The day began with the usual hum of an election, a tentative normalcy that quickly dissolved into chaos for the journalists of the Nation Media Group (NMG), tasked with covering the Kawempe North by-election.
Hasifah Nanvuma, her Spark TV microphone poised, sought the voices of the people in Kazo Angola. Her focus was on the silent voters, the absentees. But the story shifted violently when UPDF patrol vehicles descended, arresting political figures and anyone in their path. “They jumped out with whips,” she recounted, her voice still trembling. “They came straight at me.” Her camera, her tool of truth, was smashed. She escaped, a fugitive in her own community, discarding her press badge and jacket, a desperate act of self-preservation. “I hid in a toilet,” she whispered, the indignity of the moment etched in her memory.
David Ijjo, filming the FDC flag bearer, saw the glint of black wire cables in the hands of UPDF soldiers. A premonition of violence sent him scrambling to warn his colleagues, but it was too late. “They shouted to arrest whoever is wearing press,” he said, his voice tight. Journalists were dragged towards waiting drones, beaten with wires, their cameras ripped from their hands.
David Walugembe, lacking protective gear, sought refuge in an NTV car. From his vantage point, he witnessed the brutality unfold, masked security personnel wielding batons and guns, sparing no journalist. “No journalist was spared,” he repeated, the phrase a chilling testament.
Noeline Nabukenya, initially observing a calm scene disrupted by faulty biometric machines, saw the tide turn with the arrest of Kayemba Solo. “I was beaten up,” she said, her voice flat, “cameras damaged by a person who appeared to be a security officer in plain clothes.” Then came the coordinated attacks, journalists hijacked, their equipment destroyed, and their bodies thrown into white drones.
Vicent Lusambya, initially stationed at Homisdallen Primary School, sensed the danger as he moved towards Kawempe-Mbogo Primary School. Removing his press jacket, he sought updates, only to learn of the brutalization of his colleagues. The branded media vehicle, once a symbol of his profession, now felt like a target. He sought anonymity on a boda-boda, fleeing to the relative safety of the Serena duty station.
Barbra Anyait, witnessing the army’s sudden descent upon civilians, sought refuge in a shop, the owner offering a temporary sanctuary. “They started beating people who were standing along the roadside,” she recalled, her voice laced with fear.
Geoffrey Mutumba, deployed to Kawempe Mbogo, saw the calm shatter as armed vehicles and security personnel on motorcycles descended upon the journalists. “We had to run to our vehicles,” he said, the urgency still palpable.
Abubaker Lubowa, the photographer, painted a harrowing picture of captivity. “They made us sit down, blindfolded us, and started beating us with batons and guns,” he recounted, his voice thick with emotion. “They destroyed our cameras, stole our shoes, watches, destroyed our phones.” The drone, a metal cage of terror, became a symbol of their ordeal. “They are using acts of cowardice,” he declared, his voice a defiant whisper.
Raymond Tamale, beaten and thrown into a drone, recited the rosary, a desperate plea for survival. “They made us count from one to 13,” he said, his voice trembling, “and as you are counting, they hit a baton on your head.”
Denis Kabugo, the camera person, tried to run, but was caught, subjected to the same brutal treatment. “The beatings in the drone were too much,” he said, his voice strained. “They kept saying Tamale and my colleagues have big bodies so we can handle the pain.”
Jennifer Kabaale, arriving at Kazo Angola to rescue Nanvuma, found a scene of terror. “We realized that things had become tense and journalists were scared,” she recounted. “Then we saw men in UPDF uniform coming towards us and we ran for safety.” She was saved by a shopkeeper, a silent witness to the brutality, offering refuge from the storm.
Their stories, fragments of a single, horrifying narrative, painted a stark picture of the Kawempe North by-election – not as a democratic exercise, but as a day of fear, violence, and the silencing of truth.
For more related news