Kampala 1999 — Kifuuta Katooke 2026

Roasted meat had just become religion in Kampala. If you had a little money, if you were young and elite, you did not eat at home on Saturday. Home was for Monday.

Saturday was Yakobo Joint in Ntinda, Nakawunde pork joint on Entebbe Road. Smoke rising, beer sweating, music loud, wallets fat, laughter louder.

We were over 30. A city youth elite group. All a mix of professionals — engineers, bankers, rally drivers, lawyers. We allowed only four ladies because they were mature, rich, young, without worokoso. The eldest among us was 45, a former mayor of Entebbe in Obote times. Pompous man with class. Every morning he prayed mass at Christ the King, golden ring, golden rosary, high-end vintage Wogan car idling outside church.

And there I was. The boy from Masaka side, from Kifuuta. Driving all the way from Tororo in my doorless Land Rover, model 1972, with pride. No doors, but heart full. Wind in my face, dust in my eyes. I came because I wanted wisdom. Most of them looked flashy, knowledgeable about life. I wanted to tap that.

Among them, I saw one man and I made him my brother.

A smart, youthful lawyer. Strong Catholic like me. Coming from near my home village in Masaka. That alone tied us. Others in the group did not rhyme well with him. His contribution in Saturday seating was not there. But I defended him. I footed his bills. Fuel for his old, limping Benz. Afrigo Band, Mist Bar at Sheraton, Lucky Dube shows — whatever he wanted, I provided. I wanted him to feel among.

I introduced him to my young family. My wife, my children. In fact, we became family. But what fascinated me, he never introduced me to his family apart from his brother, who was also a member of the group. I did not see it then. When a man knows your children by name but you don't know his mother's hut, you are not family. You are shelter.

In 2006, I started working in Namibia. Can you imagine, I would fly in for a sitting? That was commitment. That Saturday pork was not pork; it was brotherhood.

I would take him with me — Lusaka, East London in South Africa, the long, beautiful ride from Cape Town to Durban by road. I would buy fuel, pay bills, stand at his side at burial, treat him like blood. He would visit me in Lusaka. I gave road, I gave heart.

Someone in the group pulled me aside one evening at Yakobo. "Leave this man before he stabs you."

I laughed. I thought it was jealousy. I couldn't hear.

Then came Bukumune. New Vision's "HAVE YOU HEARD" column. They wrote lugambo that I was to marry a named radio and drama actress. It was a flashy lie.

My brother lawyer was so annoyed. "We sue them." We did. We got paid 12 million shillings of then. To be sincere, I was not interested in that money. I wanted my young wife to hold it and see that it was a wrong publication. The money was for her peace.

But Empisi tasted blood. First taste of money through my name. Empisi never forgets taste of blood.

Years passed. I came back partially in 2014. I became President of SC Villa unopposed. New Vision published a negative story about me again. He came on a horse: "Sign affidavits, we sue them, bill over 200M. First case, they were ordered never to write negative about you."

But I was different now. I was National Fans Coordinator before. Who was more popular than the wealthy club President? I was a mobilizer. I wanted publicity to revive the club, not a blackout. I was against the move.

He insisted. Lawyers on the side of New Vision — my friend of many years from my close working contact with Jovia, now former Attorney General — called me, asked me to settle out of court. I gladly accepted. I didn't want war with New Vision.

I called my brother lawyer; we met opposite side. I gave my word not to proceed with the case at a fee of around 20 million. I told them to write the cheque in the name of the law firm that was representing me. His law firm.

I thought I had made peace for everyone. I thought I had protected my friend's firm with some pay.

Next thing I saw was a court summons. From my brother.

That I owe him money for all legal representation.

I could not believe it. I contacted close group members to call him for a meeting. He never showed up. He sued me. So far, I have paid more than 200 million shillings to things only gods of a bad friendship know.

Two hundred million. For fuel I gave when he had no fuel to Bukomansimbi. For the road I drove. For the burial I stood.

This world, finding a true friend is next to forcing a camel to pass through the eye of a needle.

That is why today I am a loner. I have made peace that Ali Ssekatawa and Friday Kagoro, both senior lawyers, are the only friends I will ask to escort my bones to Kifuuta Katooke, Kyotera, Buddu.

I wonder, was it Brutus to Caesar? Or using your professionalism to make money out of a true friend who stood by you when you didn't have fuel?

Now my heart is free. I have not gone with this pain in front of God when the gods finally make me sleep.

Lesson for you who is eating pork today in Sseguku in a group.

Kifuuta Oracles said,
"Empisi egenda okufa bwogiyambaza ekulya bwemala okuwona."
The Empisi that is dying by the roadside, if you carry it and care for it , it will eat you after it recovers.

Empisi does not come growling. Empisi comes limping. Benz limping, pocket empty, story sad. You feel pity. You carry.

Empisi loves your light, not you. When you are popular, when you fly from Namibia just for sitting, when you are SC Villa President, Empisi sits near you because flies gather near light.

Empisi never opens home. You know its hunger, but you never know its mother, its wife, its children. Real brother opens gate. Empisi opens only mouth.

Empisi turns what you gave into a bill. Fuel becomes invoice. Brotherhood becomes legal fees. The hand that pushed its car becomes the hand it sues.

Empisi refuses elders' council. Baganda say, ebigambo bitereezebwa mu lukiiko. Words are settled at council. When a man refuses to sit and runs to court to sue his brother who fed him, his heart was never at council.

And when one elder tells you, leave that man, listen. When two tell you, run. I was told. I laughed. I paid.

So, my child, feed a hungry man, yes. Jesus says feed. But don't make a hungry man your lawyer, your director, your bank, your everything in one day. Test the heart with small things first.

If you are to give, give and forget. If it is business, write and sign even if he is a brother. A clear agreement protects friendship. Love without paper is how Empisi eats.

Learn to say No with love. I wanted publicity for my club; he wanted a 200M case. I should have said No. Saying No early saves 200M later and saves the heart.

Thirty pork friends on Saturday are not two bone friends. Bone friends are those who will escort your bones to Kifuuta without an invoice. Keep them few. Keep them true.

And finally, forgive and put the stone down. Like I have now. Don't carry Empisi again. Let Empisi walk its own road.

My doorless Land Rover of 1972 is gone. Yakobo Joint changed. But Kifuuta Katooke still waits with a clean compound. There I will sleep without pain.

Because true riches is not a wallet fat in Ntinda. True riches is sleeping free before God without bitterness in the chest.

But I don't learn. I brought another Sira Donga from Paidha Radio who nearly killed him in Kampala Sports Club, abantu balabe bulabi dukka.

Tukwatagane ku Mbuuga ewa Jjaajja.

Oracle of Kifuuta Katooke — who carried Empisi and lived to tell.