The story of Ijuka Kabumba 

On 22nd December 2017, my father, Professor Ijuka Kabumba, died.

Thus ended, rather unceremoniously, his struggle with prostate cancer. It has been six years now, but the pain of loss is still fresh – and this column is my first attempt in that period to try to articulate what exactly it is that Uganda lost when this man died.

He was born on 14th May 1945 to Baturumayo Kabumba and Tezira Nyinambeba – both peasants. Prospects for life – let alone education – were very dim indeed. Indeed, by 1954 he had already lost his younger sister, Freda Baamunaga, who died from what seemed to have been severe malaria.

Life in those circumstances could be quite Hobbesian: ‘nasty, brutish and short’. Essentially, she died of, or from, poverty. Many times, indeed, he would note (quoting his elder brother Stanley Kabigabwa, sadly now himself also deceased) ‘obwooro n’endofa’ – poverty is dirty.

It can be dehumanizing, robbing human beings of dignity, even life. Incidentally, my father himself literally bore the scar of poverty on his forehead – derived from a crude method of ‘medical treatment’, (involving applying heat to particular spot) – he was subjected to during a life-threatening illness early in his life.

This theme – of poverty as the unseen but ever-present enemy, and education as the only feasible means out of its claws – was one which would be reflected throughout his life. The second-best student in the 1959 Primary Leaving Examinations in the then Kigezi district (now split into Kabale, Kanungu, Kisoro and Rukungiri districts), he proceeded to Kigezi High School for two years of what were then called ‘Junior School’, from 1960 to 1961.

It was there that he met a young man, Ezra Suruma, who would become a life-long friend. At the end of Junior School, having emerged second- best in Kigezi High School to a one Shem Bageine, my father’s education journey might have ended there. He was only able to attend King’s College Budo on account of what was known as a ‘travelling scholarship’ (worth a total of Uganda Shillings 800 – 200 for each of the four years of O’ level) offered by the then Budo Headmaster.

Even with this support, he might have failed to attend Budo. In his yet unpublished autobiography entitled ‘My children will have better choices: Episodes in my life’, my father recounts: ‘By the grace of God, my grandfather [Zakaria Gabanyonyi aka Mushambango] sold a cow and lent all the proceeds [shs.300] to my father. One of my elder brothers, Stanley Kabigabwa, signed as a witness. The idea was that if our father failed to pay repay the loan, he [Stanley], would pay the money.

If I remember correctly, the loan was interest free. I travelled to Kampala barefooted, and wearing an old khaki pair of shorts and an equally old short sleeved shirt. There were only two of us among about 600 hundred students without shoes. It hurt me. For, although I had performed very well …I was poor: my relatives [especially parents] were poor.

This event/incident showed me and still shows me that poverty is a complex phenomenon – so much so that I cannot pretend to understand its real causes and so how to cure it.’ In the event, his continued stay at Budo was only enabled by a combination of bursaries from the central government (a King George V scholarship), Kigezi local government, and Budo itself.

Incidentally, the other barefoot student was a one Yoga Adhola. It is perhaps telling – both of the nature of Budo at the time, and perhaps Uganda itself, that his economic circumstances did not impede his social or academic experiences. He became a Sub-Lamper (equivalent of O’ level prefect at Budo), head of the debating team and Chairperson of the School government.

For the last office, he needed to borrow a jacket from an A’ level student when Budo hosted Gayaza High School for the Form Four social event. During the school holidays, his much richer friends routinely invited him to spend holidays at their more affluent homes. He steadily refused these kind invitations. His place was at home – with his peasant parents. Home was the mud and wattle complex of huts that was the Baturumayo residence in Nyakitabire village.

He moved from Budo to Ntare School for A’ level in 1966 – mainly to be able to study French as it was apparently the only school at the time offering it at that level. At Ntare, eye problems which had first manifested while in Form 2 at Budo (perhaps in no small part due to the many years of reading by candle light at home) became worse.

It was evident that he might not be able to handle the extreme reading his dream course – law – would require. He sought the advice of the Health Master, Brian Remmer (who later became headteacher of Ntare), who advised him to abandon that dream. My father took the university admission forms he had filled, tore them, and cried. Poverty – his old friend – had reared its head again, to deprive him of the ability of pursuing his full potential.

He made the most of the lemons life had given him. He excelled at his course – BA (Political Science, with a bias towards Public Administration) at Makerere, graduating with Upper Second Class honours in 1971.

He won a scholarship that same year to study a Masters’ degree in Public Administration (MPA) in the United States of America – at the State University of New York at Albany. He graduated with distinction – performing so well in his programme that several faculty members (including Professors Brack Brown and Walter Balk) tried to convince him to stay on and complete a PhD.

