Map of Uganda CIA World Factbook 2002 on Uganda
W.L. is a farmer from northern Uganda, a married man with three young children. He fled his farm after learning that the local police were on their way to arrest him. Having almost died in custody not long before, he felt he had no option but to leave Uganda. He has now been in Britain for just over a year, and has had no news of his family since the summer of 2001.
W.L. recently learnt that his application for asylum in the UK has been turned down, on the grounds that his story is not credible, and that he was unable to produce evidence of the torture he suffered in detention. W.L.s body is covered in scars.
The price of a different opinion
In 1991, W.L. was 20. His village in northern Uganda lay in an area of political turmoil and his father, together with many of the other villagers, was active in opposition politics. One day in the spring, soldiers arrived in the village, arrested all its inhabitants, and herded them together. The older men were separated from their families, their arms tied behind them. W.L. watched while his father was beaten to death. I saw them smash his head. Then I saw his brains spill out. My 11-year-old sister was standing near me. She was taken away and raped. Anyone suspected of supporting the rebels was pushed into a pit. The soldiers covered them with firewood and set fire to it: those inside died of smoke and burns. The rest of us they freed. We took my little sister to a missionary hospital.
My mother wanted me to finish my studies, but I felt I had to look after the family, so I gave up my plans for going to university. Soon after this I married. In time I was able to buy a truck and build up a business, selling the produce we made on our farm. We did well and my wife and I had three children.
In 1996 Uganda held presidential elections. W.L. had become increasingly disenchanted with the corruption of the government, and had become active in an opposition party popular in his area. The next presidential elections were due in March 2001. In February that year, W.L. drove to a nearby town with his driver to deliver a load of cereals to one of his customers. As they were leaving the town, they were stopped by a white military truck. Two men in plain clothes and one uniformed soldier informed him that he was being arrested for security reasons. W.L. protested and was hit on the head with the butt of a rifle. He was then pushed into the back of the truck and covered with a tarpaulin, before being driven for most of the night to Kampala.
I was pulled out of the truck and rolled on the ground, on sharp gravel. They beat me around the head, and stabbed at me with bayonets. I was bleeding all over. I found myself in a military safe house, in a suburb of the city, and realised it was one of the places they took people for interrogation. Next day I was taken for questioning. When I refused to sign a confession that I was involved with the rebels, one of the officers drew his gun and shot me through the thigh. They put a cellophane bag over my head and I lost consciousness.
When W.L. came round a few hours later he found himself in a pit surrounded by dead bodies. A soldier passing by saw him move and dragged him inside the house. He was left in a cell. The next day, he was ordered to sign the confession. By now his shot wound was going septic. The soldiers said that he would get treatment if he signed. He signed. Before throwing him back into a cell, one of the soldiers stabbed him with his bayonet, saying here's your treatment.
W.L. was young and very fit, and he survived. The wound began to heal. A few weeks later he was told that he was going to be transferred to a prison. Others prisoners had told him that when they came for you at night, it meant that they were going to kill you. So when, a few nights later, guards came to collect him, he assumed that he was about to be executed. Instead, the young guard who drove him away in a truck told him that there had been a change in the upper ranks of the army, and that the current officer in charge was opposed to these summary executions. W.L. was released in the bush and given a little money for a fare home. He crawled under some bushes and hid. Next morning, he dragged himself to the main road, where a bus driver stopped. He reached home in May. He had been missing for nearly three months.
A season in hell
When at last he recovered from his wound, he returned to work on the farm. His wife was a trained tailor and she had been working to keep the family, while his mother looked after the children. The driver had taken over the deliveries. As the days passed, and no one came, he began to think that he was safe.
On 15 July I heard the sounds of a car. I was inside the house with the children. A Land Rover stopped and three soldiers came in. They kicked me to the ground, then hit me with bits of wood. My mother came and begged them to stop. They slapped her. Then they saw my wife. Two soldiers raped her in front of us all. By now they had handcuffed me and I was dragged out to the Land Rover. They drove me back to Kampala. There they told me that they wanted to make sure that I suffered the same as my wife. I didnt understand at first. They accused me of working with the rebels on my journeys around the country taking my produce to my clients.
The soldiers took me into a room with rings cemented to the wall. They chained me up by my arms and my feet. Then they raped me. When I struggled, they put cellophane bags over my head. I stopped resisting. They raped me several times. In the next few days, they beat me on the soles of my feet. I couldnt walk. They made me crawl over the gravel. It was August by now. I knew I was going to die, but I didnt mind.
Among W.L.s clients was an Indian businessman, with good contacts in the military. After W.L. had disappeared, he began to make enquiries. A day came when he appeared in W.L.s prison and said that he would try to help him, but that he needed money for bribes. W.L. told him to take the truck from his farm. The businessman had learnt that W.L. was known to have criticised a local high-ranking politician, who had then ordered him killed.
One night, the Indian returned to release him, having bribed the officers to certify him dead. If he were seen again, he told him, it would mean trouble for everyone. W.L. was driven to a village and hidden for a week. His friend took a photograph for a passport. One night a white foreigner arrived with a car. W.L. dressed in his Indian friends white robes, and shaved his head completely, pretending that he was an invalid, seeking spiritual help from a healer not far from the border. He was then driven across into Kenya.
The white man then took me by bus to Nairobi. He said nothing to me. We went to the airport and caught a plane. Many hours later we landed and I discovered that I was at Heathrow airport in London. It was five in the morning and completely dark. It was winter and very cold. We got into a taxi and drove for a little way. Then I was told to get out. The man said to me: My job is now over, and drove away. I was very cold and I didnt know where I was. It was a different world. When it got light I realised that I was in a street with shops. I saw a black man and followed him. He turned out to be another Ugandan. He took me home and helped me to apply for asylum.
Slowly, W.L.s wounds have healed, though his arms, legs, back and head are covered in scars. His right hand is twisted, from where his thumb was broken under torture. He has been tested for AIDS and knows that he has not been infected. What he does not know, however, is what has happened to his wife and children and whether she might have become infected during the rape
Not long after his Indian friend collected the truck to sell, he returned to the farm to take his wife news of what was happening. There was no one there. The farm was deserted and the house abandoned. He is haunted by what may have happened to them. I feel the world is against me, he says. I think sometimes I was not meant to exist.
