By Muhammed A Mukasa
The Rotten Head: A Political Autopsy of Lwemiyaga County. A Crucible of Neglect and Political Failure. A Landscape Forged by Political Manipulation.
Introduction: A County Born of Intrigue.
Lwemiyaga County is located in Ssembabule District. Historically, Lwemiyaga was not a county, contrary to what Uganda’s political demigods would have us believe.
The original county was Ntuusi. Lwemiyaga was merely a sub-county within Ntuusi County, Masaka District.
Due to the political machinations and neopatrimony rampant across Uganda, the area was elevated to a county, and Ssembabule—once a sub-district of Masaka—was promoted to a full district.
The most disturbing act of these neocolonialists was not naming the district Mawogola, but instead naming it Ssembabule.
Historically, Ssembabule was a single village within Mawogola County.Today, the roles are absurdly reversed: Mawogola has been reduced to a mere county within Ssembabule District.
Now, it appears Uganda’s masters of patrimony are preparing to elevate Lwemiyaga into a full district, just as they did with the neighbouring Kazo County.This is the backdrop of political manipulation against which Lwemiyaga’s struggles are set.
The Landscape of Neglect: A Model of Poverty and Underdevelopment.
Lwemiyaga is a model of poverty and underdevelopment. The quality of life was significantly better in the 1960s and 1970s than it is today.
Sixty-three years after independence, it remains a dusty rural settlement devoid of modern amenities.
There are no hospitals, no quality schools, not a single factory, and no tangible public service to indicate that this place is part of a modern, stable republic.
Lwemiyaga resembles a region in war-torn and neglected countries like Somalia or the Central African Republic. It would not be a lie to suggest that Uganda has its own versions of Bokassa, Siad Barre, and Mobutu.
Lwemiyaga is the Jacob’s Island of Uganda, as described by Charles Dickens in Oliver Twist.
From Ntuusi to Lumegere, Makoole to Lubaale, Kasunga to Makukuulu, Kawanda to Kavumbula, and Lwesankala—suffering and poverty are visible and widespread.
This is the tangible reality for the people, a direct consequence of the systemic failure outlined in the ancient adage: a fish rots from the head. We in Lwemiyaga are captives of a system that serves only a select few residents.
The Politics of Deceit and the Captive Mind.
The profound irony, symptomatic of a captured and colonised mind, is that these poor people consistently reject electing a poor man from among themselves, instead choosing a rich man who is utterly detached from their reality.
It is mind-boggling that the poor harbour disdain for their own. What can one expect from the rich and detached apart from continued exploitation and displays of wealth?
The rich drive fuel-guzzling vehicles on potholed roads, seek private medical care in Kampala or abroad, and have never queued at a local, medicine-starved clinic.
What can they offer beyond collecting fat salaries and allowances in a bloated parliament?
This recalls the first NRC parliamentary elections under President Museveni. The people of Lwemiyaga rejected their poor neighbour, Charles Karoli, and elected Dr. Higiro Semajege, a virtual stranger to the county.
Their reason? Karoli was poor—an outdated, colonial-era rationale.
The core problem in Lwemiyaga is easily diagnosed. It is this detached political class that lies to the masses, feigning concern while seeking only their own economic survival.
They grow fat on large salaries while their constituents wallow in poverty. To win elections, they engineer bitter rivalries, dragging the masses into their rhetorical wars—conflicts that sometimes result in death and injury.
The residents gain nothing from this except the elevation of an individual who disappears until the next election cycle, when the cycle of deceit begins anew.
This intrigue is wrong. It is a deceit that perpetuates sectarianism and underdevelopment. Our people want services and easy access to public amenities, not political games.
Rwashande: A Symbol of the Systemic Rot.
The candidacy of Rwashande is a symptom of this decay. He is not a figure of the future but a relic of a divisive past. He is a product, catalyst, and driver of the very sectarianism that holds Uganda back.