Nonetheless, in December 1970, he had made a commitment to his fiancée – who at the time was called Elaine Bukabeeba (now Mrs Bazaire Kabumba) – that he would return to Uganda and marry her. Faced with the choice between the PhD and marriage, he chose the latter. His reasoning was that while there would always be opportunities for further studies – a good spouse was hard to find. He was right, I think.

They wedded on 29th September 1973. On return to Uganda, he first worked in the mainstream public service, serving briefly as Assistant District Commissioner in the then districts of Lango and Bukedi, before joining the then Uganda Institute of Public Administration (IPA), which is now called the Uganda Management Institute (UMI).

He would rise there from the position of Assistant Secretary/ Assistant Lecturer; through Lecturer, Senior Lecturer, Principal Lecturer, to Head, Department of Local Government (from 1973-1989). It was while at IPA that another opportunity for a PhD arose, which he undertook at the University of Paris II from October 1979 to June 1982, graduating with a PhD awarded with the grade ‘Tres bien avec eloge’ – literally translated as ‘very good, with praise/ commendation’.

Again, his thesis advisor, Professor Roland Drago, advised him to stay in France and pursue a career there. Again, he chose Uganda, returning to continue his service at IPA. In some ways, the highlight of his service to Uganda was as Managing Director of the National Insurance Corporation, from 13th January 1989 to 12th January 1994.

He turned the fortunes of what was then a parastatal organization around, from a loss-making institution to a surplus of Ugx 3 billion at the end of his five-year contract. And yet, his contract was not renewed. He had dared to treat public funds as public funds, and to prevent their encroachment by very powerful forces in the political establishment.

His life, and that of his family, were threatened. Once, a group of mean tried to kidnap my younger sister and I from our primary school in Bugolobi. The threats continued to affect us directly. In those days of the ‘landline telephone’, one could not tell beforehand who was calling. I remember once picking the phone (I must have been about 8 or 9 years old) – the caller on the other end must have sensed that I was the MD’s son.

He gave me one message for him: ‘Tell your father that he is very stupid’. My father was indeed quite stupid in the ways of this world – if he had taken a few decisions to ‘bend’ the law he might have secured for himself a contract renewal – and a most comfortable retirement. I was a child, but even then, watching his troubles made me swear one thing to myself: I would never work in Uganda’s public service.

Like Henrik Ibsen’s 1882 play, ‘An enemy of the people’ – I had understood how power (included the power of the media) could be wielded to make saints sinners, and sinners of saints. I was somewhat gratified when, on 17th May 2020, I opened the Sunday Vision to a story by the researcher Muwonge Magembe entitled ‘Ugandan officials who rejected huge bribes’.

The last entry in the list was ‘Prof Ijuka Kabumba’ and the section recorded for posterity: ‘While at NIC, Ijuka declined substantial bribes offered by insurance brokers. No wonder they chest-thumped when he was sacked. On the day of his dismissal, Ijuka walked from the NIC office down to the Old Taxi Park to pick a taxi back home. Irrefutably, Ijuka was a rare breed that despised ostentation.’

After NIC, he would briefly teach at Makerere University (February 1995 to October 1996), before serving as Secretary General of the African Association for Public Administration and Management, based in Nairobi (November 1996 to October 2001); and before serving finally as first Associate Professor and later full Professor in Public Administration at Nkumba University (from June 2003 to the time of his death).

I think his final years at Nkumba were some of the happiest in his professional life. He loved teaching, and his students. And they loved him back. There have been several occasions, before and after his death, when I have received unexpected warmth and kindnesses
from total strangers; accompanied by the explanation that they were his students.

On 22nd December 2017, my mother lost her husband; my siblings and I, a father; my children, nieces and nephews a grandfather. Uganda too, lost a fine specimen from a fast-disappearing era. They die often as they lived – without a fuss, without fanfare. In remembering them we invite ourselves to an attempt at remembering that in Uganda it was once possible for the son of a peasant to attend the most elite schools, and to serve his country at the highest professional level.

And that, once upon a time, public service meant exactly that – serving the public. We do well to remember Ugandans like Ijuka Kabumba.
On this note – the recollection of the need for rest, introspection, renewal and loving remembrance – this column will go into a brief hiatus, returning on 17th January 2024. Happy holidays to you all, and, all constant, see you on the other side.

The writer is senior lecturer and acting director of the Human Rights and Peace Centre (HURIPEC) at the School of Law, Makerere University, where he teaches Constitutional Law and Legal Philosophy.