On Monday, August 3, 2026, I came across a press release by H.E. President Yoweri Kaguta Museveni, addressed to the Bazukulu and the general public, in which he thanked Ugandans for their successful participation in the LC1 elections.
What particularly caught my attention, however, was the emphasis the President placed on the activities and schemes of the great journalist Andrew Mwenda. According to the President, among Mwenda’s alleged schemes are spying on him and attempting to discredit or undermine potential investors.
One of the people mentioned in the President’s account is a young man called Nuwagaba. I found his story quite touching and concerning after reading the President’s version of events.
Yet I understand that Mwenda has a very different and negative account of the same story.
I do not know Nuwagaba personally, and I have not yet had the opportunity to meet my friend Mwenda to hear his side of the story. I therefore reserve judgment until I have a better understanding of what actually happened.
Why does this concern me so much? I detest impunity. I believe that whenever any human being is subjected to injustice or impunity, and I have an opportunity to intervene or offer help, I should do so.
I know President Museveni reasonably well, and in my experience he is one of the fairest human beings I have encountered. He treasures humanity.
He does not discriminate against people, and I do not believe he deliberately does wrong while knowing that it is wrong.
Of course, he can be wrong unknowingly, as any human being can. But, in my view, his good heart and trust in people can sometimes be exploited by individuals within the system who use the name of the State or the President to pursue their own agendas.
I know this from personal experience. I have, on several occasions, been a victim of such forces.
About 27 years ago, I owned a ranch in Kabula, in what is now Lyantonde District. I had purchased the land from Masaka Union.
A few years later, a friend told me about a beautiful piece of land of roughly the same size as my Kabula ranch that was being auctioned by the High Court of Uganda. I became interested, participated in what was a very competitive bidding process, and emerged as the successful bidder.
I sold my Kabula ranch and purchased the ranch in Kashongi. I immediately began moving my cattle to this beautiful new property.
My first problem was that the land sold to me by the court turned out to be considerably smaller on the ground than what was reflected in the documents. That, however, is a story for another day.
Around the year 2000, I received a telephone call from the late Mrs. Gertrude Kabwasingo Byanyima, who informed me that my land was about to be occupied by State House.
I dismissed the idea with a loud laugh. But immediately after putting down the phone, I received another call from my workers informing me that soldiers had occupied the ranch.
I could not understand what was happening.
After making inquiries, I came to believe that Kakoza Mutale, Fox Odoi, Akim Lukenge and Amelia Kyambadde were behind the occupation. I was determined to defend my investment. I tried everything within my means, but I found myself blocked at every turn. Even my brother, Kale Kayihura, became involved in the matter from a position that was adverse to me.
I tried to reach President Museveni, but at the time he was out of the country, in Washington or New York. When he returned, I could not immediately gain access to him. Nevertheless, I had confidence in the fact that the High Court of Uganda had sold the land to me and gave orders to transfer titles in my name and I believed that eventually justice would prevail.
Eventually, I got an opportunity to meet the President and explained what had happened. He was shocked by what he heard. He ordered Kale Kayihura, Kakoza Mutale and the others involved to leave the property and respect the court orders.
That was my first direct encounter with what I came to understand as negative forces operating within or around government.
The second incident occurred when I received a telephone call from State House asking me to attend a meeting at Rwakitura. I was told that the meeting concerned the family of a late friend of the President who happened to be my neighbour.
I asked specifically whether the two wives of our late friend and their children would be present. I was assured that both families would be represented.
The following day I travelled to Rwakitura. Shortly afterwards, the President walked out of his house to meet us. But I immediately realised that I was sitting with people I did not know.
After the greetings, I protested. I told the President that I could not participate in a meeting I had been invited to attend concerning our late mutual friend while sitting with strangers whom I had not been told would be present.
The people in question had apparently been kept outside by the State House inner security circle. The President ordered his security personnel to bring them in.
During the meeting, I presented my side of the story, with the entire family serving as witnesses. The President listened, thanked me, agreed with my position and promised to support the family with my guidance.
