How do we move on?
It has been four days since the fatal terrorist twin bombings in Kampala on the night of Sunday, 11 July, 2010. I have been unable to write since I learnt of the twin bombings. Having left Uganda that night for Denmark for a one month writing residency, I had no idea that the day of the World Cup celebrations back home would result into days of mourning. I came aboard KLM Royal Dutch Airlines and our pilot had asked us to support the Dutch team. I was silently rooting for Spain. Don’t know why. Perhaps it was because I was becoming a believer in Paul the Octopus. This was a momentous time for us. The World Cup had come to Africa for the first time and we were all filled with the feeling of euphoria that we were doing something right. South Africa had done us proud. All the fears of terrorist attacks and escalating crimes rates were all but a speculation. So the last day was for all of us to unite in one last time of harmony to watch the game and dream on. At the end of the game, the TV screen in my front seat indicated that Spain had won the World Cup 2010. I was happy.
Arriving at Amsterdam Schipol Airport and clearing through customs, where the officer was surprised that I had travelled all the way from Africa to come to Denmark to write, I had no idea what awaited me. All I wanted was to find my departure gate and sit and wait. It would be a long wait. May be I would grab a nap in the airport lounge chairs counting down the minutes. I was set to depart from gate D85, which I found momentarily. I turned on my phone to see if I had a telephone network connection there was none. I turned on my net book hoping to use the time to surf the net and communicate with family and friends back home. I could not access the internet. So in frustration, I turned to watch the telly. It started with the WC celebrations in South Africa, and then a BREAKING NEWS header took over. Bombing in Uganda. 45 feared dead. I sighed. I thought it was some lousy joke. I had just left Uganda a few hours ago. All had been fine. How did this happen? The pictures took us to Kyaddondo Rugby Grounds in Lugogo a popular hangout place in working Kampala. The scene of broken plastic garden chairs, revelers stuck in their seats like they were resting, what I needed to confirm that the bombings were true. I was numb. I sat glued to my chair for the rest of my wait staring at the television. For five hours I followed the news on CNN. The death toll kept rising. I was in no position to communicate with my family and friends back home to hear the real story. I felt like Tom Hanks in the movie, Terminal, where he arrives in New York only to discuss that there has been a coup in his country overnight and he has no country. The waiting area started filling up and I wanted to shout at the other passengers to shut up. I wanted a quiet space. There was a tragedy back home. I could not so I sat by myself soaking in the sad news with each update all the time wishing for it to be untrue.
The first thoughts on my mind were ‘oh my God I could have been in that crowd’. I used to hang out the Kyaddondo Rugby grounds back in the day. It was known for its delicious BBQs. Many young people I knew would probably have been there. So many questions but no answers. Who could have been this cruel? And today there are still more questions than answers. Fingers have been pointed in all directions most notable is the belief that the bombings are the work of the Al-Shabaab, an Islamic terrorist group in Somalia with strong links to the Al-Qaeda. This school of thought believes the bombing are retaliation to the presence of Ugandan peace keepers in Somalia supporting the fragile transitional government. Threats of bombings have been issued from this group before.
The city as I learn from my friends back home is tense. People are angry. They want answers. They want the Ugandan Army fighting in Somalia to return home. But nothing can reverse the hands of time and bring those brutally killed on dark Sunday. No one knows what to do next. The fear grips all of us. We are afraid. We don’t know how to smile again. Or trust again. Or even go out in busy places anymore. How does one move on after their fabric of safety has been torn into a million little pieces? How can we as a country learn that the large Somali community in Uganda, has nothing to do with the bombings and we should not target them in frustration? How can we tell each other that it is going to be fine and we shall eventually heal? I find the answer in a friend’s facebook status: “Call your family, call your friends, your neighbours...lets spread some love around and support each other...we all need it!
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