Beth Mawumbe: The accidental revolutionary arrested for protecting Museveni

Beth Mawumbe was a simple primary school teacher, wife and mother who found herself a fugitive and an unwelcome guest to former friends. On Monday January 22, 1973, she welcomed a group of students to House 49 in Maluku Estates in Eastern Uganda’s Mbale town where she lived with her husband, ideology teacher and businessman Jack Mawumbe Mukwana. This was another one of the many meetings that the students had held as part of a group that was undergoing ideological classes under the instruction of Dan Wadada Nabudeere. She recounts how one Monday evening, changed her life and cast a dark cloud on Mbale town for months to come. 

“It was a Monday evening because I had just returned from school where I was teaching. Back then we left work by 4:00pm so I got home around 5pm since it took me between 30 minutes to an hour to reach my place. As I was settling, in I heard a car park outside the house. Coming out of the car were three young men, regular visitors to our house. As I welcomed them, one of them, who was fond of me confided to me that they were very hungry and asked me to prepare them tea. This was one of the regulars, Yoweri Museveni. The other two were Martin Mwesiga and Wuku Kazimoto.  

My husband was not yet home, so I told the young Museveni that I had no charcoal with which to boil water for tea. He gave me Shs20 and asked me to buy charcoal as well as snacks. Shs20 was a lot of money then. 

On my way to the shops, I noticed some soldiers talking to my brother-in-law who occupied another house. I felt I should let my visitors know that there were some soldiers in the estate asking questions. We, however, did not take it seriously, thinking it was a routine operation. As I stepped out of the house again, I noticed that the soldiers were walking towards our house and I went back inside. Their leader whom I could tell was a sergeant because of the red ceremonial belt he wore across his chest, knocked and I opened the door. 

When I came out he asked who owned the car (a black Volkswagen) that was parked outside. I told him we had some visitors who had come to see my husband. He asked that the visitors come out of the house and had them to identify themselves. When they told him they were students, he asked who owned the car they were driving. At this point, speaking Swahili, he ordered them to kneel down. 

Two of them knelt except Museveni who ran away, forcing the sergeant to order one of his soldiers to chase after him. Gunshots were heard in the direction where Museveni had run and shortly after the solider who had gone in pursuit came back holding his bleeding arm and told the commander that the other person who had taken off was an enemy and had a gun. 

The sergeant then ordered for the immediate execution of the two who were kneeling down. As they were being shot, the realization that my life was in danger hit me. All this while, I was standing in the doorway holding the Shs20 meant to buy charcoal, I immediately took to my heels, running as fast as my feet could carry me towards Maluku Primary School. 

As I looked for where to hide, I remembered that I had left my babies at home. Also in the house was a relative, Patrick Namatiti, who had come to Mbale town to wait for a bus to Kampala where he was meant to connect to Kako Secondary School in Masaka to begin his Senior One. I later went to Busamaga where my sister, who is now deceased, lived and she hid me in a cave in Budwale. There was a notice out for my arrest and a ransom over my head. Having got wind of the melee in Mbale, President Amin ordered for the arrest and immediate execution of the occupants of House 49, who he had branded as rebels. 

Days later, my father, then Butta Sub- County chief, set in motion a plan to smuggle me out of the country. As I hid in Budwale, I kept getting wind of the continued search for me and my husband. Meanwhile my sister assured me that my babies were safe. She told me that on the day of the shooting, the soldiers had later argued about whether to kill the babies or not. One of them convinced the rest that there was no need to shed the blood of innocent children because of the sins of their parents. 

The elder of the children was asked who they knew around the area and he led them to my sister’s house. My sister then took them to my parents in Butta, Nalondo. 

At that time, there was a lot of chaos in Mbale as soldiers mounted road blocks, beat up people and randomly executed others. After about a week in the cave in Budwale, my father sent a group of youth who escorted me towards the Kenyan border. We then got to Namutembi in Bubulo, I assured my escorts that I was safe since I had grown up and studied in the area. 

In Namutembi I went to hide at my paternal aunt’s house for several days, not even her husband knew I was there. Her name was Julaina Mandu, she is the grandmother of Robert Kabushenga (CEO Vision Group). While hiding, I avoided eating because then that would mean needing to answer nature’s call. So I stuck to taking tea. Several people dropped by the house to ask if she had seen me around. The area chairperson once came and told her he was told there was a young woman that had been seen around the place. However, my aunt always responded with the same answer that the last she had heard I had been killed by Amin soldiers in Mbale. 

After several days at Aunt’s house my father picked me, having arranged that my brother who worked with Tororo Cement would smuggle me across the border during his night shifts at the factory. After five days at my brother’s house, he finally got the nightshift; I took care to hide my face and we rode on his bicycle to Tororo Railway Station. He could not tell them what was going on so he put up with his workmates jokes that he was eloping with a young girl. 

The journey up the steep Tororo hills to the railway station was not easy and many times I considered giving up but my brother pushed me on. At Tororo Railway Station my brother booked me a ticket to Kitare in Kenya where my grandfather lived. It was in Kitare where for the first time in weeks, I felt a semblance of peace of mind since I did not have to look over my shoulder all the time. However, as time went by the presence of a young woman from Uganda began to draw the attention of several men who approached my grandfather asking for my hand in marriage. 

