Thirty years guarding High Court

By Edrisa Kisambira and Andrew KizitoWHEN Francis Nzakizwanimana left his native country Rwanda while escaping the Tutsi-Hutu tribal clashes in 1959, little did he know that he would spend more than 30 years of his life as a guard and a key keeper. If you have been to the High Court, then you have certainly seen him. You would mistake him for a sergeant, yet he does not have any military background. It all started when he left Rwanda with his parents, who unfortunately died before getting here. Together, they were escaping the historic clashes that resulted in an exodus of Rwandans into neighbouring countries in what is termed as the Great Lakes Region today. As we get into the pros and cons of how they escaped, Nzakizwanimana is more than willing to talk, to tell more than a reporter would need to punch out a profile of the apparently unhappy guard.As a 17-year-old boy, Nzakizwanimana, a Tutsi whose name means saved by God in Kinyarwanda, settled in Rutahigwa (Mutala’s camp). Getting into Uganda was after all not easy. Hutu militants scoured the border.“We spent nights in tree tops on the Kalisimbi border. We were hiding from Hutu militants as we attempted to cross over,” the talkative Nzakizwanimana says. After getting into Uganda along with other refugees, they left for Isingiro. In Isingiro, he acquired his first job as a weighing man in a coffee factory from 1965 to 1973.In 1970, his cousin, who harboured dreams of joining the army, left him in Isingiro and came to Kampala. Two years after his cousin had left, Nzakizwanimana followed him in 1972. He says his intentions were to join his cousin. He had been informed that he was a Police Officer, who was then attached to the Central Police Station (CPS). Nzakizwanimana’s journey to town was however an unfortunate one. Three days after he had set foot in Kampala, his cousin had to leave for further training. The boss at CPS then, who he only remembers as Muruli, allowed him to stay at CPS. This, he says is how he came to Kampala, leaving behind a young girl he had just married, pregnant with the child he will never know.After failing to convince officials at CPS to get him into Police Training School, he says he was stranded because he had to find a way to survive. He however says that while there, he was treated as one of their own (the Police). He was given free food, soap and other amenities.“I tried to convince the Police to get me into training school to no avail. I did not have anything to do. The only good thing was that I was given food and shelter by the Police,” he says.The chasing away of the Indians by Idi Amin in 1972 shattered his other hopes of getting a job. How did he get into the trade that has been his life anyway?“In 1973, a Police officer from the High Court tipped me of a job opening. The policeman was a personnel officer of the High Court,” the now greyed Nzakizwanimana says. Requirements for the job, he says, involved possessing the correct nationality and level of education. He however is quick to add that the officer asked him whether he could make a good guard and a keeper of the keys to all the courtrooms at the High Court.He says: “I would work from 6:00am to 5.00pm, when I would leave for other policemen who would guard at night to take over.”His daily routine starts at 6:00am in the morning.“I go on to check, making sure nothing was stolen during the night, and I open all courts. I then raise the flag, after which I start issuing newspapers of the day to the various chambers of the judges and other high ranking officials of the court.” Does he have any day he will never forget in his 30-year career?“Ooh, I do have a day I will never forget: It was in 1981. That day’s event was instrumental in making me what I am today, surviving in a foreign country as an asylum seeker. I nabbed a Policeman stealing reams of paper and other court properties,” he says.After the incident, he says his bosses put so much trust in him that he started working day and night, upon which he received a salary increment of sh222 from sh318 to sh540. Life, he says, has not been a bed of roses for him. Nzakizwanimana has led a life of a guard and he knows what it means. He says he has always wanted more. His salary ever since he got a job has never been enough to support him, and things became even harder after he acquired a family in his later life.“It has always been so hard for me, even when I was still alone. The small pay, together with the high prices for consumer goods during those days, was always not enough to keep me going,” says Nzakizwanimana.Nzakizwanimana says that in the 70’s and 80’s, his monthly earnings were meagre, given the day’s economic state. He says that disaster struck right from the time he got his job. Remember this is the time Idi Amin sent the Indians packing.Even when Amin was overthrown, Nzakizwanimana says the situation did not change. “The salary remained the same and it did not mean anything. I could only use it to buy a few things, and then it was finished,” Nzakizwanimana says.The situation worsened as the days went by. He remarks that in the mid 80’s when Milton Obote’s government was under fire from the Museveni-led rebellion, the situation could not be helped. According to those in the know, that is the time Uganda faced the worst inflation. Nzakizwanimana’s testimony here is justified.That drop in the value of the Ugandan shilling, he says, was closely followed by the aftermath of President Yoweri Museveni’s revaluing and printing of new notes. At the time, he says his salary was increased to sh37,500 in 1992. Twenty-two years after he left Mutala’s camp, in 1995, the man whose dream was to become a Catholic cleric decided it was time to start a family. He says: “In 1995, though I don’t remember when, I saw a lady who used to sit just outside the Court gates. I had been seeing her for ten months selling small merchandise. I one day made up my mind, went up to her and asked her why a beautiful woman like her had to sit by the streets selling cheap cigarettes and nuts,” he says with a smile playing on his lips. He says he began talking to Halima Namutebi, 20, then, and that the rest was history. He says she later gave birth to his first child as a settled man, Elizabeth Nekuze, on August 28, 1996. Another daughter, Thereza Nekuza closely followed Elizabeth in 1997.Their relationship even with the two girls was unfortunately not smooth sailing.“She abandoned me in 1999. I decided she would not take the children. Since then I’ve been looking after them,” he says.It is however unfortunate that Nzakizwanimana, who is a disciplinarian as far as his two children are concerned, has failed to take them to school, fearing that the wife who returned to her trade of selling newspapers, cigarettes and fried nuts near CPS, would steal them from school.You might be asking yourself how this man has lived through the times with such a meagre salary, Nzakizwanimana says there are a number of people who have seen him strive through thick and thin.“I really thank all those who have helped me, especially the Judges, lawyers and staff of the High Court,” says the now visibly tired man with a burden of looking after his two children whom he courts around like cows grazing in the fields.What does the future hold for Nzakizwanimana? Does he ever dream of rediscovering his footsteps back to his roots?“I would love to go back to Rwanda, but my kids are still too young,” he says with tears visibly streaming into his eyes.