Once again, the negative picture that had apparently been presented to him by people within his inner security circle did not withstand direct scrutiny.
A third incident happened more recently.
A colleague and friend of mine learned of an international trade scandal that was being discussed within diplomatic circles. After discussing the matter extensively, he made an appointment to raise it with the President. We eventually met the President, who instructed us to return in two weeks with a third person for a meeting.
The President was very clear: the meeting was to be between four people.
Three weeks later, the four of us arrived at State House on time, and the President was ready to meet us. We waited, however, and I eventually asked State House officials why we were being delayed.
We were informed that two additional people were joining the meeting.
I asked why we had not been informed if the President had changed his instructions. Nevertheless, the meeting proceeded. I was already prepared to walk out if necessary.
As soon as we settled in, I stood up and reminded the President that he had called a meeting for four people, yet there were now six of us.
The President immediately ordered the two additional people to leave the meeting.
This happened only a few months ago, in February 2026.
These experiences have left me with a strong conviction: the President may have good intentions and a genuine concern for people, but there are individuals within the security and State House circles who can distort information, manipulate situations and sometimes act in his name without his knowledge or approval.
That is why I am concerned when I read a story such as the one involving Nuwagaba. I do not know the young man, and I do not know which version of events is correct. I also do not want to condemn Andrew Mwenda or anyone else without first understanding the facts.
But I do believe that every Ugandan deserves to be heard fairly.
My concern is therefore not about taking sides between President Museveni, Andrew Mwenda or Nuwagaba. It is about ensuring that truth is not buried beneath competing narratives and that no individual is subjected to injustice simply because powerful people, institutions or security officials have chosen to act in a particular way.
I have personally experienced situations in which the President initially received information that was incomplete or misleading, only for the truth to emerge when I was finally able to speak to him directly.
That is why I believe we should always distinguish between the President himself and those who operate around him.
The President can be sincere, fair-minded and genuinely concerned about the welfare of people, while individuals within the system can still abuse his name, his office and the authority of the State.
I detest impunity wherever it occurs. If Nuwagaba has been wronged, he deserves justice. If Andrew Mwenda has been unfairly accused, he deserves the opportunity to defend himself. If the President has been misled, he deserves to know the truth.
Ultimately, this is not about personalities. It is about justice, accountability and humanity.
And that is why I intend to listen to both sides before forming an opinion.
The third incident happened in 2022.
An old friend from the cattle-farming areas of Kyankwanzi contacted me with disturbing information. He told me that a military vehicle had picked up two farmers. When their families followed the vehicle, they could not find out where the two men had been taken.
I immediately tried to establish what had happened. I contacted the resident politicians and district officials in the area, but they had no knowledge of any civilians being arrested by the military or of any military operation involving the two farmers. Fortunately, I obtained details of the vehicle and was able to confirm that it was indeed a military vehicle.
I then contacted the Chief of Military Intelligence, who initially had no knowledge of the arrests either. Later, he got back to me and confirmed that the two farmers were in the custody of the Special Forces Command (SFC). I insisted that he give me the contact of the SFC commander at the time, and he did.
I called the commander. What I heard during that conversation was deeply disturbing. The person I spoke to did not sound like the senior military officer I expected to be dealing with. The manner in which he spoke to me was so casual and dismissive that it sounded more like I was talking to a herdsman or the manager of a small village SACCO than a senior officer responsible for an elite security formation.
I was furious.
I tried to reach the President, but at the time he was out of the country, apparently travelling with one of his daughters. I managed to reach her and sent her a message on WhatsApp. I also sent my letter to others who were travelling with the President.
Within two days, I received a response.
Meanwhile, my phone was ringing nonstop. The wives, children and relatives of the two men were desperate and completely overwhelmed. Their hopelessness was visible in their homes. They did not know where their loved ones were, why they had been taken, or whether they would ever return.
A few days later, the two gentlemen were released without being charged.
