Black Friday: Chaos in the city as Special Forces take charge

On April 29, 2011, news of Dr Besigye’s deteriorating health ignited violent scenes. The Special Forces Group (now, Special Forces Command) entered the fray, taking control of the restive Kisekka Market and barred journalists from there.
Isaac Kasamani, a Daily Monitor photojournalist at the time, says: “I was at my desk when I heard there was chaos in Kisekka market, so I jumped on a boda boda to go there. At Mini Price (on Ben Kiwanuka Street), there was fire everywhere and police officers were dodging rioters’ stones. I took a shortcut to Kisekka and as I was setting myself to take a picture, a soldier stood in front of me and said ‘Don’t even try it.’ At that moment, I realised I was alone; the other journalists had been blocked at KPC (Watoto Church). I walked back.”
Michael Ssengendo, a volunteer with Uganda Red Cross Society (URCS), says: “We responded to an emergency around Kisekka Market. We were not prepared. In the beginning, we did not have an ambulance. I do not know how many – if any – died. We were just dispatching to Mulago.”
A rumour that Dr Besigye had died was spreading. Students at the Law Development Centre began burning tyres and logs on the road. The military responded swiftly but the protests spread to Makerere University. There were reports of police officers teargasing students’ rooms and then stealing abandoned laptops and mobile phones.
At Nakivubo Parkyard Market, a few people were throwing stones at soldiers. The traders at the stall where Ssemugga Kanaabi worked had erected a tarpaulin to shield them from the morning sun. Ssemugga, 21, who sold belts, was the father of a 10-month-old baby. According to witnesses, who asked not to be named, a red beret solder was hit by a stone. He turned and sprayed a round of bullets into the tarpaulin. He then paused, lit a cigarette and smoked. One of those bullets hit Ssemugga.
Ssemugga’s older brother, John Ssemyalo, recalls: “I was at Kijjukizo in Owino (St Balikuddembe Market) buying stock for my gym. At 9.30am, as I was walking out of the market, I saw people running. The market chairman was calling the traders to come back inside the market.”
Ssemyalo decided to pass through Nakivubo Parkyard Market. He had just walked five feet when his phone rang. “Someone said my brother had been shot. I did not understand. All my siblings were at work. How could Ssemugga have been shot? I thought it was Fool’s Day and I even checked my phone calendar.”
Ssemyalo walked to his brother’s stall as he made frantic calls to his other siblings. “Someone called me again, saying they were looking for a boda boda to take Ssemugga to Mulago. I dropped everything and run. Parkyard had been cordoned off but I reached his stall. There was a pool of blood. It finally began to sink in.”

Face to face with soldiers
Ssemyalo spotted some men in a distance, laying his brother on the tarmac. He jumped the ropes and came face-to-face with the military. The soldiers grabbed him and he fought them until their commander instructed them to leave him. Bullets were whistling around as he run.
“Another man, Hamza, had his right arm shattered by three bullets. Ssemugga had been shot in the heart. The bullet was still in his body,” he says.
A teargas canister was thrown at Ssemyalo. Distracted by grief, he grabbed it and threw it back. An ambulance arrived and took Hamza. The soldiers shot another round of bullets into Kisodde, in Owino Market, and left.
“I wanted to take the body back into the market. I straightened Ssemugga and tried to carry him but he was too heavy,” Ssemyalo says.
In dilemma, Ssemyalo cried out; “Banange! Munyambe! (Friends! Help me!).”
Many responded and carried the body. A patrol truck arrived and policemen followed the crowd, demanding for Ssemugga’s body. The people did not budge. Ssemyalo’s brothers, hearing the gunshots through his phone, advised him to hide. “I was confused. I walked to Kiyembe Lane. I was the only civilian walking. The streets were empty. The soldiers must have thought I was one of them because none of them bothered me.”
When he reached his gym, (then) Old Kampala DPC Siraje Bakaleke called him. “He told me people were going to die. He had gone to forcibly get the body but the traders had instead given him my phone number,” Ssemyalo says.
He walked back with a few friends and found that the traders had hidden the body in Nakivubo Stadium. “The military had returned and I could see they were restless. The angry traders were heckling them. I knew it was only a matter of time. I begged the traders to bring out the body and I gave it to the police. We drove to the mortuary and as we entered, three police trucks brought in four dead bodies.”

Kampala goes wild
In Owino market, 21-year-old Sam Mufumbiro, a clothes trader – who was an accounting graduate of Busoga University – heard the bullets. From his sales, he was paying his girlfriend’s tuition at Makerere University Business School.
Sanoni Kato, Mufumbiro’s uncle, says he received a call from his nephew at about 9.30am. “He told me the situation was bad and people were saying Besigye had died. He wanted to leave the market but I told him to wait for the situation to calm down.” Thirty minutes later, Kato received another call. His nephew was dead. “The caller said Mufumbiro had tied his merchandise into a bundle and as he was walking to the store, he was shot in the heart. No one knew where the bullet came from.”
Kato found the body at Owino Police Post. “I hired a car to take the body; I called a friend, a police officer, who advised me to take the body to Mulago hospital. I saw six bodies on the mortuary floor. All had bullet wounds. At 5pm, I paid Shs200,000 and retrieved Mufumbiro’s body.”

