{UAH} Uganda history 1975-85

Ugandan history: The 1975 – 1985 decade
By Raymond Byabazaire

The years 1975 to 1985 were an interesting and most eventful decade, in Uganda. Notably, we had six different governments (or at least six different heads of government), in a period of just ten years.

While this article will not delve into politics, it recognizes the influence of politics on the cultural, economic and social life of Ugandans during in that time.

1975 was a year with big promises. Towards the end of 1974, while addressing staff of UTV (Uganda Television) at their Nakasero offices (the area now occupied by the AYA/Hilton Hotel), President Amin confidently assured his listeners that by July the following year, the time the OAU (Organization of African Unity) heads of States' Summit would be held in Kampala, Uganda would have colour television.

For most people born in the 1980s and after, this sounds so mundane, but when you consider that in the mid 1970s, no African country (not even South Africa) had colour television except, somewhat surprisingly, Zanzibar. UTV staff couldn't laugh or snigger – not with Idi Amin standing right in front of them. The most they could do was look at each with blank faces.

With the help of money from his Arab friends and German television engineers, Amin did fulfill his promise and in July 1975, Uganda became the second African country, first on the continent's mainland, to have colour television.

Colour TV was, indeed, a big feat and the few who had colour TV sets experienced total transformation of TV viewing. At school, Kitante Primary School, the few kids who had them at home, would tell us how dark or fair-skinned this or that TV presenter was, what colour this or that flashy car was, etc.

However, because most of UTV's library was old (1950s and 1960s) American and British films, TV dramas and documentaries, most programmes remained black & white.

TV in the 1970s also reminds one of a unique, but now when we recall it, very funny feature. The economy had deteriorated very badly.

Our factories were at minimum or nil production and imports were very few. Purchasing power was therefore very low, so the few companies or individuals who produced or imported products, saw no need to advertise.

Our one TV station, UTV, opened for just five hours of the day (‪6pm to 11pm‬) did not run any adverts. A result was that when American programmes would run, they would be set to break after 15 or 20 minutes for adverts (commercials). So, in the middle of your lovely programme, there would be this break and big notice on the screen saying "PLACE COMMERCIAL HERE".

It took me quite a while to understand what that meant. At the tender age of 11 to 12, the word "commercial" was not yet in my vocabulary. It couldn't be because I'd never seen any commercials on TV anyway.

The shortfalls of our TV service aside, Uganda's broadcasting institution (radio and TV) had quite an interesting and often inspiring cast of people.

George Johnson Kibajjo (Radio Uganda and UTV) read the news with a refreshing near-British accent and so did his namesake George Bisoborwa. Robbie Wood Omal and David Byabazaire gave English news reading a younger, more vibrant touch.

There were colourful "programme announcers" like Shami Kenkwanzi and the former Miss Uganda, Charlotte Ssali.

Ddamulira Christopher (Radio Uganda and UTV) read the Luganda news with that colourful aura that seems to have inspired today's Wamala Balunabba of 88.2 CBS FM. Ddamulira's style contrasted with Danny Kyazze (Radio Uganda and UTV), who came across as rather stern but still captivating.

In an effort to appease many of his friends here and abroad, we had news in English, Luganda, Swahili, French and Arabic. It was quite taxing for the impatience of young and other fun-seeking viewers to have to sit through the entire string of news casts, before something lighter came on. I remember consoling my younger brother that the French news "Les Information" meant "less information", so it would be over soon.

The entertainment side of UTV had talented people like Jimmy Dean (host of various arts & society programmes), talent show hosts James Bwogi and Frank Muleera (the current Daily Monitor columnist, Muniini Muleera), sports presenter Mike Ssali Ssebalu, David Musoke (host of various discussion programmes including "Brain Trust") and Wanzama Piro (host of the Q&A quiz programme, "Who, What & Where").

By far the biggest entertainer was Dan Zirimmenya, better known as Kyeswa, who appeared in various dramas. They were mainly comedies, but with subtle social commentary (marriage, relationships, the harsh economic reality, and so on). The most popular dramas (sitcoms of the time) were "Lwaki Baavu", "Lozio Bba Cecilia", "Obwaavu Musolo" and a major theatre plays like "Oluyimba Lwa Wankoko" and "Amakula Ga Kulabako".

As nearby schools – Kitante, Nakasero and Norman Godhino – we got invited to a lot of children's programmes and got to personally meet all these TV stars. It was quite exciting getting to talk to them and noting that they were very much like they were on the screen as in private.

By 1975, the economy was on a downward slide. "Essential commodities" (as was the term, back then – sugar, salt, cooking oil, soap, bread, butter/margarine, milk) defied the term "essential" and became luxuries.