At this stage I was gripped with the fear of drawing attention of Amin spies who were dotted everywhere in Kenya. Also the thought of my children back in Uganda became unbearable with time. I told my grandfather that it was no longer safe for me as well as him and his family who were hosting me. He too was worried so we agreed that I should relocate. He organized for my travel back to Uganda and on February 10, 1973, I took the 4:00pm train back to Tororo where I took a bus to Nyangole and my grandmother’s place. When she saw me she started weeping unable to believe I was still alive. I did not stay long at her place, leaving for Bugobero on a bus. While on the bus, I learned that there had been lots of killings in Mbale by the Amin soldiers who were still on the hunt for the rebels. 

As fate would have it, a cousin who was also a soldier was on the same bus and he immediately recognized.  He advised me that the best way for me to stay alive was surrender to the police. He argued that Amin and his soldiers were very lenient on women and that I should say I had not ran but rather had returned home to an empty house.  

Upon arrival at Nalondo Butta, I found my mother and two step mothers at home. My stepmothers, in alarm, whisked away their children in fear since it was known that I was a persona non grata in my own father’s home and in my own country. 

At 4:00am the next morning I left home escorted by my mother. On the way, we met a man carrying a basket full of chicken which was surprising to see someone that early carrying such luggage. However, my mother had warned me not to speak lest I am recognized. As day broke, my mother broke into tears in fear of what awaited me ahead and we parted. Even if I did not believe it myself, I encouraged her to be strong, assuring her that I would return safely. 

I took a long lonely and cold walk hoping to catch a Uganda Transport Company Bus to Mbale. When I reached Mulazzi, my mother’s village, some relatives recognized me however, when they called out I ignored them and they brushed it off as mere resemblance. In Mufungu the bus came and being a Sunday, there were few people on board. 

When we arrived in Mbale, as I pondered my next move, I went to a friend’s home to borrow a dress because the one I had on was short sleeved and it was a very cold day. On seeing me, this friend with whom I had been very close in school, told her children to run away and begged me to leave her home. She quickly gave me a dress and asked that I leave. She was one of the humane ones; others refused to help while others were even willing to hand me over to the soldiers. 

My father once again helped hide me. He also informed me that soldiers had found guns in the Volkswagen that Museveni and his companions had left at our Maluku House. The fear was that if I handed myself to the army, the soldiers would kill me and claim the ransom in form of ranks. 

I mastered the courage and walked to Mbale Central Police Station where I told the policemen who I was and that the whole time since the fateful day I had been at Uhuru Park looking for my children. I told them that I had no idea where my husband was. I was interrogated about the visitors who had been at House 49. 

The police officers, sympathetic as they were about my plight, contacted the army at Bugema barracks in Mbale, near Maluku who immediately sent a troop of soldiers to pick me up. When the soldiers got to Mbale police station, they walked right passed me expecting a big powerful woman instead of the diminutive one sitting behind the police counter. 

After a brief interrogation, I was taken to Bugema. However, the commander of the soldiers turned out to be my Old Boy at Nabumali High, called Obonyo. When I narrated my ordeal to Obonyo, he was lenient. Also while at Bugema I met Simon, who, I was told was the soldier who had pleaded for the life of my children. 

The next morning on Monday I was further interrogated and on Wednesday was put on a truck, packed with soldiers to take me to Makindye. As we travelled, I asked the soldiers whether Amin was going to kill me. We reached Kampala at about 6pm and I was taken to Impala House where I was held in a holding room in the go-down (basement). At midday the following day, I was taken to Makindye. 

While at Makindye, my father, together with the father of Masete Kuya (freedom fighter) were also brought into holding with us. 

The women were given one of the holding rooms while the men occupied the rest of the rooms. Later my brother-in-law John Kanyaya and Wilson Wephukulu were also brought in. During the time my father was being held, all he did was pray. 

We survived on biscuits provided by the soldiers. We always stayed away from the water because the soldiers laced it with insecticide with the intention of killing the prisoners. At Makindye, the women were made to clean up the holding cells. In cleaning we had to collect faeces off the floor with our bare hands and put them in the then dysfunctional toilets. Because the toilets did not flush, we were ordered to mix the faeces with our hands until they became watery so that they would go through the pipes. Until today, when I look at my two hands I wish that I could ask God to take them off as I recall the things I was made to do with them.

Also on a daily basis, a lorry brought between 20-30 people, who were killed in a room adjacent to the holding cell as we watched. The soldiers would make the prisoners kneel, and using a big stick would hit prisoners on the head, their brain matter would splatter onto the walls and ceiling and then the women prisoners were ordered to clean up the stains before inspection the next morning. 

My menstruation saved me from being raped by the soldiers. Since there were no sanitary materials in the cell, I let the blood floor onto my legs and that way the soldiers looked at me as a dirty woman that none wanted to touch. The month I spent in the holding cell, I only got to see the sun once when a wife of one of the soldiers was giving birth and there was no medical person around. Being a teacher the soldiers believed I could help and that was the only time I got to get out of the cell. 

A mugisu soldier at Makindye pleaded for the release of my father, my brother-in-law Kanyaya and Wephukulu. Later, a group of Bagisu soldiers appealed to their commanders saying since I was an educated woman, holding me in prison with no case was denying the country an opportunity. They argued that since I had been educated on state resources, I should return and serve the country. 

At the end of March and early days of April, I was taken before the administrator of Makindye Military barracks and given a caution. I was asked if I had any relative in government service and my cousin Joshua Mabonga, who was a forest officer was called to witness my release. Mabonga was told to take custody of me until my husband and Museveni were apprehended. 

True to the word of my cousin who I had met on the bus from Tororo Railway station, I was tortured but not killed. He had assured me that the only way of ending my suffering was to hand myself to the police, arguing that Amin soldiers seldom killed women. I have never since then met my cousin again.