Epilogue

A narrative, written by Kenneth Ongalo-Obote '94 in July 2001 following his unsuccessful bid for a seat representing the Kalaki region in Uganda's parliament. This account, which Ongalo-Obote titled "Epilogue," is posted on the Colby Web site with the author's permission.

07/23/2001

Dear Friends,

This brings to a close the series of update e-mails regarding my foray into Ugandan politics, at least for now. I had intended to get it out to you by Wednesday last week, but this is Uganda, where 24 hours can be a lifetime. I promised Worth in a private communication that I would be back from the village by Tuesday last week. On the same night after I wrote that e-mail, I woke up drenched in sweat. I've had bouts of malaria all my life so it did not require a doctor to tell me that this was a bad one. The irony of it is that earlier that day, I had received e-mail from Diane, Carl's wife, informing me that Carl was in hospital with malaria. I immediately wrote back to reassure Diane that malaria is not life threatening once it is diagnosed and treatment commenced. And yet here I was, drenched in sweat and fearing that any moment, I would breathe my last. There are no emergency wards here so the only solution was for me to take painkillers and then try as much as possible to think positive until morning, now five hours away. I must have dozed off because the next thing I remember is coming wide-awake with my throat and left ear on fire. I swallowed and the next minute, cursed myself for doing so. But now that I had discovered swallowing was a problem, it begun to look like the only thing I could really do well was swallow at thirty-second intervals. I can't remember any four hours in my entire life that compare to those four hours that I lay awake waiting for first light so I could rush to a clinic nearby.

But the hours did tick by, after all, and the Kampala branch of Western Union opened to find me already huddled outside. Worth had sent a Western Union wire so I withdrew it and immediately went for treatment at a nearby clinic. Then I went home to Lugazi to rest and that's all I remember for quite a while. My sister tells me that I got delirious a few times and pleaded with them to let me go because my campaign was suffering as a result of my confinement. For five days I lived on antibiotics, painkillers and anti-malaria pills. Then one morning I woke up, and I knew where I was, and that the campaign was over, and that somehow, life must go on, so I must up and try to put my life back together. The ear infection was gone, and so was the tonsillitis and malaria and still I felt more dead than alive.

Two days later, I felt strong enough to embark on the long drive back to Kalaki to shift my camp back to Lugazi again. I remember that it was a very sad homecoming and there was a funereal atmosphere everywhere I passed on my way to the village. I looked frail (and most people thought the realization of losing the campaign had hit me harder than I had led them to believe--true, but certainly the illness had to do with my state), and even worse, the list of Museveni's new cabinet had been announced and Martin Orech had failed to make the cut. Contrary to everything I had tried to explain to people in my campaign trail about Orech's fall-out with Museveni, Mr. Orech still led many people to believe that with his vast experience in the civil service, all that it would take for him to get a ministerial post was for people to elect him. To most people, that sounded more achievable and realistic than my twelve-point manifesto, which I boasted would be a supplement to other government-funded programs. And now, the truth of what I had told them had finally sank and the reality that by electing Martin Orech, they had built on quicksand was too much to accept. So they decided that they would cut their losses by hedging their bets. First, they sent delegations to me with honorary appointments to various school boards, in the hope that I could still use those positions to lobby for educational funding from abroad. But though I accepted the appointments, for once I noticed a tone of cruelty in my response to them. I told them that in most European countries, and definitely in America, leaders are elected for the most part not on their personalities but on their programs, or as we prefer to call it here, their manifestoes. So my friends abroad would look at my loss not as a result of anything to do with me as a person, but with the fact that the people had found my manifesto wanting and as such, rejected it. That sent them back to the drawing boards and they came back with a new offer. If I could run for the post of local Council Five Chairman, they would assure me of total support. Now, an LC. V Chairman is not an ordinary post. The Chairman is to a district what a governor would be to a state in the US. Which is why I turned down the offer outright because I really have no idea what it takes to be one and there is no doubt that I would be a disaster and most certainly ruin any future political ambitions of mounting a come-back that I may still harbor. (Some of the people also have ulterior motives, because once I declare my candidacy, they can then start making new demands on me. I still get nauseated when I think of all the "support" I enjoyed in some areas, which, it seems, was so total that they didn't even bother to vote for me!).

Well, in between such delegations, I spent my time recovering my strength and reminiscing about the campaign. First, I thought about nomination day and the events preceding it.

Oh, what a glorious day! At first it had seemed like I was headed for disaster. With one week to go, the Electoral Commission announced that candidates with foreign qualifications would have to get their papers verified by the National Examination Board. That didn't faze me a bit as I was confident about my qualifications and the fact that I had all the documentation to back them up. I paid a visit to the board expecting the entire verification process to be a formality. To my surprise, they told me that my papers could not be verified until I showed proof that I had had my O'level education in Uganda. The Board administers all exams in Uganda so naturally, I expected them to crosscheck their records. Instead, they asked me to travel all the way back to Kaberamaido Secondary School, where I sat for my O'Level, to get my academic transcripts (which the Board had in its files). All my protestations fell on red tape, and then on deaf ears, so off to Kaberamaido I went. It was just as well I did!

All prospective candidates or their agents had been informed that they were to pick nomination forms from their respective district returning officers. Just as I was getting set to travel to Soroti to sign for my forms, Richard (he of the $500 scam) called me and said he had already signed for the forms on my behalf. After all the disappointments with Richard, it was quite reassuring that for once he was doing something beneficial to the cause. I should have remembered the story of a man who came to a forded bridge and met a snake desperate to cross over but unable to brave the current. After a brief discussion, and with heart-wrenching assurances from the snake that if the man would carry it across, it would not bite him, the man, being a kind man, decided to carry the snake across. Just as they got to the middle of the stream, the snake bit the man on his neck. Completely bewildered, and in total disbelief as they both begun to drown, the man turned to the snake and asked, "why", and the snake responded, "because it is my nature"! I always thought the man deserved his fate for trusting a snake of all things, but I know better than that now. Richard nearly lost me the campaign before it even started. Only nomination forms signed for by the candidate or his agent on his behalf would be accepted on nomination day. Instead, Richard signed for the nomination forms in his names (after consulting with Mr. Orech, it turns out. I have proof in form of a recorded conversation!). So on nomination day, I would have shown up with forms belonging to another person and I would have been, certainly and justifiably so, disqualified right away! In the end, it was a blessing in disguise that the board decided to be unhelpful to me. Otherwise I would not have traveled to Kaberamaido SS, then to Soroti SS, to obtain my transcripts. It was after acquiring them that I decided to meet the returning officer to ask him a few questions regarding nomination day just so I would be prepared. Instead, he told me that as far as his office was concerned, I was not a prospective candidate because (1), I had not picked nomination forms and (2), I had not booked nomination time. In utter shock at the closeness of the call, I formalized my pre-nomination requirements, and then set off to Kampala to have my papers verified. But now, with my A'level transcript, it was unnecessary to get my papers verified because I already had the minimum qualifications for a parliamentary candidate and only my ego would be satisfied by the boards exercise. And as a hefty fee had to be paid for the exercise (unnecessary, in my opinion), I decided to do without my post-secondary qualifications. (interestingly, once I submitted my O & A'level transcripts on nomination day, all my other qualifications were accepted without question, and I ended up being where I wanted to be but with the satisfaction of not having paid the Board for it).

