Beyond the President's Man

Imran Muluga

BEYOND THE PRESIDENT'S MAN

"Hajji Muluga Imran has been appointed Resident District Commissioner for Busia District and he has been directed to report to his station with immediate effect."

My parents named me Imran Muluga. I was born in 1966, the historical year of the Kabaka crisis in the early stages of post-independent Uganda to Hajji Bashiri Muluga and Hajjati Hafsah Luwedde of Bukabeba village in present-day Butaleja district which was part of Tororo then, in Eastern Uganda.

My mother, Hafsah Luwedde, was a royal from the Kabaka's Lion clan of Buganda and that's why the events in the country at the time of my birth that culminated in the exile of President Fred Luwangula Mutesa had a direct adverse effect upon our family. At the time of my birth, my parents lived in Mbaale where they both taught as young teachers on their first posting. The two had met during their time at Kibuli Teacher Training College in Kampala around 1960. My mother was a year ahead of my father, and thus left the college earlier and was posted in Mbaale. Upon completing a year later, my father asked to be posted to the same school where they could rekindle their school love affair. Two years after I was born, my younger sister, Aminah Muluga followed. The birth of Aminah changed the atmosphere at home. Father particularly appeared to be overjoyed by the prospect of having his first girl child. As for Mom, it came with both pride and more responsibilities at the same time. She attempted to get a maidservant to help her with the extra responsibility of taking care of two toddlers while keeping her job as a teacher but her father opposed it. He had heard stories of bad-hearted maidservants mistreating the children of their masters and was always sceptical of the idea of having one home himself. He, thus, insisted that the mother tried to balance her school work and child care. Once in a while, I remember seeing some faces that would occasionally come to stay home with us. These were, most likely, relatives who either came to visit or students who stayed for holidays. These were the few occasions Mother delegated her role of taking care of us to anybody other than herself. Oftentimes, it meant that she had to make friends with neighbours whom she would entrust to watch over us when she was at work.

When I was in primary two, both my parents were transferred to Iganga district, to a school called Mawundo Primary School in the present-day Luuka district. As a child of about six years, I was not particularly involved in discussing the next phase of our life. To put it, I and my two siblings were only informed of our next adventure a day before shifting. It was during the holidays. Father first went and spent some days preparing for us. He then returned with a truck that I vividly remember to have belonged to a certain school. A certain school was other than Mawundo Primary School, our next destination.

Our neighbours converged in big numbers. Both old and young. My parents' workmates particularly appeared with sombre expressions on their faces indicating they would miss us a lot, or my parents to be specific. One senior lady, in particular, had been wearing a worryingly sad expression on her face as a host of neighbours sat in the small but compact sitting room to say their goodbyes to mother and father. She had long remained conspicuously quiet, supporting her chin with her two palms and occasionally making an unusual sound as she swallowed saliva as if she had wanted to say something so badly but was not so sure how to put it.

" Mama Imran, munajjanga nemutukyaalirako? Nga mpulira nzigwaawo okukimanya anti abana bange obatutte obutaliddamu bbalaba." she lamented in Luganda loosely translated to mean " Mama Imran, will you be coming back to check on us? I feel so uncomfortable learning that you are going with the kids never for me to see them again." She then burst into tears and left the house. I don't remember seeing her after that. Whether either Mom Daddy or both followed her and consoled her, I don't remember.

The following hour or so was a real fuss in the house. People, including those I had never seen come home, were busy loading our belongings onto the giant automobile Dadd returned with. Before long, the house was empty and the driver set the truck on ignition. Mom hugged a few of her friends as others swung their hands in the air long enough to make them ache. Father stayed standing with some male guests, many of whom were sweating from the fatigue of loading the household items onto the truck.