ guy. How about this…

~~
          “Thomas Sawyer why are you late again? He said.
          Tom began to speak… and then stopped. There was a new girl in the Schoolroom – a beautiful girl with blue eyes and long yellow hair. Tom Looked and looked.
          Oh! How beautiful she was! And in two seconds Tom was in love! He must sit next to her. But How?
          In the girl’s half of the room there was only one empty chair, and it was next to the girl. Tom thought quickly and then looked at the teacher.
          I stopped to talk to Huckleberry Finn! He said.
          The teacher was very, very angry. Boys were often late for School. That was bad. But talking to Huckleberry Finn was worse! The teacher took his stick, and two minutes later Tom’s trouser was very hot and the teacher’s arm was very tired.” [From The Adventure of Tom Sawyer]

~~
          I think Tom Sawyer might still be read in lower Ed here in Uganda. Though the academics want to replace them with local stories, the scheme seems bleak. The African academic publishers have lots of text books, but these sort of “Adventures of the little devils” format of story-telling are scoffed at most times – even by the publishers themselves – more often a story is cover dismissed. A synopsis might not even get a cursory reading. So unknown writers might as well just go online. ***

          The Writer is an Independent Thinker,  Author, Blogger and Indie publisher    

Monday, December 9, 2013

Legacy of King Herod's... 'Sword of the Damocles'

Legacy of King Herod’s… ‘Sword of the Damocles
      Sam Mwaka-karama                                      
      2013 years ago – there once reined a King in the land of the Judean people in ancient Jerusalem. ‘King Herod the Great’ was to be the ancient non-Jewish monarch and Allie of the Romans as they ruled over Mesopotamia, Egypt and much of North Africa, to see the words of the old prophets come to pass: “A King shall be born in the house of Judah…” who is the son of Jehovah God of Abraham.
        So that as the Jews flocked to their cities for the population day counting of people, which in keeping with their ancient laws only adult males got counted - and as the old Patriarchs, Rabbis  and scribes of the great Temples, reading signs of the times, accurately focused on the date and time of the birth of the Lord Jesus Christ – the small monarch King Herod was a secretly worried man; [when you find the new-born infant King… come tell me, that I may go pay my respect]. Telling the Gabi; three wise men. And when the wise men avoided him after seeing Christ – the reputed mad king was annoyed!
         But the Angel of the Lord woke-up Joseph; “Arise, Take the child and mother and head for the land of Egypt…”  so that the infant Jesus Christ and the blessed Virgin were to be briefly exiled in the land of ancient slavery where their fore bearer Hebrews lived once upon a time.

Swords of the Damocles
         As the son of God was headed to the land of Egypt, the Herod’s wreath came down and the swords lashed-out; ‘kill all the new-born male child…’ suddenly King Herod’s men slayed scores of the first generation Christmas kids in the Judah linage throughout the land of Judea. Terror reined as babies were sliced wide-open, smashed against the walls or caught dangling by the tender ankles and pierced or cut through… and those were the way such killings were executed from of old.
         Like in the days of King Solomon; whose wisdom prevailed over two women who were claiming and fighting over a child.
         One woman claimed “My child” and the other woman cried “O! No it is my child”
So the wise King Solomon roughly holds out the kid and the sword of the Damocles; ‘the child be sliced in two… each of you takes one part’ – the cantankerous woman said ‘Yes my Lord…’ as the humbled motherly said ‘No my lord give the child to her’.