Now that the Returning Officer had allayed all my fears regarding nomination day, I next turned my attention to the other pressing problem--getting my campaign paraphernalia ready on time. Once again, it all seemed straightforward and clear-cut--I pay the money and they make the posters. But this is Uganda and it is beginning to occur to me that Ugandans are by nature, treacherous, even without meaning to be so! By the morning of Sunday, June 17^th, I was still stuck in Kampala trying to get my campaign posters and other paraphernalia printed. Both Martin Orech and I printed our posters from the same printer. Though I found out that his posters were being made at the same place as mine I did nothing. Not so, Martin Orech. Information reaching me now indicates that he offered the manager of the printer money to delay my posters until after nominations. There being little business conscience here, the manager accepted. By 10.00 am that Sunday, I realized that the only way to restore his business conscience was to pay him something extra. That did the trick, and by 8.00 PM, they had about 500 posters ready for me. That would do just for the nomination exercise. I picked them up and rushed to Lugazi to pick the rest of my stuff and then set off for the village, some 300 km away, at 10.00 PM. My nomination had been scheduled for the following day at 3.00 PM and so my one prayer as I drove throughout the night was "please God, don't let anything go wrong".

Nothing went wrong and I got to Soroti at 2.00 am, too tired to take on the dirt road leading to the village. (after campaigns officially started, the road was graded as a campaign gimmick by one of the candidates from another constituency so what Carl saw was an "improved" version). I spent the night in Soroti and by 6.00 am was up and on my way to Kalaki. There, I found my people in despair and the other candidates' supporters all celebrating "one down and six to go"! Well, my arrival was as shocking to them as it was electrifying my supporters. My uncle, a born-again Christian who really believes himself to be a very dignified man, had been at the forefront of mobilizing people to go for my nomination, and at the same time, instrumental in dispelling rumors that had been swirling around regarding my candidacy. These were that I had chickened out and would not be standing; that Mr. Orech had bought me out; that I was not a registered voter and as such was not eligible to stand; that I had never paid taxes in Uganda, leave alone Kalaki, and would be disqualified; that the Examination Board had found my qualifications wanting and as such, I didn't meet the basic minimum qualifications for standing! Now with my failure to show up on Sunday (trips here are so difficult that journeys have to be made several days in advance of the event), everybody's worst fears, or in case of rival opponents and their supporters, hopes, had been confirmed. My uncle, believing that I had deliberately lied to him and as such, bruised his dignified ego; unable to face the public I had made him unwittingly lie to, literally tried to bury himself by going back to bed and covering himself with several layers of blankets. I could have sworn he was in the middle of a winter, all his own!

With my arrival, all that changed. While crowds swarmed to where I was parked and begun asking "if it was true", I pulled my campaign posters out of the trunk and begun pinning them on trees at the center. I just couldn't think of any other way to prove that I was serious about standing. Afterwards, I made a speech, and not for the last time, warned people that in a political campaign, the worst possible mistake for an electorate was to believe what a candidate said about his/her opponent, because any candidate who spoke flattering truths about an opponent might as well not be running for office". Many a time, rally after rally, I made a point of making that statements. It really wouldn't do any good to say so, otherwise, I would have loved to make "I told you so" my standard response to all the people who now flock to me for "guidance". Instead, I have to pretend to be really concerned about their future (if you sense a tone of bitterness here, then you are right).

Well, I left Kalaki trading center for the village with my uncle now rejuvenated. Besides the now famous sedan I was using, I had also hired a 4-ton truck and Richard, (not he with the snake like characteristics, but my brother in law) had also brought his omni-bus. There was excitement everywhere and I swear the air would have sparked had one struck a match! With all set now, we set of in a three car convoy to Soroti for my nomination. The pace was agonizing so I broke out of the convoy and sped to Soroti. I had forgotten one vital thing and it was what was making me sit on pins--the chief magistrate had to sign my nomination papers after I had sworn an oath. I arrived in Soroti town well after 2 pm to find the magistrate still out for lunch. With 10 minutes to 3 pm, he was still nowhere to be seen and I died a little. Finally, we decided to follow him to his house and just as we set off, he arrived. Once again, luck was on my side because the magistrate had once worked in Lugazi and so, was acquainted to Richard, my brother in law. That saved me the trouble of offering to bribe the magistrate without actually saying so, and he of accepting without also saying so. Instead, we went right to the heart of the matter and with less than 3 minutes to go, I made it to the nomination hall and registered my presence. That was really what mattered because the exercise was way behind schedule and I had to wait almost an hour before they finally got to me. I still remember the skepticism in many people's faces as the officials begun scrutinizing my papers. Someone even whispered aloud that "what's that child doing here? He should be back in school!" But as my papers went from official to official without a glitch, I begun noticing the skepticism turn to disbelief and then to open admiration as the returning officer reeled off my qualifications. My exercise was the quickest and smoothest of the entire 39 candidates from the various constituencies.

As I was declared duly nominated and set off for the exit amid ululations, the entire hall emptied as curious onlookers, still unable to get over their disbelief, followed me outside to listen to my interview with the local radio station journalist. I had not expected to be interviewed so I was actually taken unprepared, which made it all the more easier for me. I hate to blow my own trumpet but everybody who heard that interview and numerous others by other candidates are of the agreement that it was head and shoulders above all the rest. (That interview was later to be replayed over and over again at the local radio station, and twice, the leading news bulletin summary was a quote from that interview). Though each candidate was given up to three minutes, my interview lasted eleven. Most people think that even the journalist got so carried away that she forgot to keep track of the minutes. But I know something they don't. Way back in elementary school, this same journalist had been a sweetheart! I believe she intentionally gave me the eleven minutes as her way of contributing to the war effort.

Meanwhile, Richard (the snake) completed his act of betrayal and treachery by going to my driver friend and lying that I had sent him for some documents that were locked in the car. Normally a shrewd man, my friend was as caught in the excitement of the moment as were all of us so he handed over the keys without a second thought. It was only after we got home to settle the bills for the various rented equipment that we discovered the Sh. 700,000 (about $400) in the glove compartment missing. Later, much later, after the campaign was all over, I met with Mr. Egou and we compared notes about our failed campaigns. It really shocked me to discover that Richard had on numerous occasions also got money from Mr. Egou's camp in exchange for "confidential" information about my camp. But that story comes much later in my narrative so I won't go into it here. Suffice it to say that I have never seen or even spoken to Richard since that nomination day. Information coming through indicates that he has gone into hiding after failing to repay debts he accumulated from various people under dubious circumstances.