Yet the people who had carried out the arrest continued, in my view, to abuse the very institutions they were supposed to serve, while claiming that they were acting in the interest of protecting the President.
That is why, when I later saw the President’s message acknowledging that criminals had infiltrated State House and security agencies, it was significant to me. Mr. President, I sincerely thank you from the bottom of my heart for many things, but for acknowledging and confronting that problem, I thank you a million times.
Over time, I have come to understand something that concerns me deeply: evil people with criminal intentions can sometimes use positions of authority within government and security institutions to commit terrible acts against ordinary citizens. This is not unique to Uganda.
I witnessed similar abuses during President Moi’s tenure in Kenya. And not long ago, I encountered another deeply troubling case in Rwanda.
An old friend of mine, Hakizimana, relocated to Rwanda with his family. A few years later, he passed away, and his wife, Mukandekyezi, also died, leaving behind young children who struggled through hardship but managed to keep themselves afloat.
During the COVID-19 period, I received a call informing me that Hakizimana’s children had been arrested, imprisoned and sentenced to between 12 and 15 years. The alleged crime was fighting.
I did everything I could to help them. When I examined the charge sheet and the judgment, however, I could not understand how the evidence presented could justify such lengthy prison sentences.
I contacted people in Kigali and asked them to help me understand what was happening. Several people told me that the President and First Lady were involved.
When I heard that, I knew something was wrong.
President Paul Kagame is a man whom I have held in high regard—as a friend and as a brother. I could not believe that he would knowingly be involved in such an injustice. I therefore tried to reach him personally.
Eventually, I got through to him and travelled to Rwanda to meet him at his home.
I explained the entire story of my late friend’s children. There were several people listed on the same charge sheet—I believe about five—but I personally knew two of them. I presented the facts as they appeared in the court documents. I also told President Kagame that people were insinuating that he himself had been behind their arrest and imprisonment.
As I expected, he knew nothing about the case. He was genuinely shocked that people could be imprisoned for years over circumstances such as those described in the court documents.
That evening, he made several calls to establish what had happened.
The following day, when we met again, he assured me that the young people would be released as soon as possible.
I thanked him sincerely. But because of our friendship, I asked him for one additional favour.
I asked him to take an inventory of that particular prison and review the files of all the prisoners there, so that nobody would remain behind if there were other people who had been imprisoned on similarly fabricated or unjust charges.
President Kagame assured me that this would be done.
Two weeks later, I received official communication that, following an inventory and review of the prison, almost one thousand prisoners had been released.
I was over the moon.
Not only were my late friend’s children out of danger, but hundreds of other families were reunited with their loved ones. That, to me, was a moment of immense joy.
These experiences have taught me that one of the greatest dangers to ordinary citizens is not necessarily the existence of government institutions or security agencies themselves, but the individuals who infiltrate those institutions and use the authority entrusted to them for personal gain, revenge, intimidation or other criminal purposes.
When people with evil intentions occupy positions of power, they can turn institutions created to protect citizens into instruments of fear and injustice.
That is why accountability matters. It is why institutions must be stronger than individuals, and why leaders must continually examine what happens in their names.
A president may sincerely want to protect citizens, yet still be surrounded by people who abuse his authority without his knowledge. The responsibility of leadership, therefore, is not only to give orders but also to listen, investigate, remove criminals from positions of power, and ensure that innocent people are not destroyed by the very institutions meant to protect them.
I have seen what happens when that accountability works.
I have also seen what happens when it fails.
The lesson I have taken from these experiences is simple: power without accountability can become dangerous, but courageous leadership can restore justice and give people back their hope.
In all honesty, I repeat: hearing President Yoweri Kaguta Museveni acknowledge that there are bad elements within our system gives me some relief. It is about time we separated the good apples from the bad apples. Retirement can be one of the methodologies that works, but simply retiring people who have criminal records is not enough. We all know that some crimes have no statute of limitations. I hope that one day, those responsible will answer for their actions.