The Herodian legacy – and the Christmas children up to now!  
        Misfortune, victimization, stigmatization, malice, hate – are some of the many-many evils that are constantly befalling Christmas children. Many of us Christmas children grew-up under very difficult circumstances – with often in-surmountable obstacles barring your way, impossible odds ruining you down… people just hate you and unrelentingly fight you down! Always aiming to ultimately take your life. Those Christmas children who are well-off perhaps having been born to a wealthy pair of parents – might get best education, become successful but, might be accident prone. Some of such Christmas children might develop complicated health that constantly sap your energy and drain your income.
        The year 2013 [unlucky 13] – is more likely ending a bad year for us Christmas children. Every year coming up to Christmas we all face the challenges of [accommodation displacement] – since there was no room for Christ on population day… as Maria labored with the pains of child delivery. Also for many of us we face those odds yearly. Our share of the privilege of being born on Christmas day… many of us live and die not building a house!
        Conspiracy rule our lives and often we even lose our children inexplicably… many people just find themselves inexplicably in groups conspiring feverishly against us – even if they didn't know you; they will somehow find themselves in a group fighting someone they didn't know – but heated. There are untold ends… among us because the King Herod the Great legacy lives on! And continue to wreck us in many ways.
         If you were born on Christmas day… please take good care of yourself this Christmas. For [13] the bad luck number has a proxy crypto-relativity to [33] and, the legacy signs are very-very strong and bad this year – and if you are born child of a father who is a Christmas child… close yourself indoors till the season pass – watch and listen very carefully to everything said and digest them carefully. Be alert and watchful for the King Herod legacy is at its worst this Christmas; food poisoning, accidents, other people’s malice. Pray Quietly. ***

The Writer is an Independent Thinker, Author and Blogger    

    


Thursday, December 5, 2013

Africans - the reading culture thing...

Africans - the reading culture thing…
Sam Mwaka-karama
       “If you do not wish it properly understood… put it in writing” – so says a popular joke between the Media and the Political class in Uganda. Actually suggesting that most documents or texts are scathingly scaled over or, not read at all…
       It is official – as in public knowledge, that frequently asked questions in the Ugandan media has this thing about the ‘impoverished reading culture’ that over a period has evolved into jokes between the media and the politicans. Those who follow the media in Uganda closely enough might have spotted this at some-point.
       My purpose here is; how do we Authors help correct this situation?
       To get the drift of my discussion – actually I belong to the thinking that what you read at an earlier age sets you on a path where you cultivate ‘the reading culture’ and, further combinations of certain books as you grow into adulthood [if you were lucky to read them at that tender age] lead you towards developing passion for reading…
       I recently came across a comment by an Author in one of our group discussions on ‘Linked In’ where she says something to the effect that the character “Oliver Twist” might have been her tow into books to the point, she concludes that, she moved over and settled in America; the country of the Oliver Twist story…
      This factor struck me as absolutely true and, one might look back and almost see those fundamental books in the category of “Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn” as being foundational to the ‘culture of avid reading’ – perhaps even habit forming! Personally, I met most of those fundamental books in libraries and along the way.
      This seems to be Africa’s big problem – in that there seem to be a disconnect in the formula and as a result the younger generation African children; especially those born in the 1970/80s were not properly exposed to the right combination of those fundamental literature materials… I may be wrong, but I think things got jumbled-up somewhere along with; Wars, African trend towards idealism, the old socialism and other Independence philosophies; may have somehow created the disconnect.
      Now, before I over do it and bangle-up my discussion my question is;  a new book market (Online eBooks) is emerging and creating widespread challenges to Authors – now the African potion of the book market potential is huge; given new Tablet reading gadgets and so on… now entering Africa. What would your view or opinion be, given the “African poor reading culture” negation? ***
The Writer is an Independent Thinker, Author and Blogger  
     
       
     
      



