Guards tie up Amin, force him into car as regime collapses

On April 11, 1979 when his government was overthrown, dad was still at Munyonyo in the vicinity of Kampala.

During that broadcast, it was formally announced that Yusuf Lule had become the new president of the Republic of Uganda. A provisional government was announced and Ugandans were told that elections would be held “as soon as possible.”

Significantly, Uganda’s radio station had called itself “Radio Uganda” rather than the “Uganda Broadcasting Corporation” as it was known in dad’s era. As the then BBC Nairobi Editor for monitoring Tom Heaton recalls, “This gave us a clue as to what to watch out for on the Soroti external frequency.”

At 10 O’clock the same night, the home service of Radio Uganda closed down but 35 minutes later, the external service shortwave frequency broadcasting from Soroti suddenly announced, “Dear listeners: this is the external service of Uganda Broadcasting Corporation...”
At 10:41pm, there came another segment of broadcasting. There were two voices - one male and unknown, the other, a low soft baritone bass familiar to Ugandans, the international community, and especially weary diplomats for eight long years. That voice was dad’s and the broadcast segment went like this:
Voice one: “Hello!”
Voice two: “Are you ready?”
Voice one: “Yes, we are ready, please, Your Excellency.”
Then voice two again: “I, President Idi Amin Dada of the Republic of Uganda, I would like to denounce the announcement made by Lt. Col. Oyite-Ojok, the so-called chief-of-staff, that my government has been overthrown and they have formed their rebellion government in Uganda…” It was now clear that dad was in Soroti, broadcasting on his sophisticated electronic equipment that he had frequently used on his upcountry tours. Dad gave a second version of his speech from Soroti in Kiswahili but it was the largely ineffective defiance of a desperate leader, now deposed.

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On the day dad was toppled, there were “celebrations”, “celebrations” and more “celebrations” reminiscent of the ones that occurred when he took over power from Apollo Milton Obote in 1971.

There were also rampant killings of people labelled as dad’s henchmen - the sometimes-unfair reference to anybody associated to dad by tribe, religion and region of origin, including people who did not benefit from dad’s rule in Uganda. These scenes replayed themselves over and over again.

On April 12, 1979, when dad passed through Lira and Gulu in northern Uganda, he was still intent on hanging onto power. However, it was only a dream at this time. Nonetheless, he continued his feeble attempts to hang on.

On April 13, 1979,while still broadcasting from the relay station in Soroti in Teso area and later still, on the Gilgili Radio Station at Arua probably on a recorded tape, dad was still telling Ugandans that he was their President. However, deep down, he knew that he had been had.

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One of dad’s associates on the entourage Mzee Kivumbi was able to give a blow by blow account of their movements between April 10, 1979 and April 23, 1979 when they arrived in Arua.
Kivumbi was a signaler in the presidential security.
According to him, there were several attempts to block, capture and even kill dad as he made his way back home through eastern Uganda.

This ranged from heavy fighting in Teso to trees being felled onto the roads in Lango land to block his convoy from passing through and dramatic an incident in Gulu when it all could have ended.

Apparently, the so-called “Luo militias” had risen up, realising that the nation had changed hands but dad passed through all hostile territory without being hurt and experiencing some of the fiction included in the book and film about him titled Rise and Fall of Idi Amin.

A harrowing incident which showed both dad’s bravery and ability to calm agitated soldiers happened in Gulu when an artillery gunman spotted the fast moving presidential convoy, levelled his artillery towards the oncoming convoy and then gave the conventional “Holuko” - HALT!
Then the soldier started to harangue his commander-in-chief.
“All the officers have left. We are only soldiers and NCOs. Now you Affende are leaving? Better we die here and now rather than leave you to pass”[sic].

According to him, telling me in a hushed tone, dad got out of the E200 Series Mercedes Coupe and strode towards the 3,000 plus remnants of his fighting force and pointed at the daring soldier in reply.
“Here is a soldier. If I had 20 or more like him, we could not be defeated,” he told them.

These few words made the soldier bow his head, with tears in his eyes, having realised that he had confronted the commander-in-chief. But the words also turned the tide into sympathy from a hostile 3,000 strong battle weary troops, his last fighting force.

“Where are the field commanders?” dad asked the soldiers.
“They all headed for Arua” they answered.
“Soldiers, let me go and try and convince them to return to the battle field,” interjected dad.

“We also need reinforcements from Libya and Gulu and Arua Airfield are still in our hands. We will check whether Nakasongola is still in our hands. Kenya has blocked our fuel supply. The only way out is through the Sudan and Libya,” he explained.
They let them proceed to Arua. It was a close shave!