He represents the setting sun on an era of corruption, neocolonialism, greed, and patrimony. As a stooge for those who seek to turn our nation into a monarchy for the well-connected, he symbolises a failed state that abandons the promise of an inclusive, united, and prosperous Uganda.
What new vision can he possibly bring to national development that he failed to deliver during his long tenure as a decorated military officer?
His drive for a parliamentary seat is not born of public service, but of greed and a desire for more. He is old; he has retired from the army. Why not enjoy his retirement instead of engaging in the divisive and corrupt politics that have crippled our progress?
His record offers no hope for Lwemiyaga. As a member of the NRM’s inner circle, he has done nothing to develop our constituency. He will not build the schools, hospitals, clinics, or roads we desperately need. Instead, he operates with impunity, misusing public resources and deploying the army and police to fight his sectarian political wars.
The killing of Ssembusi by his guards—a crime for which no one was held accountable—is a textbook example of the impunity he represents.
I cannot say for certain if he is the snake that the seer Kakara Kashagama Kamango Katongira ka Rukunyu prophesied.
But the warning is chillingly relevant: a corrupt snake (Sheesha Emibazi) would emerge from this region, one that would bite and kill the youth with impunity. Rwashande’s actions—orchestrating and controlling sham NRM primaries where even nine-month-old children were paraded as voters—make him a fitting candidate for this ominous description.
The National Disease and a Path to Service.
The situation in Lwemiyaga is a microcosm of a national disease. It is not the greed of one man, but a greed that is prevalent from the top down.
The rot spreads from the head throughout the entire body. The decay in Lwemiyaga, as in all of Uganda, cannot be blamed solely on individuals like Ssekikubo; they are merely representatives and catalysts of a systemic failure.
A poignant example comes from Minister Kahinda Otafiire in a viral video. He posed a philosophical question: Can Uganda, given its GDP and population, afford a parliament nearly the size of the United Kingdom’s when its GDP is only 1% of the UK’s? Otafiire was correct.
This is the norm across poor African nations.
While a parliamentarian’s primary role is representation, in a country where public services are absent, the MP must extend a helping hand.
They must act to provide essential services. The late NUP’s Ssegiranya is a prime example; he established a clinic in his Kawempe constituency, making healthcare accessible to the poor.
If this is possible in Kampala, why not in Lwemiyaga? Each MP receives over 200 million Ugandan Shillings at the start of their term to purchase a vehicle. What happens to the vehicle bought just four years earlier? This “free” money could be ploughed back into the constituency.
Genuine representation is not about speeches or political warfare; it is about service delivery and compassion.
Prophecy and Conclusion: A Choice Between Anarchy and Service.
From the impoverished landscape of Lwemiyaga rises Kazzoba or Kazooba hill. It was here that the seer Kakara Kashagama Kamango Katongira ka Rukunyu stood and foresaw the counties of Karo Karungi, Butaka, and Bwera.
He announced that the nation would be on the cusp of a steep decline. Then, the Lord Almighty would send a tall, slender, bearded, poor, and fearless black (Rwozi) man to prevent the country from falling into an abyss.
Robert Ssentamu Kyagulanyi bears some of these attributes, though I cannot state with certainty that he is the prophesied figure.
In conclusion, I state unequivocally: if you were to handcuff me, place a gun to my head, and force me to choose between Ssekikubo, Rwashande, or a calabash, I would vote for the calabash.
It is a symbol of peace, serenity, and service. At the very least, it can fetch water for the thirsty—a more tangible service than anything offered by these symbols of greed and anarchy.
Let this serve as a robust warning. Before the corrupt Chwezi dynasty collapsed at Bigo Bya Mugenyi in Ntuusi, the seer Kakara told them their day of reckoning was near.
It arrived, and their rule crumbled, as all corrupt dynasties must. History’s echo is clear. To stop the rot and reinstate pro-poor policies, the entire system must change from the top down. The day of reckoning comes for all who follow this path.
Mukasa123456@outlook.com
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