The day after my nominations, I wet to Bululu for the grand opening of my campaign head office. It is a decision I never regretted because Bululu being my own sub-county, I could not let other candidates get any foothold in it. Though I feel terribly disappointed for having lost the campaign, the one consolation I have is that my own people did not reject me. In the end, the tally for Bululu was so overwhelmingly in my favor that as soon as the Bululu results were combined with those of Kalaki, Mr. Egou concede defeat to me even without waiting for the results from the two remaining sub-counties--Otuboi and Anyara. But here again, I get ahead of my story.

The day after opening my office, I officially launched my campaign at Kipenet (Carl will remember it as the place where two of my supporters were pelted with stones). I didn't know exactly how a campaign is launched so I used that occasion to launch my manifesto. I wasn't sure how well my manifesto would stand up against that of the other candidates. As it turned out, by the end of the campaign, my manifesto had overshadowed even me in popularity, followed by my campaign poster. (I still encounter people who ask me for my posters!). It is hard to believe, but no candidate came even close to me in popularity in the campaign and no rallies were as well attended as mine. Why then did I lose, you might wonder. Never mind, I will soon be getting to that.

To go through the entire campaign process rally by rally would be repetitious especially since I have written much about my consultative meetings prior to the campaign itself. I could write about my first official rally in Anyara, which they still talk about. (They never voted for me). I could write about my rally in Kakure that left everybody reeling (I won there). I could write about my rally in Kamuda, Orech's stronghold. Near the campaign venue is a diesel-grinding mill that makes a lot of noise. An Orech die-hard owns it. He had given instructions to his workers not to grind any flour until after I begun my speech so the noise would distract people. I spoke until they ran out of flour and closed the mill to come and listen to me. (I came a distant second there, to Orech of course). Then there was my rally in Ochelakur, my own village, which I knew would make or break my campaign. I had to address these people, not as voters but as agents who would henceforth, start spreading my gospel. I could not count on them to do that for me just because I was "a son of the soil". I know of only one other occasion when I made a better speech and that was at the biggest rally of all (not only for me but for any of the candidates--Kalaki center with over 1,000 people. That was the Monday Carl left). After that home rally, I knew, for the first time, that I was really in the race. Overall, it turned out to be where I got the most votes, percentage wise--(Agula--00 votes; Edoku--01; Egou--29; Eilu--04; Euku--06; Obote--432; Orech--12; Oyaba--00).

I finally left that rally venue at around 9.30 pm, and by 10.30 pm, was on my way to Kampala to withdraw money that I knew was at the bank. By the time we got to Mbale, we were too tired to continue, but also, too late to find any lodgings. So we packed by the wayside and went to sleep inside the vehicle. Up, next morning and off to Kampala, where, to my shock and disbelief, I found that there was no money, in spite of the fact that Rosalyn had wired it days before. That being a Saturday, I had no choice but to hole up in Lugazi until Monday when the bank would reopen. (first Lwala rally written off: they overwhelmingly voted for Orech in the end). Monday morning, I strode confidently into the bank and asked the teller for my balance knowing that it would now reflect the new amount. She confidentially wrote it down, folded the piece of paper and handed it to me. I stepped outside the queue to where there was some privacy and opened the slip. Total balance--$28.13! I thought my heart would stop but it had only thumped really hard. My inquiries were all to no avail and in the end, I had to count Monday out. (First Kibimo rally written off. It is where Carl and I were forced to address people in the rain. I won there by a wide margin). Tuesday yielded the same results, with Omid rally now out. (I got zero there). That very Tuesday, I communicated to Carl, who in turn advised his Los Angeles bank to wire some money into my account. This would then be refunded using the now definitely lost first transfer that would be recalled. That second transfer from Carl never made it too, this time due to a communication error. Meanwhile, Rosalyn had put a trace on the first wire, and wired a new amount to cover the first one. Thursday, I once again trudged confidently into the bank. Balance--$28.13. This time I really lost several heartbeats and only then, did I think of Western Union, a solution which, interestingly, both Worth and Rosalyn had also arrived at. Meanwhile, the first Kalaki rally had also been written off. ( I came a strong second there). On Friday, Rosalyn sent two wires by Western Union and the relevant information regarding their withdrawal arrived here at around 4.30 PM. By then I was on the verge of despair. Information trickling from home showed that the other candidates were taking full advantage of my absence, with Mr. Egou hinting that he knew more than he cared to reveal about my money troubles. Mr. Orech on the other hand claimed that I was just cash-strapped and was looking for a dignified exit. Few people really believed that I had money in the bank, which, somehow, was being withheld from me.

Anyway, I arrived at Western Union just minutes before it was to close for the weekend. There I found that while the first transfer was available, the second was not. But at least now I had some money. I rushed to pay for my remaining posters and handbills. By then, I was so broke I couldn't fuel the vehicle so I was using public means from Lugazi to Kampala and back. Kampala traffic jams are probably the worst in the world because there are no traffic lights and in rush hours, it is every driver for himself. You can imagine my frustration as I sat there, in the midst of all the honking, knowing that every minute that ticked by counted heavily against me. But I did get to Lugazi, and now with the sedan refueled and serviced, I set off once again for the village, one week after I had left, promising to return the following day. The drive itself was uneventful, only that once again, by the time I got to Soroti, I was too tired to take on the dirt road. Besides, it was coming on 2.00 am. So I spent the rest of the night in Soroti. Early Saturday morning, I got up and made an announcement at the local radio station informing the people of Kalaki that I was on my way, and the people of Ogwolo in particular that my rally for that day would go on as scheduled. I then went to town to buy some provisions, and ran into a former schoolmate, good friend and a constituent (no need asking which was the clincher) whose elder sister had died. Having already lost their father, it fell on him to foot the funeral expensed. Could I buy him some beans and provide him with some money to transport it home. To cut my expenses, I spent about $30 on 50Kg of beans and put them in the sedan trunk and told my friend to hop in. I have never liked funerals and this was no exception, made even more so by the guilt I felt at knowing that this would be good publicity for my campaign and not even feeling sad about it. Politics is indeed a game of chess, but of the worst sort because in politics the chess pieces are human beings. . . .

