Opposition NUP party supporter David Mafaabi, aka Daudi wa Bobi, narrated his life in jail and why he is still psychologically tortured. PHOTO/MICHEAL KAKUMI
David Mafaabi, alias Daudi wa Bobi, is another NUP party supporter who was convicted of treachery and unlawful possession of ammunition, but was grated the presidential pardon on November 22. He revisits his ordeal during abduction, in jail and why he confessed to gain freedom.
My nightmare broke with the morning of May 28, 2021. My aunt called me to meet her at home in Mukono.
I did not hesitate because she sounded desperate, and I suspected she had an emergency.
But on arrival, I saw a strange car and five people, all in civilian clothes. One of them called out my name and I responded warmly.
But his next words were brief and precise. “You’re done,’’ he said. They had kidnapped my aunt to get me and once I landed in their hands, they released her.
They quickly gagged me, pulled off my shirt and vest and blindfolded me.
One of them said they had spent a lot of money tracking me and warned that I would pay for $16,000 dollars used.
The officers who arrested me accused me of being a terrorist. But my only close involvement in politics was being the driver of a NUP party councillor, Robert Christopher.
Life in safe house
I then spent 11 days in a safe house in handcuffs, both through the day and night.
All 9 of us in the same safe house were slapped with the same charges. But in the last four days, 32 more detainees joined us on the same charges.
In the safe house, I was pushed into a tiny space under the stairs. While I could not move, I could hear most of the activities going in corridors, with some people wailing in pain.
My first severe beatings and kicks were in the car. It was so severe I knew they would kill me. So I said my last prayers.
I pleaded with them not to throw my body in the bush but in an open place so that it could be easily identified.
I can say the food in safe houses is better than that in prisons. But one can never enjoy it because one is under pressure and worrying about what will happen next.
They prepare good posho, meat, and beans but one cannot enjoy it since one is alone, with no appetite, and worried about likely hazardous substances in the food.
But the personnel in safe houses were rude. They were always angry during interrogation and wanted us to confess to every charge they cooked up against us.
When I fell ill, they administered treatment without any testing or diagnosis.
On June 8, we were finally taken to the military court on charges of treason. But after one year in prison, four of the abductees were bailed out, leaving 28 on the same charges. Prison life
Prison life is never comparable to life out here. First, one cannot exercise one's rights. The only right you remain with is easing yourself and interacting with your inmates.
The rest of the things are all done under order, for instance, eating. Whether one has the appetite or not, one has to eat forcefully.
Living in prison is like one is blindfolded. One cannot see anything happening outside and cannot even tell what follows next. We have been in prison thinking it is still the same world we left out here, but everything has changed.
Our children have grown, and our women have borne more babies. My wife has got married and has delivered for another man because she feared I would not become free again.
And when she met me after being released, she told me she didn’t expect me to be ‘freed and I accepted her decision’.
We returned and could not go back to our old homes. Some people forgot about us, and some could no longer recognise us.
People in prison are treated terribly in terms of feeding and sleeping facilities.
Sometimes we run out of water for a week. Imagine 3,000 people doing without water for seven days.
As we headed to the army court, we were tucked under the chairs of the police pick-up trucks and could not see where we were headed.
But once in court, we were charged with making explosives and burning people’s cars.
I then saw myself wasting away in detention after the court denied us bail.
We had Honourable Ssenyonyi, the general secretary Lewis Rubongoya and some of our relatives as sureties but the judge kept on saying they were not substantial.
So, we gave plea-bargaining a chance, but our lawyers told us it is not a good decision to accept such a grave charge of treason. But we looked back, assessed our situations, and saw we had spent a long time in prison.
Four years is not a short period. We had lost everything, and everyone had gotten tired of visiting us.
The pain, both physical and psychological, weighed heavily on us. Those who had died in prison traumatised us. Dying in prison is totally different from dying outside there.
People would die and the officers would sound a whistle, and we rush inside, and they move out with the bodies.
Why confess
Personally, no one promised me anything to confess because I did not make any agreement with anyone. But my confession was triggered by overbearing pain and torture. We got the cue from the first three people to accept, and we also rode on their example.
After enduring months of torture and uncertainty, Mafabi expresses his deep dissatisfaction with the government’s actions during his abduction and long imprisonment.
He calls for accountability, highlighting the violation of his rights and the inhumane treatment he endured.
“I demand accountability for the unjust abduction and prolonged imprisonment. We were denied our basic human rights and were subjected to inhumane and degrading treatment.”
Past regimes
During the abductions, many critics drew parallels of the current regime to the past regimes of Amin and Obote, where the army and security outfits that operated through loose command structures wielded immense powers and by impulse determined the fate of hundreds kidnapped.
Amin era decree Owing to the heightened disappearance of civilians especially those real and perceived opponents of the Amin regime, during the Amin era, there was a decree passed in 1974 called the Missing Persons Decree which made provisions for the time frame within which a person woulD be declared missing and therefore all efforts would cease to establish the whereabouts of that person.
That decree was repealed and there is no legal framework for any person who goes missing. And Just like the previous chapters of anarchy and bloodshed, events, which are captured in the preamble of Uganda’s 1995 Constitution, history keeps repeating itself.
Compiled by Sylvia Namagembe, Maria Jacinta Kannyange & David Walugembe
