There is a disease that comes with proximity to power: you stand so long near the throne that you start to believe it is yours and here in our country, Uganda ๐บ๐ฌ, that happened to Janet Kataahaโs (RIP) favorite son-in-law Odrek Rwabwogo.
๐๐ญ ๐ญ๐ก๐ ๐ญ๐จ๐ฉ ๐จ๐ ๐ข๐ญ ๐๐ฅ๐ฅ
How did the system work? In reality the foreign despot Octogenerian Senile Museveni never moved money himself. He used a proxy and Rwabwogo was perfect. Young, loyal, learned, presentable, not in cabinet. Money for a youth fund, contracts for a new ministry building, donations for a presidential initiative โ all passed through Rwabwogo and his supposedly “clean companies”.
On paper, it was empowerment. In reality, it was plumbing and how did the succession myth start? Over tea.
First Lady, defacto VP, Kataaha (RIP) calls Rwabwogo to a private veranda. No cameras, no aides. She tells him, be patient, remain loyal, the old man will need to rest and the country will need a young face. Although she deliberately never mentioned the word “President”, he heard it anyway.
That is the setup, useful as a proxy. Confused by a promise that was never made.
๐๐๐๐: ๐๐ก๐ ๐ฎ๐ฌ๐๐๐ฎ๐ฅ ๐ข๐๐ข๐จ๐ญ
In the series of meetings at the Crested Lake Resort, the Grand Serena, and private villas in the old Kololo Hills. Quiet lunches, soft voices, futures invented long before they are announced.
Kataaha (RIP) was by then claiming that Rwabwogo is useful. Very useful. He shows up, delivers, stays loyal, understands unwritten rules. The palace likes usefulness and once a man starts hearing “the future needs people like you” and “your time will come,” imagination does the rest.
๐๐๐๐ ๐ญ๐จ ๐๐๐๐: ๐๐จ๐ง๐๐ฎ๐ฌ๐๐
The whispers get louder, nobody in says “You will be President.” That would be too direct yet Kataaha (RIP) had promised him that. Instead, there are smiles and sentences about possibility, and possibility is dangerous. He turns “wait” into “prepare.” He turns “we trust you” into “you are the next.” He turns proximity into entitlement.
He thinks the foundation accounts were proof of trust. In the reality, they were proof of utility and exploitation.
๐๐๐๐: ๐๐ก๐ ๐ ๐ฎ๐ญ๐ฎ๐ซ๐ ๐๐๐๐ฎ๐ฌ๐๐ฌ ๐ญ๐จ ๐๐ซ๐ซ๐ข๐ฏ๐
Then comes the pre-2021 elections which he thought he would stand but the power-greedy Museveni still stands. The promised future refuses to arrive, the fund is audited by a new minister, the building contract goes to someone else. Yet the phone still rings-but less.
๐๐๐๐ ๐ญ๐จ ๐๐๐๐: ๐๐ก๐ ๐ช๐ฎ๐ข๐๐ญ ๐๐ฑ๐ข๐ฅ๐
This is how exile begins in manโs story. Not with a press conference, with a missing phone call, invitations go to other people, meetings happen without you and people who once called you family now call you my friend or worse names/titles.
๐๐๐๐ ๐ญ๐จ ๐๐๐๐: ๐๐๐๐ฒ๐๐ฅ๐๐
By now the photographs look different and what once looked like evidence of influence now looks like evidence of waste in our tale.
You thought you were climbing the ladder but then one day you realise you were the ladder. You thought loyalty was an investment. In this reality, power considered it a temporary contract.
But Kataaha (RIP), like many others has one talent: recycling. Yesterday’s insider becomes today’s critic. Today’s critic becomes tomorrow’s ally.
So Rwabwogo is not finished in our reality and he is waiting in the political recycling bin.
Used. Confused. Repackaged. Recycled.
And still listening for someone to say, “Your time is coming.” Hang in there little dude!