The major subject of the President’s recent missive was Mr. Andrew Mwenda Mujuni. I feel compelled to tell the President, and Ugandans generally, who Andrew Mwenda really is from my own personal experience.
I first encountered Andrew accidentally in the late 1980s. He was a student at Mbarara High School when there was a student riot. Children were running all over the streets of Ruharo carrying sticks and stones. Among them was one very tiny boy with an unusually sharp voice, commanding students who were even older than him.
I stopped and tried to calm them down. I told them that I knew their headmaster, Mr. Bagatagira, and that I could speak to him so that whatever the problem was could be resolved peacefully. Some of the students were listening, but then Mwenda’s voice cut through the crowd and everyone went quiet.
He spoke so quickly that I could barely keep up. The last sentence I clearly remember was: The lorry is here. The headmaster must pack and go this afternoon – not this evening, not tomorrow, but now.
The crowd erupted into a noisy conversation. I eventually drove away.
Later that evening, I received information that the headmaster had indeed been loaded onto a truck and expelled from the school.
I tried to understand who this young boy was. The stories I heard were typical of our society, where everybody seems to know everything about everyone. Some said he was the son of a powerful government official. Others claimed he was the son of a prince from Bunyoro. Another story was that his father had been a big shot in the UPC government and a wealthy man in Tooro.
I never knew which story, if any, was true. But I remember being impressed by the way this tiny boy commanded students who were much older than him.
Years later, in the 1990s, I was sitting at the Sheraton Hotel when I heard a voice that sounded strangely familiar. It was the speed of the speech that caught my attention. I realized it must be the same boy I had encountered years earlier.
I called him over, asked him to sit with me, and we started talking. He told me that he was now a journalist. The voice, the mannerisms, the body language – they were unmistakably those of the same boy I had met in the late 1980s. The only significant difference was that he had grown taller and bigger.
We became close friends.
As I got to know Andrew, I began hearing all sorts of things about him from people in my circles. Some said he was anti-government. Others said he loved money so much that he could sell even his own friends and relatives. Others accused him of being an agent of “economic hit men.” There were endless stories and accusations.
But the more I interacted with Andrew, the more I realized that there was much more to him than the stories people told.
There are, in my experience, five Mwendas in one person.
Mwenda the Villager
There is Mwenda the villager – the man who treasures his culture, his people and his environment. One of his many hobbies was milking cows. Beneath all the public controversy and intellectual arguments, there is a man deeply connected to his roots.
Mwenda the Journalist
Then there is Mwenda the journalist: curious, fearless, argumentative, outspoken and constantly questioning the people and institutions around him.
Mwenda the Intellectual
There is also Mwenda the intellectual. I was privileged to invite Andrew to serve with me as a board member of an international company, where we served together for 15 years.
During those 15 years, I travelled with Andrew outside the country about three times every year. Those journeys gave me an opportunity to see a side of him that many people never see.
We served on the same board with the late Dr. Martin Aliker. The two of them could enter into a casual conversation and, before you knew it, they were debating a subject as though they had known each other for decades. Their conversations could continue for days.
The board also included some extremely wealthy and influential people. Andrew was never intimidated by wealth or status. He would engage them on virtually any subject, challenge them with facts and, occasionally, discover that he was wrong.
What impressed me most was that when he discovered he had been wrong, he did not pretend otherwise. At the next meeting, he would return to the subject and acknowledge that he had been mistaken.
That quality is rare.
I remember one of the wealthy men we served with once asking me privately, How much is Andrew worth?
I told him to guess.
He guessed $100 million.
Rather than continue the conversation, I simply said, You have guessed right.
He then asked, What is he investing in?
To end the conversation, I replied, Land. He has an entire kingdom.
Mwenda the Humanitarian
Then there is Mwenda the humanitarian.
Over the years, I have watched Andrew fight battles for people he barely knew. I have seen him intervene on behalf of people who had no power, influence or money to offer him in return.
