
The Female Admission Ward, closest to the kitchen, was the last to be served during this year’s cookout. Volunteers had prepared a finger-licking menu of pilau, matooke, peanut paste, chapatti, sausages, and more, sourced from generous donors.
“Many families abandon their loved ones here,” noted Gerry Opoka, Soul Foundation’s founder. “But we try to fill that gap by sharing love and hope.”
This year, challenges included a shortage of delivery vehicles and an unexpected increase in patients—180 instead of the planned 108. Yet, the volunteers rose to the occasion, ensuring everyone received a meal, even if it meant making extra trips to the kitchen.
For Robert Gonahasa, one of the pioneer chefs, “the smiles and blessings from the patients make every challenge worth it.”
A standout moment came when a patient nicknamed "Pastor" led a heartfelt prayer before her ward was served. She shared her story of resilience and faith, reciting scriptures with a Bible in one hand and recalling her journey through faiths and hardships.
Despite initial shortages, the team managed to serve everyone, with some patients returning for seconds. Nurses like Ruth, ever-smiling despite the chaos, were key to making the day a success.
The event ended with a celebratory dinner for the staff and volunteers. Gerry reminded everyone why Butabika was chosen: “It’s a place society often avoids, but here, we bring hope where it’s needed most.”
The Crisis
“We had planned for 108 patients here, but it turned out this ward is home to more than 180. Phew!” nurse Ruth said. Countless green dresses were queuing, others craning their necks through the windows, on seeing this finger-licking mini-buffet: pilau, matooke, beef stew, and peanut paste. There were also beef and chicken sausages from Ranchers Finest, chicken from Ugachik, chapatti from the wheat by Mandela Millers, and soda by Coca-Cola.
However, we did not have enough. “What do we do?” I whispered to Mercy, who was fiddling with the little beef and chicken. “We just need more food, otherwise tuwedde,” she said.
I called Geraldine Opoka, aka Gerry, the Soul Foundation founder, and the other coordinators, but they missed my calls. I dashed to the kitchen, about 50 meters away. Chicken, beef, and matooke were no more. But I got more than enough pilau, chapatti, and sausages. Chef Gonahasa, one of the pioneers of this cookout, and two volunteers helped me carry the food by hand.
You should have seen the smiles that greeted us—and the relief on the nurses’ and my teammates’ faces. We became more frugal with the meat and chicken, ensuring everyone got a piece of either.
Pastor’s Encounter
I was washing my face when a tall, middle-aged woman in a green dress and blue sandals quickly sensed I was performing ablution. “Swahaba, are you going for prayers?” she asked, with a smile and a firm look that demanded attention.
We chatted like old friends. Her conversation was so coherent, you might wonder why she was in Butabika. She claimed to be the daughter of a renowned ex-minister and recited one of the most powerful chapters in the Quran while holding a Bible.
Born Anglican, she converted to Islam after marrying a Muslim man and later became born-again. She said all three of her children, who live in Canada, have Muslim names. “But you look young,” I flattered her.
“But I’m 46. I just age gracefully. Yesu y’abikola,” she said, though she blamed her mental woes on born-agains. With her Bible, she preaches across the campus, earning her the nickname “Pastor.” Before we served meals in her ward, she gladly led the prayer.
Bonus round
Initially, there was a shortage of food. Over an hour later, we had plenty of chapatti, rice, and sausages left. We served again, this time randomly. Patients gathered around the table or remained on their beds near the windows, repeatedly asking, “Swahaba...mpa ku chapatti. Nange...Nange.”
Some patients hid their plates in their chests as though they had received nothing. This time, the nurses simply smiled. “I have never seen this in Butabika,” Pastor said. She had been admitted just 10 days earlier. “They do it every year,” a long-term patient informed her.
“Thank you, people,” others and the nurses said. “God bless you.” Pastor and a younger patient helped carry the empty troughs back to the kitchen, saying, “God’s going to reward you abundantly.”

Preparations and challenges
It rained heavily on Friday, December 6, but volunteers showed up in larger numbers than in previous years. Some even spent the night preparing matooke.
The kitchen buzzed with activity, even sparking a bout of laughter when a preteen boy asked, “Why do onions sting the eyes?” Music from a boombox kept spirits high despite a power outage. Two buckets of blended tomatoes were needed, and Gerry and Nabila found a staff member willing to provide access to a generator-powered room.
Rev. Dismas Bwesigye of St. Luke’s Chapel Butabika returned after missing 2023, engaging the youth with lively talks on relationships. Pamela’s aromatic tea added warmth to the chilly day.
Touring the Facility
Before serving meals, we toured the facility. This being my third visit, I knew all 13 wards and their purposes. Gerry’s mental health talk was insightful, emphasizing that the real issue is not the mental illness itself but the triggers—divorce, rejection, abuse, financial woes, and more.
She recounted stories of women admitted while pregnant and assured us they were allowed to breastfeed. “The problem is in the head, not the breasts,” she explained.

But why Butabika?
Gerry has shared this story countless times. Once in 2017, she took a few members of her Zumba Dance class to Butabika. They ran a free dance class for three years until Covid-19 locked up the world.
People could not believe the lively pictures and few videos Gerry and her team shared. How could these presumably dangerous or deranged people even understand what was happening around them? They wondered.
"Why Butabika?" they often asked.
"Why not Butabika?" Gerry often retorted, of course with some soul-searching.
“But I said ‘God needed me here.’"
Every visit to Butabika made Gerry’s and friends’ hearts fonder of a place and people many would badly want to avoid.
Built in 1955 for only 500 inpatients, Butabika consistently hosts at least 1,000 inpatients, no wonder many have no beds.
It is the only facility that admits a patient without family support. No caretaker, no food, no clothes, no money.
Gerry is emotional about friends and families dumping and abandoning their people in Butabika.
“Here's the challenge, though,” she said. “As soon as the patients start on their medicines, their heads start to clear and they need the familiar face of family. They recognise what they had become and fear they may have damaged relations for good.”
They need reassurance, yet their people are enjoying a break.

Many times patients borrow her phone to call home. “When the person on the other side realises who is calling, their tone immediately changes. And quickly hangs up.”
Imagine that pain of rejection. Yet they just needed someone to tell them ‘it's Okay.’ That they are still loved, regardless.
So Gerry would explain why their families may be keeping a distance. For example, their little knowledge about mental unwellness.
“I'd see a glimmer of hope, but wondered: how do I give this hope to more than 1000 others?”
The idea of giving whenever possible was born. And, the rest is history.