Mr Sharif Matovu. PHOTO | MICHAEL KAKUMIRIZI
I was only 17 years old, a little boy, when they arrested me four years ago.
Life was looking bright. I was a boda boda rider and a carpenter at Bweyogerere, near the Nelson Mandela National Stadium in Wakiso District.
During the 2021 General Election, we did some brisk business. The boda boda cyclists at our stage were each given Shs40,000 by some politicians to drive voters to the polling stations.
It was surely our busy season, but this was soon turned upside down.
Trouble struck in May, on a date I don’t remember now.
On the fateful day, three of us, mutual friends, stepped out to a bar near our home. But we were ambushed only metres away from our houses as we returned.
The men who seemed to be security officers, ordered us to lie down. They then picked up two other neighbors from their homes but asked their wives to stay behind.
On reaching the roadside, the men drew hoods over our heads and pushed us under the seats of their pick-up trucks as they lashed us and they sped around the city for some three hours.
Shifting safe houses
We ended up at Bweyogerere Police Station.
After some 15 minutes, they started interrogating us. One of them asked: “You want to overthrow him, are you the ones who brought him to power?”
We got curious and asked them who they were referring to, to which they sharply responded: “You mean you don’t know what we are saying?”
They then set upon us, beating us with electric wires. They then pushed us back into their pick truck as they beat us more and asked the same questions to which we said we knew nothing.
I had never joined any group during the 2021 elections.
We were then driven to the Chieftaincy of Military Intelligence (CMI) headquarters, formerly Wembley in Mbuya, where we were accused of demonstration and destruction of property.
Our interrogators accused us of being part of all the attackers who had burnt down property at Nakulabye and Kireka in Kampala, and in places as far away as Mbale, Jinja, and Masaka.
But I knew nothing about their claims and I had never been there and I didn’t know even the direction to those places. I had also never been in any demonstrations because I spend most of my time at my workplace.
We were then driven back to Kireka Police Station where the officers there got scared and vacated the room, leaving it to us and our abductors. We sat down with our hoods still on as they asked more questions.
We then headed to a safe house in Bukoto where we were again beaten and asked more questions about our plans for the National Unity Platform (NUP) party. They also asked who Robert Kyagulanyi, better known as Bobi Wine, was talking to in Rwanda.
They also asked what he had offered to us to be loyally doing all the things we have accomplished for him. We said we just love him and our NUP political affiliation that we support.
We were then badly tortured after these answers, with our hands swollen and left with cane marks and scars. We left the safe house after 14 days largely disabled with grievous injuries.
On May 25, 2021, we staged a strike and stopped eating food. We demanded that we be produced in courts of law.
The following day they brought the notorious Toyota Hiace van popularly called drone and known for spates of kidnaps across the country. They took our pictures, picked some of us, who had recorded statements, and drove straight to the Makindye-based army court.
It was my first time in the court and we were remanded to Kitalya prison, charged with illegal possession of explosives and firearms.
Hazards in Kitalya
Kitalya prison proved worse than the other places we had been detained in. All the prison wardens didn’t like us. We endured discrimination, poor feeding, and all manner of mistreatment.
They could smash maize cobs with their corn and on mingling it turns into a block-like substance. Then the beans would hardly be washed, salt added, and boiled for sauce of the day.
By the time one arrives to be served, the bread is already a paste-like meal since the maize corn is pounded as well, and on top of the food sit maggots, but one has to eat.
We almost died. At some point, we got very ill and on being taken to the hospital, no disease or infection was detected. But all we were given were appetite tablets.
Whenever one got ill, the warders would beat us the most, claiming one was only pretending.
The conditions became worse and I almost lost my. But some inmates died due to such conditions. Even if one had money at that time, it could not help one buy anything.
One mattress could be shared by up to six of us and our skins peeled off like those of snakes.
We demanded to meet the prison's top bosses to address the situation but those who complained about the food ended up in the cell.
Despite the beatings we received for the complaints, we insisted until a slight change was effected.
We spent another six months before returning to court and the court hearings took two years.
During our two years of court appearance, they added another charge.
We had asked for bail for the first case but were denied. We then applied for the second time and even brought our sureties.
On the day of the hearing, the judge said our sureties weren’t qualified. They then released only four people, claiming the rest of us didn't qualify.
The following day, we returned to court and the government prosecutor argued he had made a wrong complaint against us and wanted to change the complaint to a treason charge.
I fainted because I felt so hopeless, thinking of the people I left at home, my mum and relatives that I was taking care of.
Our lawyers tried to win our freedom, but all in vain and we returned to Kitalya prison.
They really tried so hard, it is just that our courts are not truthful and worst of it all, it was a military court, not civilian.
Seeking freedom
By the start of 2022, some people, through Rashid Ssegujja, started reaching out to us and pressing us to accept the charges. Ssegujja would say he was part of us.
But I heard he was in touch with those arresting some NUP supporters.
He used to get these visitors at least twice a week and on each occasion he would tell us to accept the charges to be released.
But since we got released, he has never shown up again, not even here at the NUP party headquarters.
In 2023, other big people came but I did not know them. They also told us to accept their charges, If not, we would rot in jail just like those in Dr Besigye’s cases, with some imprisoned as far back as 2011 and 2016.
They told us we would grow old in prison. This was sickening. My mother was ill and I was her entire support system. She came to prison three times and I stopped her because she had got very skinny with stress and cried endlessly.
This was worsening my mental health as well.
Every time we went to court, they would pick some of our colleagues, take them to talk to some officials to convince us to accept the charges, serve four months, and get released.
We were promised money, cars, and houses, but we have not seen or received any of them.
But my only aim was to be free again and meet my people because according to the people. This forced us to use any opportunity available even if it meant accepting the trumped-up charges.
Life after prison
Life has really changed since my release.
I returned to nothing, with my two motorcycles seized. The loan company said they could not wait for four years and gave them out.
My other property was taken by my brother and he says all were stolen.
Most of my house equipment are no more.
Matovu also reflects on the injustice he endured and asserts that true fairness will never be achieved as long as corrupt courts continue to operate.
“The government will never be fair as long as unjust courts continue to operate, denying us our basic human rights and subjecting us to inhumane treatment during our abduction and prolonged imprisonment,” he states.
Compiled by Sylvia Namagembe, David Walugembe & Maria Jacinta Kannyange