Death in Bweyogerere
In Nakawa, Kireka, Banda, and Bweyogerere, sections of the Jinja Highway were barricaded by rioters, who even vandalised a teargas truck. In Kireka, teargas was fired into people’s houses, and when they came out suffocating, they were arrested.
At Wals Car Park in Kakajjo Zone, Bweyogerere, Wilber Mugalazi, 36, a father of five, was shot dead. The car park is about 300 metres from the highway and is bordered by a mini market. Ismael Ssewannyana, 27, Mugalazi’s workmate, was loading sand and parking cars, a job that earned him Shs300,000 daily. “At about midday, people were running from the highway, disappearing into the side roads, but some set the tables in the market on fire,” he says.
People were driving their cars into the parking and running away. Mugalazi, aka Mulefu, a sand dealer had already made Shs1.7million. “He told me it was a bad day for business and a wise person should be going home,” Ssewannyana says, adding: “He had just eaten lunch so he began washing his feet.”
Ruth Nabejja, Mugalazi’s sister, had received a call from him as she was boarding a taxi to go to her farm in Mpigi. “It was about 10.30am and I could hear the noise in Kisekka market. When he said there were riots in Bweyogerere, I advised him to hide,” she says.
Ssewannyana and another colleague walked to a wooden shelter and sat on the dirt floor. “Wilber came in to change clothes. I asked how he hoped to reach his home, he said he could not wait for the bullets to stop.”
As Mugalazi stood in the doorway, a bullet hit him, lodging into his heart. “He fell down, with blood gushing out of him. Immediately, soldiers entered the parking lot and ordered us to converge at the front and remove our shoes. They thoroughly beat us. When they left, we tried to carry Wilber, but he was dead. I do not know where people came from, but the parking lot filled up,” Ssewannyana says.
A passing police patrol truck stopped and policemen demanded for the body. The people refused to give it to them. “They drove away and returned with a second truck. This time, they were firing in the air and people ran away.”

Chaos on Entebbe Road
There were more riots in Mukono, Kayunga, Jinja Town, and Mbale. The convoy of (then) Chief of Defence Forces, Gen Aronda Nyakairima, was stoned at Najjanankumbi. On Busabala Road, Ku Mukaaga, Frank Kizito, a blacksmith, was shot dead. Kizito, 24, was at his workplace on Kafumbe Mukasa Road by 8am. However, when the gunshots around Owino intensified, he decided to head home in Ndikuttamadda.
Edward Mubiru, Kizito’s uncle, says: “People were lighting bonfires on the road. My nephew reached the trading centre and decided it was a good time to collect rent.”
Kizito’s two tenants paid a Shs20,000 monthly rent. As the police dispersed the rioters, they shot into the crowd. A bullet hit Kizito as he was standing in his plot. It was about 10am. The residents called Mubiru and told him four people had been shot, including his nephew. The bodies had been taken to Mulago.
Meanwhile, Kizito’s wife, 28-year-old Mariam Najjuma, had just finished a late breakfast with their three children. “I was surprised when a young man came running into my house, saying Kizito had been shot dead. I ran out of the house. I wanted to go to him but people stopped me. They said soldiers were on the road. I just ran until I found myself in a swamp,” Najjuma says.

Fatality in Bwaise
In Bokasa Zone, Bwaise, James Mukiibi, 28, a matooke trader in Kalerwe market, was shot dead as he crossed the road. Cissy Namugereka, 34, Mukiibi’s widow was in class, teaching when she received the call. “I had left him at home with our two children. Someone who lived across the road owed him Shs2,000. He had walked there to ask for his money.”
Her husband was shot twice in the chest as he returned with the Shs2,000. “People told me he cried out once and fell down,” Namugereka says.
That evening, URCS secretary general Michael Nataka confirmed that URCS had attended to 200 people of whom 139 had been referred to Mulago hospital, 20 with bullet wounds. Then Kampala Metropolitan Police spokesman Ibin Ssekumbi confirmed the death of Kanaabi, Mufumbiro, Kizito, Mukiibi, and Mugalazi. At least 700 people had been arrested countrywide; 400 in Kampala area.

Following Besigye to Entebbe
At 6pm, news outlets reported that Dr Besigye had been blocked at Entebbe International Airport. “We were three photojournalists at the airport but I noticed the security operatives were looking at me,” Kasamani says, adding: “One forced me into the plane where Besigye was sitting. I was dead scared. Why had I been chosen?”
To quell the rumours that Besigye was dead, the security operative ordered Kasamani to take pictures of a very weak Besigye. “When we came out, the man told me to give him the images. As we entered an office, I knew that if I was to disappear for good, it would be in that office. Surprisingly, the man left me with copies of the pictures telling me to use them in Daily Monitor.”