Thursday, November 21, 2013

The Great Walking Train

The Great Walking Train
A night mare; one night long ago…

Sam Mwaka-karama
      In the dry harvest season, the village was always lively, happy and buzzed with busy-bee activities. The village women were already on the kraal spreading the fresh harvest millet for the drying hot day.
      We the village kids hardly ever overslept in the dry season – by the early Lakana sunrise we were already seated atop the huge grand old Aliri anthill; where that little part of the anthill we had broken the previous evening protruded out wet fine earth… the Okok ants had over-night sealed the broken part by rebuilding a small mold. It was this fresh earth that we used to roll small round balls for our catapult. That was our routine; early to rise and sweep the kraal clean of all goats overnight droppings – so that our mothers dried and processed the harvests by day.
      The boys from across the Oitino River were already blowing their hands telling us that the birds hunting party had started moving-out and we should hurry hurry hurry! Otoye-toye-toye… wan-do cako-wot’o, wot-wunnu yo-yot otoye-toye-toye!
      As the soldier ants strike-out at our fingers, we quickly flick them away and sometimes crush them into the balls we now hurriedly roll. ‘Kwiik, kwiik, kwiik’ – suddenly Okwiik the black birds perched high up the tall majestic Tugu palm trees shriek down at us… and using the dried hard earth balls we had made the previous day – we slug them rapidly. They scatter flying north the direction we were preparing to go. So we hurry to run after them.
      Yelling and scrambling down the anthill, we race after them occasionally sending our earth balls at them; Okwiik are a clumsy flier, but they are freak birds – no village boy ever shot them down – so we merely catapult the slugs at them aimlessly. Sensing the slugs zapping around they quickly scale-up flying higher and higher and eventually out of our reach.
       At the Rocky River convergent point we meet the boys from across – we are friends, age-mates and often fighting foes as well. But this morning we were in good camaraderie friendship we all joked and laughed.
        As we walked away from the villages the bird hunting party effectively began then; every boy was on the look-out for the wild doves Akuri; the tough winged pigeons dried on open fire tasted salty – we all looked out for them. The land was vast as far as the eyes could see and, we just kept going.
        By mid-day I had killed three little birds; some of the bigger boys had already killed one or two Akuri wild doves – the biggest boy among us had killed a spy squirrel; Tilli slugged it clean between the eye and the ear… it was warm and its hind-legs kicked weakly as the big boy picked it up, twisting its neck dead.
       Tilli’s father was my father’s brother – and we the kids from my grandfather’s clan saw him as our head. Now we were one up on the boys from across because our head boy had already made the big kill of the day – now he had two pigeons, one Aliboro and the squirrel.
       The wild and now rowdy birds hunting party walked on and on past even the furthest villages on the far outer fringes towards the wild country side. Many times, a rabbit and other small animals suddenly bolted in a blurry get away – Tilli’s dog Genkumi snatched the streak rabbit in a spectacular chase I was to see for the first time – awesome it was!
        The dry season wild fire had swept the country side clean – so our birds hunting party just went on and on. At length, we had eventually gathered around a group of huge trees in the mid afternoon silently searching for birds in the dense green leaves and slugging at them quietly – it was hot and the birds landed on the trees to rest and cool down… I killed two good size pigeons there. Just then the older boys decided we gather twigs and start a fire. The older boys looked for and found a particular type of tree and broke its twigs; sitting on the ground a boy placed two twigs together and held them firmly by his heels and then used a pencil sized twig that he vigorously rubbed between his palms and presently smoke began to appear at the contact point he firmly grinded… another boy added soft dry grass to this grinded-point and blew his cheeks hard at it till the flames appeared – now everybody picked dry grass and lighted the fire and the roasting of birds and small animals spread-out.
The abominable Walking Train…
       It was suddenly getting dark when we realized the day was gone and if we didn’t hurry back we were getting caught-up by nightfall… it was then that we suddenly began hearing some not so far away strange rhythmic weird  crunching, clanging and hissing noise! Bewildered, we all stopped the roasting and eating and listened craning our necks and cocking our ears – we held our breaths.
      We were gripped! Terror rooted us immobile as the noise coming from over the headland westwards was now louder and louder; and suddenly thick black smoke billowed; chwek-whwek-chwek-whwek-chwek; clang-wrek, clang-werk, clang-wrek, clang-wrek – we scampered running homewards, but the hideous menacing noise moved much faster cutting us off – suddenly as we got onto the headland there it was struggling up valley; a twisty long train hissing white hydro-smoke - like out of two huge nostrils and, black smoke out of the top of its head… the train and coaches all moved on legs the size of a huge man’s chest as it walked its multiple legs in unison, bending at the knees and at its Elephant like large heavy feet.
        Many times in the uneven hillside as it detoured to cut-us off from breaking into a terrified home run one or the other of its many-many massive legs jerked sideways revealing an open between the thigh and the lower leg where a glistening hydraulic shock system appeared briefly and steadied it shortened back and walked on – terrified many of the other kids had already run away but three of us were transfixed staring at the awesome walking train… inside it was weak yellow light and head and shoulders of passengers could be furtively seen.
        Two engineers sweat drenched were busy in their tiny cabin: the big fat charcoal black one threw hefty logs in the hellfire that cooked and boiled the engine – while his pencil thin colleague hanged out; his face reminded me of the moon crescent; his fore-head was bulging and his thin mouth drawn tight inwards with a long smoking pipe also with pointed chin was firmly bitten by his clenched hard jaw – spittle occasionally streaked out of the side of his mouth, his engineer’s cap pasted at the back of his head and, his hair around it was graying… I realized that he was unseeingly looking around because he obviously did not see us – as the walking train momentarily stopped and; presently one of the doors flung open and a thin lone woman silhouetted out and claimed down the three steps disappearing afoot the massive walking train at the grassy ground. Then the train began moving… now we ran and ran and ran till I suddenly woke-up! O! O! Ohh! A night mare! I was drenched in sweat my heart beating wildly. I nearly died in the abominable scare! ***  

