{UAH} Pojim/WBK: Uganda: Untold Story of the Failed 1969 Obote Assassination

http://allafrica.com/stories/200110090074.html

By Charles Onyango-Obbo

On the evening of October 9, 1962, Mohamed Sebaduka stood with his wife among the crowd at Kololo Airstrip to watch Uganda gain independence from British rule. The Union was lowered down slowly, and up went the new Ugandan flag at an equal pace.

The instruments of power from the British to the Uganda were read and handed out. A new dawn was here.

Sebaduka was 26 years old then. He was carrying his son. Though his son was a little boy and couldn't understand what was going on, Sebaduka wanted him to witness "with his own eyes" the historic event. His wife was carrying their second child. Sebaduka looked at the new prime minister Milton Obote up on the dais. He didn't like the man, and thought he didn't have the experience to lead the country. Seated near Obote was Kabaka Freddie Mutesa. He was an educated king and bore himself with the aloof regality that was his trademark. Sebaduka thought perhaps the king would have done better as the country's leader.

Suddenly Sebaduka sensed that all this was going to end up badly for the country. He felt an urge to walk up the dais, grab the instruments that had been handed to Obote and were lying on a table, and tear them. He turned and asked his wife to hold the baby, telling her he had to go and do something. She looked at him and asked what urgent matter had turned up so abruptly, and complained that she couldn't carry two children in the crowd. Sebaduka paused, changed his mind, and stayed.

******

It took another seven years before Sebaduka met Obote face to face.

It was December 18, 1969, about 10:00pm. Obote had been addressing the annual delegates conference of the ruling Uganda People Congress at Lugogo Indoor Stadium. As he emerged from the hall, with the delegates chanting his praises, he moved about four metres from the entrance. The area outside was brightly lit. In the parking lot opposite the place where the present offices of the National Council are housed, the Police Band was playing a theme song of the ruling Uganda Peoples Congress (UPC).

There were several security men and party supporters outside. Nearly everyone was dressed in UPC shirts.

To Obote's left hand side near a flower garden stood a man in a UPC shirt. His name was Mubiru. He pushed his hands in his pockets and clutched a heavy object. It was a Chinese-made grenade.

Obote and his entourage passed him and took a few steps until they came to a cypress tree on their left. There was another man standing there less than five feet away. It was Sebaduka. He reached under his belt and quickly whipped out a semi-automatic pistol. He aimed at Obote's head, and pulled the trigger

*******

Thirty-two years later, I sit opposite Sebaduka at Speke Hotel. I order black coffee, toasted bread, and baked beans. He orders tea with milk, toasted bread, butter and jam.

"How old were you in 1969," he asks.

"Eleven years," I reply.

"You were still a baby then," he chuckles.

There have been hundreds of stories written about the attempted assassination of Obote. Sebaduka has never spoken to a journalist about it.

He was telling his side of the story to a journalist for the first time. Writing about that fateful December 18, 1969, night at Lugogo, Drum magazine wrote; "It could have been the most audacious assassination in modern Africa."

For the next three hours, and several days after Sebaduka told me one of the most incredible stories I have recorded in my 21 years of journalism.

We traveled around Buganda trying to find some of his co-plotters with only one success. It is a tale of high stakes bravery, vintage intrigue, betrayal, hair-raising brushes with death, and miraculous escapes.

*Continues tomorrow

Moses Ocen Nekyon

Democracy is two Wolves and a Lamb voting on what to have for lunch. Liberty is a well-armed Lamb disputing the results.

Benjamin Franklin

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