Police chief Gen. Kale Kayihura barks at a policeman standing guard outside the door leading into the press room at the Media Center. “Wewe Afande, una akili kweli?! Your instructions are to check everybody, regardless of who they are. Even me? What if I am carrying a bomb?!!”
The hapless man hastily drops his salute as the police chief glares at him and strides into the room packed with journalists who will relay the latest on the security situation. This is a special press conference.
It is the day after that horrific incident. When bombs exploded in Kampala, killing 76 people who were enjoying a night out.
Uganda was in shock and rightly so. Everywhere, askaris, gatemen, bartenders, police officers, bus conductors, shop owners - even public toilet “operators”- were jolted into action. They had been sleeping on the job and the time had come for them to be seen to be working.
They dug into every bag, overturning its contents with no regard for delicate items.
They frisked and patted down every human being making an entry into any establishment.
They pinched women’s breasts to make sure they hadn’t padded their bras with cotton wool.
They asked all the unnecessary questions- “Eh, so you are going to see the boss? For what? Where are you coming from? Why is your ID about to expire?”
They searched the car boots, glove compartments, under the sun visor, everything under and over.
The toilet operators asked “Oyagala kipapula kya mmeka? Lwaki?
Woe betide you if were passing outside a police station and stopped to tie your shoelaces.
The taxi parks downtown were a nightmare, the bus parks were even worse. Nga they checked us! At the market, at the mall, at the taxi park. The time had come for them to feel important as they "secured" their country.
Fast forward to 2016. The askari greets me with smile. She is eating her lunch from a plastic lunch-box under the reception counter at the gate. She does not leave her chair. In between munches, she asks me where I’m going. I can see the counter book where other visitors have signed, and the Nice pen tied with a string to something under the counter so that it is not stolen. I tell her where I’m going and she waves in the direction of the office. Go to the First Floor. Then she flashes another smile and I’m off.
So, what has happened five years later? Have we forgotten the events of that day? Are we not aware that danger is lurking everywhere? Why do we only act when something terrible happens? Why don’t we give a damn about that black bag that has been lying under that chair for several days? Why the need to ensure that THAT pen at the reception should be protected from the hands of a stranger, but then its okay for me to walk into a building unchecked?
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