             

Wednesday, November 13, 2013

When Uganda Police Detectives First first crossed to Kenya

When Uganda Police Detectives first crossed to Kenya
         A Police Story...
Sam Mwaka-karama
‘Athi River Murder’ – became a first rate Ugandan crime detective story exhaustively followed and reported by DRUM magazines for years in the 1960s and 70s - long after the criminals had either been apprehended, vanished or for others melted away with their trail running cold every year that elapsed.
The drama had unfolded at Lugogo Indoors Stadium – the night was light and somewhat cool as it often was in Kampala evenings, the night sky favourably clear and star spangled up there; a huge tropical moon slightly past overhead noon point.  As the guests packed in, security was normal. There was an air of political anticipation; then President Obote had just few years earlier successfully abrogated the independence constitution, made his ‘Nakivubo Pronouncement’ as the build-up on his ‘Move to the Left’ political philosophy.
 Lugogo was one such political philosophy build-up event - there that night Dr. Obote was set to unfurl his next dictum what would begin to piece together the complex steps towards mapping-out his political philosophy – and the visualized build-up of the ideology [move to the left] - next door in Tanzania then President Julius Nyerere, equally worked-up the Tanzanian people with his “Ujamah” African socialism political mobilization Ideology – already the fire-brand was talking about ushering a transformation. While at the same time then Kenyan President Jomo Kenyatta united the Kenyan people under his ‘fly-whisk’ political ideology of ‘’pull-together’’ in his long characteristic call –‘’ Harambee’’. To foreign observers and African watchers the East African region looked very-much set for a major change.
That night in Lugogo as Obote was set to make another major pronouncement, a group of the Kabaka’s Buganda loyalist die hard; following the crisis of 1966 that saw the exit of Kabaka Mutesa II into exile in Britain – the loyalists were determined to end President Obote’s life – though the old Police systems had already gotten wind of the loyalists arrangements, they had been several steps behind and, actually very late!
The ‘assassin’ moved easily and freely among the mostly security un-conscious VIP and eminent guests, and dressed in a popular Kitenge design with the Presidents head centred on his Kitenge shirt; just like so many chanting praise animatedly, Kyeyune eventually picking his moment approached and actually fired! The rest is a well known police story – in Uganda history.
For the detectives, headed by Indian Hassan Sundrani, and going by the book as it were - they were said to have been closing on the trail of the suspect group a long time, Kyeyune just freaked them out; because he was the ‘dummy’ - he was the most unlikely of the group that included names like John Obo (1965/6 Army dismissed mutineer Captain), and some of Katwe’s toughies the detectives trailed all the time. It was in the dying eleventh hour of the ‘Lugogo take’ – that Hassan’s detectives got the name and identity of ‘the man with the golden gun’, from a Suzana Night Club prostitute – now they knew the ‘dummy’ was the assassin; but where was he? The last minute race began then...
In the blinding stampede that followed Kyeyune’s shot – the assassin aided by his back-up [who suddenly crushed and demolished their way through the scampering mass of falling entanglement of bodies] rode on the back of the stampede-crowd and falling VIPs and hysterical everybody and Kyeyune  was out of the focal point perimeter in barely seconds. Huge throngs of people burst out of the gates, in minutes a whole lot of them wearing that Obote Kitenge, spilling onto that stretch down towards Lugogo by pass – where those detectives later theorized that the most likely route where the getaway car probably waited for the assassin action team.