There was the Foods and Beverages government-owned company that indeed stocked most of these items (along with the odd macaroni, cheese and even chocolate) but purchase was by selection or rather, "allocation". Not everyone was permitted to buy.

You had to have chit from someone "upstairs" to get those rare goodies.

Somehow, sweets were still available in shops, so people would buy, pound them into pulp, and pour into their tea. The taste was some cross between cough syrup and dilute honey, but still a better option than sugar-less tea (what Banyoro/Batooro call "ekikanga barwaire" (literally – shocks the sick). Some people would slice sugarcane into small chips (much like today's street vendors do), pour them into saucepans of water, pour tea or coffee over it, boil it and that was 1970s African tea for you.

The lack of basic consumer items, somehow, did not badly affect social life. In Kampala and upcountry, people still held birthday parties, weddings, etc.

Party organizers would endeavor to provide at least soft drinks. The most common soft drinks were Masaba and Schweppes that had a similar taste in bottles a little smaller than today's soda bottle – about 250 ml.

A few upscale parties had beers, mostly in bottles known as "Civic" – a greenish/bluish bottle about 350 ml. In the absence of decorations, some used tissue paper to spread around the halls, there was certainly no champagne, so a soda bottle had to be shaken well at that "special" moment.

The nickname "Civic" came from the motor vehicle, the Honda Civic. Along with Honda Accord, these two cars were both status symbols and fashion statements. Many car owners still drove European cars such as Benz, Fiat, BMW, Ford but a new group of "Mafuta Mingi" had come along and were now stamping their presence on society.

It wasn't only the Mafuta Mingi (new rich) who drove the shiny Honda cars. The government tried to appease new young professionals – doctors, lawyers, university dons with various things – rent-free houses, grocery allocations and yes, even cars. Many professionals drove Honda Accord and Civic.

In the late 1970s (beginning around 1977), because of the Brazilian coffee frost, world coffee prices sky-rocketed. Coffee was now selling at about $4,000 per tonne. As Africa's biggest exporter, Uganda experienced a boom of sorts.

Shops began to fill up with essentials again, coffee traders both legal (the government's Coffee Marketing Board) and illegal (smugglers) made big sales. Smugglers sold mainly via porous border areas of eastern Uganda.

The people with some extra, disposable cash were wary of exposing themselves – especially to state agents and other people they feared as threats to their wealth.

While some bold people still frequented bars and ordered everything they intended to drink in one go, for fear of stocks running out (thus the term "Okuddugaz'emmeeza", darkening the table), others opted to drink in private homes, converted unofficially to bars.

The beer would be stacked under beds, on which patrons would sit as they drank and gossiped. It would not be easy for an intruder or any other uninvited person to know that this was a bar, not a private party.

This drinking culture became known as "Ogw'ebitanda" (beer under beds), or simply "Bitanda". Because the environment was usually cramped, the Bitanda trend later led to "Obufunda" (drinking in small crowded shops that served as grocery stores during the day and bars, at night).

Life in the rural areas was a lot more different from urban life, than it is, today. While today about 85 percent rural Uganda does not have electricity, in the 1970s, I'd say about 95% of rural Ugandans went by with paraffin lamps, wax candles and of course, fire wood cooking.

During my school holidays in Masindi, it was easy to notice the stark differences in the well-being of Kampala dwellers (clothing, health, hygiene, access to information, education) in comparison to our rural relatives.

With no electricity, people relied on battery-powered radios for news and entertainment. Because dry cells were both expensive and scarce, most people used their radios for only news and death announcements.

A few people played music (greetings programs) for one or two hours at most, turned off the radio and went to their plantations or for crude alcohol. The batteries were given a slightly longer life, by placing them out in the sun.

On weekend nights, because of the quiet all around (no electricity, so no noise from TVs, radios, disco halls or Premier league football shacks), we could clearly listen to the Artillery Regiment (the military barracks in Masindi) jazz band playing at Masindi Hotel, even though the hotel (in Masindi Town) is about 11 kilometres from our home!

Because most rural people, then, especially the elderly, did not travel much beyond their villages and at most, the district towns, I noticed there was a lot of mistrust about people from other parts of the country. I remember my Grandfather finding it strange that most of my friends were not Banyoro.

When we would come home for the holidays, most people would greet us like we had come from a foreign country and when going back to Kampala, there was this traditional ceremony like, say, someone traveling overseas for the first time!

Essential commodities, of course, were scarce, but a good thing this country had and still has, is good soil and rain, so food was always in plenty.

The coffee boom was reflected at higher levels, too. As mentioned earlier, brand new Hondas were imported. In 1977-78, other cars were added to that list – Datsun 160B and 200L, Benzes and most notable of all, the FIAT Mirafiori. The most common colour of this car, in Uganda, was yellow. It was comfortable, spacious, fuel-efficient and pleasant to look at.