I was glad to get away from the funeral and begin the difficult process of getting my hitherto derailed campaign back on track. I got to the main road and sped off towards Kalaki. With about 10km to go, I found a group of business people on their way to Soroti, but now stranded on the roadside after suffering a flat, with no spare. They flagged me down, and I had no choice, but to stop, much as I hated to. At first, my intention was to commiserate with them and then get on my way but here again, that was not to be. One of the businessmen was a former housemate of mine in high school and though his vote didn't count in Kalaki, I had had enough of using people, at least for that day. Much as I knew it would destroy a sedan tire to use it on a pick-up truck, I let them have my spare. For a while they struggled to make it fit before finally giving up. The sedan wheels are mounted using five bolts, while their truck is mounted on six. Square poles on round holes (if I have it right), and in the end they had to admit it. I thought that now I could set off with a clear conscience, but again, it was not to be. Kakure is just on the fringes of mobile telecommunications network coverage for Soroti so they asked me if I had a phone so they could call the owner of the vehicle in Soroti and ask him for a spare. I guess I have very few "Nos" in my vocabulary, so I said yes. It was as the man was moving from mound to mound trying to get a good reception that the Land Cruiser came.

He was driving too fast--too fast for a Land Cruiser and most certainly for the dirt road he was on. At first it seemed his intention was to drive through without stopping, but then he changed his mind at the last minute and braked really hard. His vehicle skidded over 20 meters before it came to a stop, about ten meters after he had passed mine. I remember thinking how fortunate it was because now I would ask him to give one of the occupants of the pick-up a lift to Soroti to collect a spare, even if it meant me paying the fare. Just as long as I could get my phone back and get on my way. But the Cruiser driver was either very drunk, or temporarily out of his senses, or as most people like to believe, on a mission. No sooner did I get to his window than he attacked me for addressing a rally in the middle of the road. All my protestations that these were Soroti people who didn't even vote in Kalaki, and, therefore, unnecessary for me to mobolize, fell on deaf ears. The more I explained, the faster the expletives poured forth from this man I didn't even know, and had never met up to that point. I finally decided to apologize for I don't know what, just because the situation was getting so uncomfortable, but that only seemed to make this man even crazier! Finally, in exasperation, I threw up my arms and declared that either this man was too drunk or downright crazy, which was nothing in comparison to the names he had already called me, but which seemed to be what he was waiting for because he immediately got out of his car and shoved me really hard. I am by nature (at least I think so) slow to anger but the feeling inside me was such that his shove was such a welcome release because now I could unleash all the pent up emotions of the last week on this obviously deranged guy. But then in a flash, I pictured Martin Orech and Charles Egou at a rally giving their version of what "really" happened and I just dropped my arms and pleaded with the guy, "please go. I am sorry I drove you mad". Which really drove him mad. As he prepared for a second lunge at me, the occupants of the broken down vehicle stepped in and restrained him. After a few seconds during which he struggled frantically against the restraint he calmed down and went back into his vehicle, saying not only had I blocked the road and prevented him from going through but that I had also ordered people to assault him, so could we go to the police. As he said this, he was slowly reversing his vehicle as if he really intended to turn it around. I didn't notice him align his vehicle to mine, against which I was leaning.

And then the Land Cruiser exploded forward. It was so sudden that I stood helplessly rooted to the spot as the Cruiser, tires spinning, sped forward. I knew this was it for me, and remember feeling somewhat sad that it had to end this way. Then there was a jarring, numbing impact as the cruiser bumper connected with my thigh. That, I think, is what saved me because rather than throw me in front of his vehicle, as I believe he had intended, it spun me around instead. Then I had to endure the slow motion nightmare pain of being squeezed in between two metals. I felt a blinding pain in my lower left leg and knew that it was broken. Still, my vitals remained untouched and I felt that there was may be some hope. Finally, mercifully his vehicle was gone and I felt myself falling. That is when I blacked out. I later established that from the drivers door of the sedan, where I was standing, I had been thrown all the way to the rear and as I fell, I hit my head really hard on the rear bumper. That is what caused the black out.

When I came to, there were screams everywhere and one or two women wailing. Two men, on the advice of a third who believed that laying me down would be fatal, were holding me upright. It felt like my legs were on fire! It took the men a while to listen to my pleas that my upper body was all right but that my legs were a mess and they had to let me sit so we could establish the extent of the damage. It is hard to believe, but the worst injuries I had sustained were immobility in my upper right leg, and a ghastly bruise on my right lower leg, which, by now was bleeding profusely. My ego really seems to have taken the most beating of all and I felt that some vital edge was gone from my resolve. Yet something had to be done. There was a police report to make, and then I had to check into hospital for a thorough check-up. Also, I had to take control of the situation because in spite of the fact that I was alive, nobody seemed to really believe so and they continued acting and behaving like I were, for all they knew, dead. Nobody, of the two people who could drive, seemed to be in their right senses, so with feet bleeding through the pair of jeans I was wearing, I took the driver's seat of the now heavily damaged sedan, turned it around, and sped to Soroti.

Now comes the interesting "coincidence". Mr. Egou, who had a rally to address near Kalaki, had abandoned his rally to follow the vehicle that hit me. Kalaki is outside the mobile phone network coverage, and the distance from where I was hit to Kalaki was such that no human being could have covered that distance in five minutes. Yet barely ten minutes after the hit, Mr. Egou was on the scene. After establishing that I was alive and driving, he sped off in pursuit of me. Just as I limped into the police station, his car pulled up outside and he was with me throughout the time I was making my statement. Afterwards, he offered to drive me into hospital for treatment, but by then, the suspicious region of my mind had resumed working and I felt that Mr. Egou's timing was too good to be a coincidence. I was right. Soon after we separated, Mr. Egou went to the local radio station and put out an announcement that I had been severely beaten after getting drunk and insulting some people and was now hospitalized and most definitely, out of the race and that my people should not worry because he would take care of all my medical expenses. (I learnt later that the Cruiser driver is a medical Doctor and the director of medical services in Moroto hospital! He comes from Lwala, which is where Orech has very strong support due to the Catholic majority there.)

It's funny, but nothing I could have done would have kick-started my campaign the way the combination of all those events did. I think I have often told a few of you that no matter the clarity of the circumstances surrounding a person's death here, people always believe that somebody is responsible. Though I believe that the guy who hit me was just drunk and out of his senses, to the people of Kalaki, there was more to it than met the eye. Now they remembered the problems I had been through with the bank and concluded that Mr. Egou, especially after his bogus radio announcement was behind everything. (I think now that Mr. Egou was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and that he is a loudmouth who likes to make superhuman claims about his abilities).

The first news to reach Kalaki about my narrow escape was grossly exaggerated. They said I was either dead or about to die, which sent shock waves allover the place. A rally by another candidate, Mr. Andrew Eilu, which was taking place in the center was hastily disbanded by the police as the center threatened to get out of control. It was only the arrival of people who had been witnesses at the scene that restored some calm to the center. Even so, on my way back to Kalaki, I met with a few diehard supporters who were biking hard to Soroti to find out the extent of my injuries.