 Other theories said the action group might have fled [along with the huge crowd of dancing groups from the Naguru community, who had been the mobilized welcome cultural group entertaining Guests outside the indoor stadium] running on foot across the Lugogo by-pass and onto what used to be open rugby ground and probably boarded the getaway car someplace near the Delinquent kids’ home close to the old Naguru housing estates flats. And the convoy of perhaps three or more cars drove through the night in sturdy Datsun 1600 SSS - to Kenya border. Kyeyune, the man who nearly killed President Obote disappeared into Kenya. It was rumoured among the junior detectives that a top Kenyan political criminal who went by the fake name of Mark twist might have master minded the Obote assassination attempt – however the many-many investigative articles written in the Drum magazine for several years after, never actually associated Mark Twist to the Lugogo event.
Emancipation of Uganda Police
Kampala was in turmoil after that fateful night – though Obote was out of danger, and was healthy enough to live many more years after the hurting of that assassin’s bullet; the challenges fell squarely on the shoulders of the Police; to find and bring to justice all involved accountably. The Scotland Yard landed investigators to aid the Ugandan detectives structure the group identikit and, begin tracking them down...
Since the UPC and KY political alliance had collapsed and come to an end – with the Kabaka of Buganda having much earlier fled into exile in Britain. And, Dr. Milton Obote assuming position of Executive President thus making Uganda a Republic by abrogating the Independence Constitution – the Buganda loyalists of the Kabaka had pledged a bullet on Obote’s head... and that was delivered by Kyeyune that night... the drums resounded throughout Buganda as the people were hysterical that actually President Obote had miraculously survived.
The now really heated President bared  down on the AG, DPP and IGP and the three  powerful officers pretty-much roughed-up Commissioner Hassan the CID Chief – who quickly delivered a report that the assassination group had fled to Kenya and, he needed clearances to cross a detective team into Kenya. Obote was a powerful East African President and, a friend to his East African peers – Hassan’s team was in Kenya in no time at all.
While in Uganda in the period following the Lugogo incidence, a spate of violent robberies broke-out as the loyalists raised cash for the exiled assassination group now living in Kenya... the robbery money used by the group in their settlement in Kenya was to dramatically make things doubly difficult for the detectives holed-up in Nairobi.
The team comprised high ranking action oriented detectives included a group of Police Women accompanied by top prostitutes who knew the assassin group well and had divulged a lot of their plan and contacts in Kenya. Rampant arrests back in Kampala had set the loyalists fleeing, and even as the core assassination group secured houses where they lived in posh areas of Nairobi – the detectives never the less closed-in and found outer periphery members, but not the core group till one prostitute found the men and, was lured into some meandering randes vous that eventually ended in the cat and mouse where the women were murdered in Athi River – the night the assassins drove to Mombasa, where they barricaded themselves for years later.
‘Ă„thi River Murder’ – hit the headlines all over East Africa and beyond – for the core group of the assassins, that was the desired thing, something as big as the shot in Lugogo – would get the detectives off their backs at least for a while... and as the group went underground in Mombasa, the team of detectives pulled-out with the bodies of the dead women. It would take sometimes for the re-org and given the political weight of the whole matter, it eventually became an indefinite thing. Uganda detectives kept the thin line alive though and, many others were periodically picked.
In the final analysis the blockbuster as punitively nibbled out by DRUM and other magazines and newspapers actually eventually spelt-out the emancipation of the Uganda Police – highlighting standards exhibited in the field of crime detection for which Uganda was more often internationally considered as performing fairly well. ‘Athi River Murder’ is on the very top of Uganda Police detective achievements to date – as it was foundational. Assassin Kyeyune was reputed to have materialized during the Amin era a free man with a business in Kampala – was the paradox! ***