Radio Uganda and history through Sempiri’s eyes

“I am apolitical and I have never belonged to a political party,” JC Sserwadda Sempiri says as he shows us around his crude biogas facility. He walks with an erect stature, with short precise steps, his head held high.

“But being a radio broadcaster, I could not ignore the things happening around me.”
His eyes light up behind thick glasses when he remembers the hopes he had as a student at Uganda’s independence in 1962.

“We looked forward to taking over from the British in the civil service. The educated were few and in high demand. If you had a Cambridge certificate, which is an equivalent of UCE, employers would fight for you.”

Sempiri had taught for a year at Fellowship High School in Kampala, before he joined Makerere University in 1960 to study Business Administration.

Joining Radio Uganda
“In November 1964, I was living in Namungoona and I witnessed riots for the first time, after the referendum. Baganda were angry at the results and started rioting in Nakulabye. When the soldiers came; one of the people killed was Byron Kawadwa’s father, who was a tailor.”

According to A. Kasozi, Nakanyike Musisi, James Mukooza Sejjengo in their book Social Origins of Violence in Uganda, 1964-1985, the lost counties of Buyaga and Bugangaizi had been a contentious point by the time the Munster Report of 1961 recommended that a referendum be held.

Tension between UPC and Kabaka Yekka (KY) members increased in Parliament when a referendum bill was introduced in August 1964.

Sempiri says, “A truck with students from St Mary’s College Kisubi collided with an army truck as they returned from a football match. In my opinion, it was a deliberate accident orchestrated by the army. At least twelve students died.” Some people put this number at 14.

The riots quieted down after a few days and life went on, despite the political ramblings. In 1965, Sempiri joined Radio Uganda as a programme organiser, assigned to the Luganda section.

Even now, he still fondly remembers the camaraderie at the studio, where everyone cared about the wellbeing of others. He was the only graduate among his colleagues, and life was vibrant. Until 1966.

State of emergency
In early 1966, Milton Obote had moved to consolidate his position as the de-facto number one in the country. On 24 May, he moved against the Mengo establishment. The resulting battle left many dead. A state of emergency was declared.
Sempiri had been assigned to read the news on the Blue Channel. Because of the riots and killings he had walked from Namungoona to the studios in Nakasero.

“The editor had slotted an announcement among the news items. Signed by Prime Minister Obote, it was a curfew order starting from 6pm to 6am.” The news was to be read live at 8pm.
“I read the announcement but my mind was on the journey back. The studio cars did not have a curfew permit. We were transported in a military car.”

In Nakulabye, there were no street lights and soldiers stopped the car in the middle of the road. Their instructions were to drive in well-lit places. In the dark and lonely street, they offloaded Sempiri at 2am.

“Holding my rosary, I began to pray as I walked to Lubigi. I reached home safely.”

At this point, Sempiri takes time off to educate me on the merits of trusting in Mother Mary. She has a special place on the crowded wall in his living room, among family photographs.

Although there was heightened tension in Kampala, Sempiri got married on August 12, 1967. They settled in their home in Makindye.

1971 coup
By the time Amin came to power, Sempiri had been promoted to duty officer.

“On January 24, 1971, I had picked my sick brother from Nakaseke. By the time he was admitted in Rubaga Hospital, it was 1am. I had to be at the station by 5am to sort out the day’s programmes.”

He woke at 6.15 am. Terrified, he put on the radio to hear what filler had been slotted in. It was tourism music.

“I grabbed shoes and a flask and entered the car. My wife was talking about bullets but I did not hear a thing.”

As he drove out, a thick fog descended on Kampala and he could not see beyond his windscreen.
“I drove slowly and at clock tower, the fog lifted. I noted that the streets were empty but my thoughts were on the studio.”

On Entebbe Road, a woman shouted at him, “Mukulu, gyolaga nga bibi!” (literally translated as Boss, the situation is bad in that direction), as she ran in the opposite direction. He ignored her.

“As I was turning into Parliament Avenue, I came across 20 soldiers armed to the teeth. I stopped and lifted my hands. My foot was still on the accelerator. The soldier signalled a circle with his hand.”

Sempiri drove wildly until he encountered more soldiers at Parliament. He thought President Obote was going to make a speech. Why else would there be soldiers on the streets? After the same signal he drove on.

At the crested towers roundabout, the soldier made the same sign.

“As I was accelerating, I heard him cock his gun. It came like a sound from very far off. It dawned on me that the signal they were giving me meant that I should turn back. I saw him in the review mirror, taking aim.”

Sempiri turned his car round and sped past the National Theatre. At Kibuye Police Station, he slowed down and turned into the home of a colleague, Engineer Jaberi Katongole.

“He had the BBC on. That is when I got to know there had been a coup. I got on the phone and called the permanent secretary in the ministry of information, Michael Emojong. I began apologising but he interrupted me, saying the music on radio was from the Bugolobi transmitter. He instructed me to go and switch it off.”

After his near death encounter, Sempiri ignored the instructions and instead drove home.
The next day, the broadcaster drove back to work. The streets were overflowing with celebrants.