The second thing that put my campaign firmly back on track was Carl's arrival. To most people, this confirmed statements I had been making in my rallies emphasizing my international connections. It is no coincidence that Bululu, which Carl and I traversed the most, was where I won in a commanding fashion. (The people of Bululu have asked me to tell Carl that they should not be punished for the shortsightedness of the other sub-counties and that they deserve to benefit from the educational and health assistance that we promised them).

On the Monday that Carl left, I escorted Carl up to Soroti. Our car had broken down on Saturday evening after two big rallies in Lwala, so Carl and I boarded the bus. Carl and my brother Peter continued to Lugazi, and then to Entebbe while I remained in Soroti to follow up on repairs being undertaken on the car's alternator, which was the problem. I then set of for Kalaki early in the afternoon with the mechanics. On arrival to Kalaki, I found rumors circulating to the effect that my Kalaki Center rally had once again been called off because Carl and I had jumped bail and Carl had whisked me out of the country. The rumor was set in motion by the fact that when the vehicle broke down, we had it towed to the police station, and Mr. Egou, always eager to capitalize on any opportunity, told his supporters that Carl had been arrested for campaigning in Uganda while not being a citizen, and that in place of bail, we had left the car at the police station. Once again, Mr. Egou's political immaturity worked in my favor because once I arrived in Kalaki with the mechanics and people saw us drive the car out of the police station without any interference by the police, the news spread like a bush fire that once again, I had survived. This was helped by the fact that Monday is a big market day in Kalaki center.

First, I drove home to take a nap, woke up, changed, and in my "best" suit, I set off for Kalaki at 4.00pm. The crowd that I found waiting for me was so big that I was personally overwhelmed, more so because, after a rally, the candidate MUST leave some money to be shared out by the rally goers. I had about $180 on me in our currency and right away sent Richard (a third Richard and the best of them all, not just the Richards, but being the only supporter who braved all the night risks with me to the end. He quit his job so as to be more useful to me, and is now unemployed as a result. It is tough to be unemployed here and occasionally, I share out the little I have with him. A true friend, is this Richard. . . .) to get another $70 from home. In the meantime, the preliminary speeches had begun. My organizers had erected a very high podium, and eventually, after we had stalled long enough for Richard to get home and be well on his way back to Kalaki, I was lifted on the podium. Though my injuries had by then healed enough for me to be able to support myself, my supporters insisted on exaggerating the extent of my injuries to remind people of the fact that it was for them that I was being persecuted. (I think that the strategy worked).

On the podium, I was finally able to see clearly the sea of faces surrounding me, and once again, I was overwhelmed. For a while, I said nothing, just to get the point across that I was wondering how on earth I would take care of these people. Then, without preamble, I said: "they say that I am young and as such, incapable of being a father to this constituency. Let is see today if taking care of you will defeat me. I only wish that there were more of you". And oh, the screams, and the waves of Ongalo OYEEEE, that over and over again, came wafting over me until I felt suffocated. "They offered to give me a microphone, but I refused, my people because I am still young, and my voice is strong. Why then do I need those gadgets?" (an allusion to Martin Orech and his love for the microphone even when faced with only 50 people). "I stand here before you, my people, accused of many crimes and I do not deny, but come to admit all of them. They say I do not have a house, and therefore can't lead. Nearly all of you do not have the kind of houses they mean so I suppose you should all give up on any ambition you had of some day being leaders". And once again, the deafening wave. "But I do believe that I am the most suited to lead because like you, I live in a grass-thatched house and as such, know the problems faced by occupants of such houses. So today, I formally ask all those in permanent houses not to vote for me, and beg you, my fellow grass-thatch housed comrades, to cast your votes for the one candidate who knows where the shoe pinches". (Not all of them did, of course otherwise I would have won by 95%, but that stopped the opposition from harping on my lack of a permanent house). "They accuse me of being a son to a father who sometimes ignores people. On my way here this afternoon, I met a lame man, and asked him to help me with a problem that was really bugging me. I asked him, old man, I see that you are lame, and he replied, you see right. So, said I, are your children also lame? And he said most certainly not". By then the crowd was going wild. "They have accused me of evading the suffering you have all gone through by going abroad to study and live an easy life". Here, I elaborated on my educational history right from elementary school to high school, all of it had in Kalaki, and in neighboring Kaberamaido and Soroti. "In spite of the fact that we all value education, I found that our so called leaders had never bothered to bring institutions of higher learning here at home. Was I then, for the love of Kalaki and the problems you were undergoing, to stay home and wait until such an institution is built here. Do you see now that it was my love for Kalaki that sent me abroad, and which, in the end, motivated me to make all the friends now eager to help Kalaki?".

It was a two-hour speech, and to recount it all here would be as tedious for me to do as for you to read. I can only say that that was my greatest speech. No attack on personalities. Instead, I dwelt on my manifesto, and compared it to other manifestoes circulating in the constituency and left it for the people to judge which was pro-Kalaki people. Had that been my last rally, I would have won the elections without question. As it is, most of these people went home, all filled with a love for Ongalo, and then as time went on, went back to their old ways. Such is the nature of people, I guess. . . .

There were many other rallies after that, but I do not think all of them worth giving space here. As I said before, I would merely be repeating what I have told you before. It suffices only to say that they were just as good, though maybe not so stellar. Note also, that I do not write of the time Carl was here. I have read Carl's e-mail report to you all and it contains an honest narration of the events that took place while he was here, with only one exception. Carl speaks often of how he saw me turn hostile crowds into friendly crowds and gives all the credit to me. What Carl does not say is that he always spoke just before I spoke, and by the time I got up to speak, Carl's story of the choosing of King David would already have got everybody into a very reflective mood. In addition, many people believed Carl than they did me, first, because Carl is white, and second, because he had no stake that they could see in the outcome of the election. So they voted me to get at Carl for what he represented than because of my manifesto, much as they lauded it.

Which brings me to the effect of Carl's visit on the other candidates. They were totally demoralized. First, they incorrectly believed that Carl had come to directly deliver to me colossal sums of money that I had failed o get through the bank. Their suspicions were "confirmed" when on the Monday that Carl departed, I "contributed" $250 (Sh. 400,000), towards the entertainment of the rally goers. They didn't bother to look at the number of people present and instead, obsessed themselves with the amount. So they put their heads together and decided to file a petition with the returning officer seeking my disqualification from the campaign. They alleged that I was paying people to attend my rallies, and also paying people to abstain from attending their rallies. They further alleged that my campaign was being funded using foreign funds, and finally, which to them was the clincher, that I had brought a mzungu (white person) to campaign for me. So, an extraordinary meeting of all the Kalaki candidates was convened at the Kalaki sub-county headquarters and I was called to respond to the charges proffered against me.