Mirafiori could be seen a lot at most of Kampala's night spots. The most popular discotheque in Kampala (for teens and young adults) was the Chez Joseph Club, on Kimathi Avenue, run by "Muzungu George" (nicknamed for his light hue).

Chez brought together mainly the educated elite and their children. Of course security personnel too were always there.

Now, there was TV, cinema, record players and cassette decks, and then along came the VHS (Video House System). This was the precursor of today's DVD, where sound and vision were compacted into one mega-tape (about 20 x 12 x 2 cm in dimension).

The first technology was the betamax tape. Slightly smaller than the latter version, it came to Uganda for the first time (in a handful of homes) around early 1977.

For today's young generation, it is hard to imagine what kind of novelty a video tape and deck were, back in the late 1970s, but try to imagine how the whole ceremony of preparing to go to the cinema – pleading with parents for some money, pulling out those well kept jeans, sprucing yourself up and then trekking to the cinema, had now been conveniently zipped into one tape and a deck (about 2-3 times as thick as today's DVD player), that you could sit down and watch for free, all afternoon.

This pricey equipment was, of course, not for everyone. When they first came to town, video equipment was strictly for the president, ministers and other top government officials. By the early 1980s, several more people had acquired them, but still a tiny minority.

People who owned video equipment held court, so to speak. "Veediyo" was a true status symbol. "Come home and you'll see it on my video" or "I'll lend you the video" would, today, be the equivalent of, say, "I watched Beyonce live in New York, last month"!

Those of us who didn't own veediyo in those early days, would put aside a whole day or half day of a weekend to go watch music or movie videos at wealthy friends or relatives' homes.

Relatives and friends visiting from, especially, England also held court with tape recordings of FM radio music programs. BBC personalities like Greg Edwards, Helen Mayhew and Tony Blackburn, were favourite voices that blared on tapes that played at parties and even discotheques.

Can you imagine any DJ at Ange Noir or Club Silk even contemplating playing some poorly recorded tape from "outside countries" in his disco?

Compact cassette tapes, too, were status symbols. With music originally from a vinyl disc and turntable, another tape (with new, 1981-82, technology) or simply from a radio, the lovable tape (or "compact") was most convenient. You could slip it into your pocket, go to a friend's home or a party and be part of the DJ's stock.

The C-60 (the most common and convenient) played for 60 minutes, the C-90, 90 minutes and the very rare C-120 (2 hours). Owners of C-120 tapes had a justifiable aura of self-importance.

They were rare and expensive – not many manufacturers made them. The leading manufacturer (in terms of tape quality) was TDK, followed by Maxell, then Sony.

You could record songs, wipe them off and record new songs. They had problems, too. With time, they'd get dusty would expand (from heat), so they'd get stuck in the machines and even snap. Having a tape of your favourite collection break while playing and then having to pull it our carefully, so you could repair it with cello tape, was true labour of love!

A music-vending company by the name SSEGICO, with an outlet on Luwum Street in the early 1980s, sought to remedy "compact" woes.

They would select songs carefully, based on genres and tempos or particular artists. Clients were not permitted to make selections (it would be a drag on SSEGICO's work time – "We choose for you" – the DJs would say).

Their tapes were numbered and lists pinned on the walls, so when you'd walk into the shop you'd simply say "No:74", pay and take your tape. That suited very many people and made good money for SSEGICO (notwithstanding the grand piracy) but also, many choosy people never bought SSEGICO tapes.

The change in lives of Ugandans in a few short months (late 1978 to early/mid 1979) was quite drastic. Amin was ousted, shops were looted, the country was unstable and the economy (that was slowly picking up, in 1977/78) went back to catastrophic. We went back to allocations sugar, salt, edible oil, etc, through the new local councils (Mayumba Kumi – 10 cell units).

A decade of both peace and turbulence, economic stagnation, total decline and then some level of growth, a time of fast-changing tastes and social standards, a period where Uganda saw more changes (violently so) of governments (five different heads of government) than all the other years of Uganda's Independence, put together, is what 1975 to 1985 was.

It is a time that brought out the people's resilience, determination to survive and even prosper, under conditions (political, social and economic) that they had never experienced before.

Many of us had taken for granted that life was as it should be, but in later years (1986 onwards) even in their modest gains, we cannot help but look at, say, mobile phones and what they do for us, computers/email/Internet.

Remember how when a letter arrived from a friend or relative "in outside" countries, it was the talk of the week, when a relative in Europe or Kenya sent a tin of Nescafe and the depleted tin remained glistening in the cupboard, a year later, keeping memories of the rare taste.

I'd say people who were around in 1975-1985, young or old, appreciate the very different circumstances today, much more than the younger people.

Sent from Gook's iPhone

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