“A friend brought out his old Bedford and immediately people jumped onto it, carrying effigies of Obote. They were so many, that the lorry eventually overturned. Luckily, no one died. I was happy that we were rid of Obote.”
However, it was not all glory. Sempiri does not want to talk about relatives killed during the regime.

“There were a few good times. I was walking to work, in the rain, on Christmas Day in 1975 and near the Golf Club, permanent secretary, Keshi Nyakimwe drove past.”

Recognising him, he reversed and when Sempiri explained that his car was grounded, Nyakimwe told him to pass by his office.

“He gave me a chit authorising me to buy a car atShs60,000. I gave the chit to a woman who owned a Mazda, and she bought the new car and gave me her used one, with a balance of Shs10,000.”

When the scarcities began to pinch, people took to lining up for commodities and Sempiri remembers standing in line with Archbishop Janan Luwum for half a bar of soap. Luwum had the grace to chat with those in line.

1979 war
As the Tanzanians approached Kampala, Sempiri’s wife drove his family to Nakaseke, and hiked a lift from soldiers to Wandegeya.

It was dejavu again. The broadcaster who had, by then, shifted from Namungoona, walked from Wandegeya to Kamwokya where he was living. Save for the fresh bodies that littered the ground, the streets were empty.

Shells were coming from Old Mulago hospital and they had cleared the entire street. That night, Sempiri slept in the attic.

“I spent two days in the attic. The third morning dawned quietly. There was no shelling. I looked out at an empty street. Before long, bicycles started going past at a high speed, followed by motorcycles, then cars.

They were piled “I climbed down and went to the road, where I learnt that Kampala had fallen to the Tanzanian Army and Ugandan rebel fighters. I did not participate in the looting because I come from the Mpologoma (Lion) clan. We do not take leftovers.”

He admits that he took a kilo of sugar from a neighbour who had looted sacks of sugar and salt. After two years without drinking sugared tea, the temptation was too great.

A day after the liberation, Sempiri found Robert Ssebunya, the information minister in the Uganda National Liberation Front (UNLF) government, standing outside the studio.

“I had walked to work and at the Lugogo Bypass, people were striping dead bodies. The soldier’s bodies had new underwear which was quite surprising.”

According to Sempiri, with Ssebunya, they tried to use the radio to popularise Yusuf Lule’s presidency.
“It was basically a mop-up operation. We did not air the insecurity and killings that continued. We told them everything was under control.”

Within less than three months, he was popularising Godfrey Binaisa’s presidency.

Out of work
Towards the 1980 elections, the minister of information, David Anyoti, instructed Sempiri to give all political parties an equal platform on the radio. Secretly, however, he insisted prominence should be given to UPC.

“That was the most stressful time of my life. I had to balance the UPC coverage with the other political parties, which almost got no coverage at all. When Paulo Muwanga announced that he was the only one mandated to announce the results, I sensed trouble.”

Indeed, the next day, Anyoti fired him. He remained in the government house, though, and still received his salary. The money was not enough to take care of his family so he went into magendo (black market) selling beer, plastics, and conduit pipes on the black market.

“Once, near the crematorium on Jinja road, I passed a bullet-riddled Mercedes as I was coming from Luzira where I got my goods from. I stopped and saw the body of my former schoolmate lying in the front seat.”

Hurriedly, he returned to his truck. It was 11am. On Acacia Avenue (now John Babiiha Avenue), he saw a roadblock and stopped the car a few meters away. Doing a quick mental calculation, he swung into a side road. The soldiers opened fire.
“I survived, somehow. But out of their range, I got a splitting headache and I almost failed to drive. The sudden relief was too much for me to bear.”

After 1985
When the Okellos ousted Obote, the next day Wilson Wanyama, permanent secretary in the ministry of information called Sempiri back to work.

“I found the studio in shambles. I had started a library, and bought an Encyclopedia Britannica, periodicals, and pronouncing dictionaries. Pages had been torn out of the encyclopedia. I felt like crying.”

Immediately he was made acting director of broadcasting and confirmed in 1988.
During his tenure Sempira sat on the board that hired the likes of late Bbale Francis, Mukalazi Kyobe, Israel Kigozi, Raphailina Nakabuubi, and Sulaiman Madada (current minister of State for the Elderly and Disability). ). All of them have gone on to make names for themselves in the broadcast industry.

In 1990, at 55, Sempiri retired from the civil service. His monthly salary was less than Shs10,000.

Out of broadcasting
Sempiri has 11 acres of land on which he grows eucalyptus for sell.
“I rear pigs and grow food. I am the secretary in my clan and an executive secretary in the club of Mary Teresa Ledochowska.”

None of his children followed him into broadcasting because of the poor pay.

Sempiri says that in this day of shock and alarm, he can only listen and wonder. The former head of training at the school of journalism (now UMI) says, “I understand it’s about the money but in my day, I could not allow some things to air on radio. Can you imagine herbalists advertising themselves? Some presenters have murdered the Luganda language, and some of the proverbs they air are just lewd sayings.”