I remember one particular case involving a position at one of our largest and most liquid parastatals. The interview and selection process was intense and was conducted at the highest levels of government.
Three candidates were shortlisted. Once I knew the shortlist, we started lobbying. My preferred candidate was number one on the list, while Andrew’s preferred candidate was number three.
I initially thought Andrew was wrong.
One morning, he invited me to breakfast at a five-star hotel in Kampala. He brought along the candidate he supported.
The breakfast was a buffet. As we sat and talked, my sixth sense began telling me that something was not right.
Andrew was busy explaining all the good things about this financial expert and guru. But I was watching the man’s body language. Something about it did not sit well with me.
At one point, Andrew walked away to get some food. The man’s gestures and expressions confirmed my suspicion.
When breakfast ended, the man left. Andrew turned to me and asked what I thought of him.
I told Andrew plainly, This man hates you with a passion.
Andrew laughed loudly and told me to stop being silly.
My last words to him that morning were, Time will tell.
A few days later, Andrew called me.
Barnabas, tell me, he said. How did you know this man hated me? After all I have done for him.
I simply reminded him, That is why I call you Baby Old Man. You are too engaged in helping people to see the evil in some of them.
There was another similar case involving an official at the Bank of Uganda. She approached me for help because she was having serious difficulties with government officials and the President.
I told her frankly that I found it difficult dealing with government officials and preferred to remain in the private sector. She insisted that I help her get Andrew to at least listen to her side of the story before she lost her job.
I agreed.
I spoke to Andrew and asked whether I could share his number with her. He accepted. Before long, the two of them were on their way to State House, Entebbe.
Later that evening, the woman called me and told me that Andrew had saved her and her job.
Then she said something that confused me.
But I hate him.
I asked her why.
He is too close to the President – more than anyone I have ever seen, she said.
I told her I would have thought that was something to admire rather than hate.
She responded, Everyone hates him anyway.
That was when I understood something: sometimes, no matter how much you do for certain people, they will still choose to hate you.
Mwenda the Fun-Loving Young Man
Finally, there is Mwenda the fun-loving young man living inside an adult’s body.
During one of our trips to China, a Chinese official jokingly baptized him , Baby Old Man.
The name was perfect.
Andrew could sit in the most serious boardroom discussing economics, politics or international affairs, and a few hours later he could be laughing and behaving like a mischievous young boy.
That is another side of him that people who only know him through headlines may never see.
Over the years, I have also watched people take advantage of Andrew’s kindness and connections.
Our society is full of people who exploit relationships, generosity and access. If some people can take advantage of the President as a person and of the institutions of government, what chance does an ordinary person have? And what about someone like Andrew, who is constantly surrounded by people seeking something from him?
I have known Andrew for decades. I have travelled with him, served with him, debated with him, laughed with him and watched him deal with people from every level of society.
I do not claim that Andrew is perfect. He is not.
Andrew can do something wrong without realizing it. But when time reveals to him that he was wrong, I have seen him come back and apologize. That ability to recognize one’s own mistakes is one of the reasons I have continued to respect him.
I therefore find it extremely difficult to reconcile the Andrew Mwenda I know with the image of him portrayed by some of his harshest critics.
He is not an agent of negative forces.
His loyalty to his friends, his family, his community, his country and the African continent is, in my experience, beyond question.
I have seen the five Mwendas.
I have seen the villager.
I have seen the journalist.
I have seen the intellectual.
I have seen the humanitarian.
And I have seen the fun-loving young man who never completely grew up.
Most importantly, I have seen the human being behind all of them.
That is the Andrew Mwenda I know.
And if we are going to judge people, then let us judge them on the basis of evidence, facts and the totality of their character-not merely on rumours, political narratives or the opinions of people who may have their own interests to protect.
I hope that, one day, Uganda will learn to distinguish between genuine accountability and the destruction of people’s reputations.
Bad apples must be separated from good ones.
Barnabas Taremwa Bwaniaga
Senior global citizen.