I showed up to find all the candidates already present and having voted to begin proceedings in my absence. My delay was read to mean either contempt of the proceedings or an admission of guilt, and Mr. Egou, the "great" lawyer, had already moved for a judgment by default. But once again, they had underestimated my now "legendary" propensity for survival. I arrived to find a visibly tense atmosphere, unaware that the hundreds of people milling outside had been informed that on that day, I was to be discontinued from campaigning. I remember getting a "Rip-van-Winkle" feeling when I looked at the people's faces and (not for the last time) all of them avoided my eyes. I felt like a lifetime had gone by while I slept and instead of a candidates meeting, it was now a funeral being held here. As I walked in and paid my respects to the Returning Officer, or RO, the whole room went death-silent. The returning officer then announced my presence to all those gathered and thereafter, briefed me on what had taken place in my absence. He then asked me why I had not arrived at the specified time. I told him that first, I had not been aware that the meeting was because I had a case to answer, as I had not been notified, which was my right, and second, after the "blatant attempt to kill me in broad-daylight", nobody was willing to drive me anymore so that in spite of the terrible state of my foot, I had to drive myself around. Because of the terrible pain it caused, I had to stop every so often to rest my foot. Yes, he said, he had heard of that incident and it had saddened him, etc, etc. But then, the fact still remained that I had charges to answer and he read them to me.

As to the first, I asked any candidate present who had not given money at a rally to stand up. No one stood. Then I explained that for some inexplicable reason, people liked to attend my rallies in larger numbers than those of the other candidates. For example, the other day, Mr. Egou was at a rally attended by 20. He gave them Sh. 10,000. On the same day, I addressed a rally of over 200 people. Now, Sir R.O, you have, in your life, entertained visitors in your home. When they were two, you probably slaughtered a hen. At 20, I am sure you slaughtered a goat. But when their number rose to 100, what did you do? Stick to your original hen, or slaughter a cow. (general laughter, even from the R.O). As to paying people not to attend rallies of other candidates, maybe they should consider revising their boring speeches instead of blaming their problems on me. I have enough of my own!

As to the second, Mr. RO, everybody is aware that for the last 10 years I have been abroad. My fellow candidates gathered here have even reminded people of that fact in each one of their rallies. We have the parliamentary elections act here with us. Can anybody show me where it says that candidates can only use money earned in Uganda? I do not even see anything to do with funding sources at all! (Here everyone turned to look at Mr. Egou, "the great lawyer"--his own words. He said nothing, which was the correct thing to do).

Finally, Mr. RO, let me inform you that I have friends abroad who have invested heavily in my education. The news that an attempt was made on my life was very shocking to them and nothing I could tell them about the unseriousness of my injuries would reassure them. Justifiably concerned about my safety, and worried that I might be downplaying my safely, which I am (laughter), they contributed money and sent Carl to see how I am faring. Am I now to disown my friends just because I am going to be a Member of Parliament? With all my commitments, how was I to get time to talk to Carl except by traveling with him to rallies? Did I commit an offense by taking him around to show him the sorry state of our constituency? Don't you see now why this constituency will forever remain undeveloped until we get leaders with open minds?

I must admit, by that point, my anger had gotten the better of me and I was stabbing my walking stick on the floor as I spoke. When I stopped, the RO got up and spread his arms wide as if washing his hands of the whole affair, and said, "what more can I say? I wish you guys good luck. This meeting is closed". Before I knew it, a supporter had hoisted me shoulder high, and amidst shouts of "OUR MAN", we left the room. Not wanting to disappoint, I had an impromptu rally outside with the RO still present, and in spite of the fact that I was not scheduled to address a rally at that venue (I sometimes understand why all the other seven candidates hated my guts!). But of course I had checked the schedule and found that no candidate was scheduled to hold a rally there, and the rules only forbid a candidate from holding a rally at a venue reserved for another candidate. Shaking his head in amazement, and I think, in admiration, the RO got into his vehicle and left for Soroti. Once again, I had survived.

It was then that the Orech group begun their Friday afternoon meetings in Soroti to map out strategies for defeating me. By then, I had become so popular with the women and youth (the former because of my involvement with the Domestic Relations Bill, which I iterated and reiterated at every rally, and the latter, I think, because I was approachable), that the Friday group concluded that it was quite impossible to defeat me. At the same time, they had to make Orech win, because they were worried of how he would take a loss after using all his lifetime savings ($75,000) on the campaign. So, first, they collected about $5,000 to buy me off with, but someone correctly pointed out that it wouldn't work. So they resorted to the only alternative open to them--try to knock me off.

A man was paid to pour salt into my car engine so the car would get an engine knock. He failed. A pump attendant was paid to mix salt with the gas he pumped into my tank. He never got the opportunity. Twice I was to be shot on my way back from Anyara. Each time, unwittingly, I spent the night in Anyara. A soldier, whose friend later confessed, was paid to shoot me down like a dog as I drove through Lwala on my way home after a rally. I drove to Soroti that night. Yet a second time, he lay in ambush. This time, I came round the bend driving so fast that I missed the corner connecting from Lwala to Kalaki. Rather than reverse, I drove forward in search of an open place where I could turn around. By the time I got one, I was so far from the junction that I decided to drive on to Kaberamaido, where I spent that night. By then, things had got so bad that I had become paranoid, and would not eat or drink anything not served at home, and with my mothers supervision. So every time I spent a night away from home, I didn't eat, drink or bathe. That was the time I came very close to withdrawing from the exercise. Though I didn't tell anybody, and though I didn't withdraw, from that time on, the fun went out of the entire campaign and I did what I did because I had to do it, that's all. . . .

The time dragged on, and inevitably, we came to the end of the campaign. With two days to go, I knew that this was it; the moment of truth. Whatever my fears about my own safety, I had to go all the way out. So for two nights, I didn't sleep a wink, and in only those 48 hours, patrolled the entire constituency that when it was all over, I had clocked 3000 KM in just those two days. (It turned out to be an exercise in futility because while I drove, Orech's people were on foot and could easily hide at the sound of my vehicle. To make matters worse, I had so heavily damaged the exhaust pipe of the car that it might have as well been a Formula-1 car, from the noise it made). At 3.00 am on the morning of the 26^th, I finally couldn't take it anymore and had to sleep. But I had been informed that a soldier, under pretense of wanting to talk to me, had walked straight into my hut despite being told that I was not in. My father thought that his goal was to see which side of the hut I slept on so that they could launch a night grenade attack. Home, as such, was out of the question, so to Kaberamaido I went, arriving there at 4.00am.

