he sun that once rose with such promise in 1986 has long since been eclipsed, leaving Uganda in the shadow of a frail octogenarian dictator, Tibuhaburwa Museveni. Once a liberator whose name inspired fear and respect, Museveni has become a tragic figure, clinging to the remnants of power as though his very survival depends on it—and perhaps it does.
Where once stood a commanding presence, now remains a mere shadow of the man who once held Uganda in his iron grip. His power, once unassailable, now slips through his trembling fingers, leaving behind the relic of a ruler who, rather than leading with authority, seems more like a vampire, desperately baying for the lifeblood of a nation he refuses to release from his grasp.
Yet, in the darkened corridors of the State House, one figure remains undeterred by her husband’s decline: Janet Museveni. If there’s one skill Janet has honed over the decades, it’s the art of survival. Her methods? Let’s just say they’ve become as murky and unscrupulous as anyone could possibly imagine.
Janet, the embodiment of illiterate privilege, has transformed the State House into her personal stronghold, a gilded fortress from which she fiercely resists the looming reality of a life beyond its luxurious walls. Her educational background may be as meager as her work ethic, but that hasn’t hindered her from wielding power with the cunning of a seasoned Machiavellian—though her tactics involve more bedroom maneuvering than political acumen.
The whispers that echo through the corridors of power paint a picture of a woman so consumed by her desire to maintain her opulent lifestyle that she is willing to go to any lengths to keep her husband in office—or at least the semblance of it. The irony is unmistakable: Museveni, the strongman who once promised to lead Uganda into a bright future, is now a mere puppet, his strings pulled by a series of not-so-subtle backroom deals, and, of course, by Janet’s relentless ambition.
Behind the scenes, Janet has been more than just the dutiful wife tending to her husband’s ailing health. She has been busy forging strategic alliances, often in the most compromising of circumstances. These alliances are more akin to the transactional relationships that have defined her influence since her younger days. It appears that there’s no bed she won’t warm, no ego she won’t placate, to ensure that she remains ensconced in the lap of luxury for as long as possible.
Uganda, it seems, is not ruled by a solitary despot but by a duo—each as dependent on the other as they are on the power they so desperately cling to. Museveni, in his feeble state, is nothing without Janet; and Janet, with her insatiable thirst for influence, is nothing without the State House.
As Museveni’s life flickers on, sustained by his wife’s unyielding lust for power, one must wonder: How long can this grim farce continue? How much longer will Uganda remain a hostage to a dictator who can barely support himself, let alone an entire nation?