At 6.00am, I was up and on my way to Kalaki to vote and begin the monitoring exercise, which would entail visiting all the polling stations in the constituency (46). I went home, bathed, ate, changed, and ignoring my body which screamed for more sleep, I went to my polling station to vote. There, I found a state of chaos. Though candidates are permitted to visit each polling station briefly, they must not stay there so long that their presence becomes intimidating to the electorate. Yet here was Mr. Egou, who had decided to make his presence a permanent fixture in my own back yard. I have often heard of people getting so angry that they visibly shake, but I had not put much stock in it. Now, for the first time, all the anger of what I had been through, the frustrations, the setbacks, the human placed obstacles, welled up in me and the anger I felt was such as I have never thought myself capable of feeling! Shaking uncontrollably with anger, I strode up to Mr. Egou (yes, strode. The walking stick was gone now), and gave him 30 seconds to get out of there. I could not believe that Mr. Egou of all people could be so stupid and my anger was so total that he complied in about 10 seconds. I then voted, and set off on the rounds of other polling stations. I visited the last station at 6.00pm, the one in Orech's stronghold. By then, results had started trickling in and they were disastrous. At the two polling stations in Orech's birthplace, I had come second with 125 votes against Orech's 800! Completely drained, and feeling totally beat, I drove to Kalaki. There, only one polling station had completed the count and Egou had taken it by 299 to my 29, a third position behind Orech again, who had polled 86.

I could have cried then, for my mother, who had suffered so much and endured untold labors to make sure that none of the 80 or so people who visited me everyday left unfed; for myself for the futility of all the energies I had expended on the campaign; for all my friends who had really believed in me, and whom I had promised that I would not shame, whatever the outcome. Instead, I just sat behind the steering wheel, head between hands, and for the first time, asked myself a question I had hitherto never dared to ask: "for Christ sakes, Kenneth, is there anything in your life that you will ever do right?!" I could have howled aloud like a dog. But then I looked at the mournful faces of my supporters, unable to believe the enormity of the moment, and with an effort I could never have believed myself capable of, composed my face and, in the most embarrassing superficial voice I could muster, said to them "come on guys, take heart. Those are only three polling stations. How many are still there to go? Forty-three. These results are not reflective of all the other polling stations". They just looked at me and I could see pity in their eyes. The next minute, I was as rejuvenated as a man riding on dynamite. First, Kakure, and then Kadinya came through, and just like that, we were back in contention. We had won both, not by huge margins, but most importantly, Egou had come second and distant third in one, and so had Orech. Much as we were still trailing, this, at least, was the first good news of the day and we had reason to rejoice.

After that, the results began pouring in very fast. Soon, all of Kalaki was in and though Orech had won in Kalaki with 1964 votes, we had come second with 1,161, over well ahead of Egou. Not bad at all, considering this to be Orech's and Egou's stronghold. Now came the scariest part of the entire campaign, for me. I had to go to Bululu to find out how I had performed in my home sub county. Keep in mind that I was not the only candidate from there. There was also the Edoku factor to contend with. And from his campaign speeches, he was no pushover (in the end, he was). After all, he had been through all this before, having run and lost against Egou in '96. So he knew all the ropes. Arriving at Bululu trading center, I found a crowd of over 500 people. They all seemed to be high on drugs or something and before I knew it, I was ordered to turn off the car engine so they could push it to where I wanted to park. So I knew that something good had transpired here, but even I wasn't prepared for the extent I decimated the opposition in Bululu. A combined total of 2031 votes to 441, which was what the second challenger, Edoku, got. Orech was at 434 and Egou at 428. In the end, it was those votes that went to other candidates were the ones we would rue most. But for now, everybody was caught up in the euphoria of the fact that with Kalaki and Bululu in, we were miles ahead. The last thing I remember before dropping off to sleep that day is the sound of ululations throughout Bululu. No MP has ever come from Bululu, and this once, they knew they had it. Although Otuboi results had also come in and Orech had surged ahead by 45 votes over us, and Euku had all of a sudden, resurrected from the dead, I went to bed confident that my deal with the Anyara people would come through and I would wake up an MP.

I woke up in the morning expecting to hear bedlam outside. Instead, there was an eerie silence. Not for the first time, I thought of Rip-van-Winkle. I hastily dressed and went outside, only to be met by 20 or so funereal faces. So, without being told, I knew that my worst fears had come true. Oh God, don't let it be true, but even as I prayed, I knew that the people of Anyara had not come through, after all. In the end, as always, they decided to go tribal and that was the end of the road for us. So here I was, at the end of a dream, and like all dreams, it had been just a phantom thing. No substance. This time, I didn't feel like howling. Instead, I rushed behind my hut and for 30 minutes, heaved and heaved, though nothing came up. Oh God, this time I had really come so close, but once again not close enough. Like Keefer in the Caine Mutiny after he jumped, and remembering another famous character who begun the jump, Lord Jim, I could have instructed that the words "Almost, but not Quite', be inscribed on my tombstone!

The next few hours were a nightmare as I tried not to crack in front of the few supporters who were with me. For once, there were not more than 30 people in the family compound. Where were all the rest. A majority was in shock and it was only two days later that they got enough courage to go out of their homes and face the public. A few others were with Euku, celebrating the premature announcement that he had won, and proud of the fact that they had successfully kept me in the dark about the state of Anyara. It turns out that all my agents from Anyara had been handpicked by Euku's task force with strict instructions to do everything to ensure that I failed in Anyara. They did their jobs well. That's one reason I failed.

Then there were the anomalies at polling stations in Anyara where I found no voting in progress at all; none of my agents present, and yet Euku won in all of them, while I struggled to beat zero. There was the polling station in Anyara that used to be in an army barracks but now with no soldiers. Still, the Electoral Commission sent a ballot box there, which was stuffed for Euku (269 out of 269. The rest of us had to be content with zeroes). There was a similar problem with an army barracks in Kalaki. All the soldiers were taken to vote in Soroti for a municipality candidate. Again, the Electoral Commission sent them a box. It was stuffed for Orech. There was the secondary school that early last year, Mr. Orech donated $15,000 to. All the students were then registered, whether 18 or below; whether from within or without the constituency. Under the threat of being expelled, they were then instructed to vote for Orech on polling day.

Still, I would have won. The clincher was Egou's age, which many believed was the reason he had performed poorly over the previous five years. So in the end they chose Orech, with his vast experience in the civil service and his advanced age and decided that Egou's recent poor performance was still too fresh for them to risk another young man. There were also my agents, who in the end, believed nothing could stop us and as such, didn't work as hard in the final days. There was the $5,000 which the elders gave Orech with two days to go after having failed to come up with a strategy to defeat me. Orech used it well, buying votes throughout the night of the 25th. Finally, there was my naiveté. I really believed that in the end, people would vote for me because I was right. I saved no money for the eleventh-hour vote buying and paid heavily for it. I refused to listen to people who gave me rigging tips, believing that I could win fair and square and not wanting to jeopardize the win. I came late on the scene after all the other candidates had taken all the good agents and had to make do with people I picked and tried to train in my strategy. As such, I found myself having to do nearly everything in person. Often, I trusted the wrong people and failed to listen to those who really cared about me. It pains me to think of that mistake and the hurt it must have caused those people. . . .

At around 11.00 am on that terrible morning of the 27^th, I set off for Soroti to have the car exhaust repaired. Also, I needed to get away from it all and the exhaust was a good excuse. I arrived in Kalaki center to find it looking deserted, although shops were open for business. Mr. Martin Orech's vehicles were packed in the middle, jammed with his supporters. They were ululating, etc, but nobody in the center seemed to pay attention. As soon as their drivers saw me, they started honking, while the people made victory signs at me. I responded in kind and continued on my way. Then on the spur of the moment, I decided to stop for a beer in a bar owned by a staunch Egou supporter. Lord knows I really needed it. Soon, people, most of them Egou's supporters, curious, I guess, to see how I was taking it, begun to walk in. I felt like they wanted me to say something, so I just said, "well, my people, now that it is all over, I guess none of you will grudge me a beer". All their pent up emotions seemed to break loose and they begun laughing uncontrollably. That brought more people. Someone asked me if I was going to see Mr. Egou, and I said, "yes, but I felt I had to take beer just for the nerves". More laughter to that, and then a round of applause when the bar owner announced that the beer I was drinking, and a second one, would be on the house. The beer loosened me up somewhat and before long, I had loosened up everybody else.

After the beers, I set off to pay Mr. Egou a visit, accompanied by an entourage of about 100 people. I found Mr. Egou taking the reality of no longer being an MP very hard. I learnt that he really went to pieces when Orech's people stopped by his front yard and carried out a mock funeral while singing dirges. That shattered Mr. Egou, and it was in that state that I found him. He was in a daze and seemed to be in a world all his own. Occasionally, he would get out of it, but then the reality of the moment would be too much and he would withdraw into himself again. Am I my brother's keeper? I suppose so, because I decided to help Mr. Egou, by giving him the strength to get up and dust himself. At first, I sensed hostility, mostly from his sisters, but that was understandable. So I put my own sorrows aside and for the moment, concentrated on giving Mr. Egou his dignity back. I started by wondering aloud what kind of MP Mr. Orech would make, what with his stale ideas. Mr. Egou's sisters really loved that so I added that what really pained me about the outcome of this election was not that I had lost but that Mr. Orech had won. I don't really think that it mattered what I said, because I could sense that I was beginning to get Mr. Egou's attention. I spoke of the treachery of the people of Anyara, and wished aloud that there was a bomb in existence which could follow commands because I would very much love to give it instructions about the people of Anyara. I made self-deprecatory remarks about myself and my campaign, and soon, Mr. Egou joined in with one of his own. Before long, the funereal atmosphere had gone and everybody was saying something about everybody else, amidst laughter. Mr. Egou wondered why we were drinking the local brew from such a small container and soon, we had a big pot in our midst. Caught in the excitement of the moment, Mr. Egou said that there was no way I could lose in 2006 because the combination of him and I would be too much for any opposition.

("Oh God, what have we done", wailed some people, some crying openly and shamelessly! "Here indeed was a leader and we didn't even realize it. Look at him, with all the pain he must be suffering, giving his brother--meaning Egou--and us strength to go on in spite of our loss. Why didn't we see this before?" Egou's mother later met my mother and asked her, "what did you do to produce a son with such a strong heart?". That act of mine, carried out with no ulterior motive, touched so many people and spread so fast throughout the constituency that some people, out of affection, now refer to me as the kabaka or King of Kalaki. Still, I don't draw any salary for it, and that is what I really could do with now--quite a lot of it).

Finally, he and I set off for Soroti, he in his vehicle and me in mine. Along the way, we stopped to jointly address dazed people we would find by the wayside, and then on we would go again. In Soroti, I was told that the work on the exhaust would be too much to carry out in the few remaining hours so I joined Mr. Egou for a few more drinks and then he set off for Kampala while I returned to Kalaki. (I have not seen or heard from him since but I have learn that his car was involved in a serious accident and is a wreck. Fortunately, he was not in it). Back in Kalaki, I found a crowd of people waiting for me in front of Mr. Egou's house. The mind is really a very complex thing. Here were people who, when the Kalaki central results were announced on election day, saw me and shouted: "How could you be so foolish as to think that you are in the same league with Egou? Go home and build a house!" And yet here they were now, getting consolation from the fact that Orech had barely managed to beat me and taking that to mean that Orech's reign would not last beyond 2006. There really are no permanent friends or enemies in politics. Just shifting interests! Now that Egou's supporters had shifted to me, they declared that there was no doubt who would be the next MP for Kalaki. I was thereupon installed as "The Kalaki MP in waiting". My campaign posters, which hitherto, had been taboo in Egou's camp, were now everywhere on the wall, with the words, "MP for Kalaki, 2006" inscribed on them. The party, it turns out, was to celebrate my 2006 win. Oh well, I didn't see any harm in going along with the charade, especially if it made them happy. So I made the necessary speech, and then left for home to confront the tough question of what I would do now.

I still haven't come up with an answer. The Ugandan bureaucracy has never been kind to me, and I don't think that that attitude has changed. So I have been browsing the papers to see if there are any NGO's that might find me useful. USAID and ActionAid are two I have been interested in but they do not seem to be interested in anyone at the moment. It is too bad that Donald Clark is no longer country director for USAID-Uganda because I could have had a sympathetic insider. As it is, I am now reduced to fishing around aimlessly in the hope that I might land something. I have toyed with the idea of having the ALCS registered here as a sister NGO to the ALSC that Carl managed to get registered in the US and then using that to provide educational support to schools in the newly formed Kaberamaido district but even that won't be easy, what with the money involved. I am also casting around for a teaching position at a higher institution of learning here but then again, that requires connections in high places and the only such connection I have is Orech, who so far has failed to reach out to his opponents, something most other MPs have done already. So I watch and listen and pray that something worthwhile might come up. While the whiles, I try to eat a lot, (Not easy. I seem to have lost my appetite as well) and rest a lot to recover the strength that the campaign and my recent illness took out of me.

I thank you all sincerely for the unwavering support that you gave me. Ugandan campaigns have become so monetized, and Kalaki was one of the worst. Without your help, there is no way I would have been a serious contender, what with my late arrival and the fact that until January this year, I was a relative unknown in Kalaki. We did well, and though we lost, I am glad that I was not an embarrassment to you. It is hard to take consolation in one's placing in an election because the fact remains that only one person wins and everybody else comes last, in spite of his or her performance. Still, I think that it would have been worse if I had come real last, or come third but by a wide margin. So there is still some hope. The seed has been planted. I must now strive to make sure that the plant that germinates is not allowed to wilt. I wish the ending would have been different. But it is what it is, and that is that and there is nothing I can do to change it now. Still, stay tuned, my friends. The fight is far from over. Thank you all very much.

Your friend,

Kenneth Ongalo-Obote.