The King whose generation judged too early, but turned every doubt into proof and proved us wrong
A leader whose leadership style was built quietly from within and gradually radiated outward into the hearts of many. Your inspiration speaks volumes—not only to the young but also to the old.
David Mugarra Omugweeri
By David Mugarra Omugweeri
For many young people in Tooro who were born slightly before and after 1992 the year of the birth of King Oyo, our memories of his coronation are remarkably similar.
Many of us were still in lower primary school in 1995 when we were selected to be among the young guests at the palace during his coronation. To us, King Oyo was almost a peer. We sang, danced, watched and even imitated what he did during those historic ceremonies.
We followed his education almost religiously since many of us were in the same or slightly above him by a class or two. Although we did not know his actual academic results, many of us assumed that he was not necessarily an A-grade student.
In our youthful confidence, we even imagined that perhaps we were academically better than him. For me, the connection felt even more personal.
I grew up almost in the same neighbourhood and, luckily enough, I come from Kidukuru ky’Omukama, just a stone’s throw from Karuziika. I also belong to the lineage of his grandmother, Omugo Tibaitwa Damali Adyeeri.
You can therefore imagine how closely we watched this young King and perhaps how freely we judged him.
How we judged him
As the years went by, the coronation ceremonies continued. More often than not, the King spoke in English, partly because many of the guests came from abroad.
Trust me, among my generation, including myself, this became another reason for doubt. Some of us quietly wondered whether he was really the right person for the throne.
Another concern was his long residence in Kampala, which, to some of us, made him appear more like a visitor than a King deeply rooted among his people.
At that stage, many of us were in secondary school. We had little or no understanding of palace politics, leadership or governance. Perhaps this was also because, in our minds, he was still that young boy we had watched during his coronation.
Then came the period around his 18th coronation anniversary. We were told that the King was following an international curriculum, and suddenly, in our own estimation, he seemed to be in the same academic grade or class as some of us.
We wondered how he had managed to catch up. Many of us had not been exposed to the international school system.
We had studied through the local primary and secondary school system, and many of my age mates later proceeded to university in Kampala.
By the time we began to understand that the international curriculum is competence-based and that learners do not necessarily progress at the same pace, it was already too late. Gutusingire, agutamba.
By his 18th birthday, many of us were in Advanced Level, while the King had already been exposed to military and leadership training abroad. Yet we still expected him to perform some kind of magic.
We still doubted him. During the 18th coronation, many of us did not expect any significant transformation. At the time, I was a student at Nyakasura School and serving as Deputy Head Prefect.
We had a serious debate about whether the King was ready to assume his full responsibilities. You can probably guess which side I was on and that was the side that carried the day.
Our arguments centred around his ability to speak and appreciate the local language, his understanding of cultural values and practices, and what we perceived as his level of respect for tradition.
We even believed that the King was bored by cultural issues because they confined him to a particular standard of behaviour.
At some functions, he would spend considerable time on his tablet. And perhaps because we had already made up our minds about him, we were always watching and looking for faults.
But by the time of his death, he had proved all of us wrong. The King became a man deeply connected to his people the exact opposite of the person we had judged him to be.
He encouraged people to pray. He ventured into agriculture and championed food security.
He spoke passionately about the preservation of culture and heritage. Above all, he consistently called for unity. The things we thought he would never learn, he mastered. The language we doubted he would ever speak confidently, he eventually spoke with passion and authority.
King Oyo spoke Rutoro from the heart.
He rarely depended on written speeches. When he spoke, he connected naturally with his people. And there were moments when he would simply sit quietly and listen. To us, especially those of us who were impatient and radical in our thinking, we sometimes interpreted that silence as disinterest.
We thought he had misunderstood us, misjudged us, or was simply not interested in what we were saying. But perhaps he was simply listening. Perhaps he was internalising.
Over time, he mastered the art of listening and silence an art that enabled him to deal with many of the difficult and sometimes radical ideas that came from people like us. As the years went by, particularly in his later years, many of us from the generation of the 1990s slowly began to understand his agenda.
We started drawing closer to the Kingdom and appreciating the direction he was taking.
When we tried to influence the King
Around 2017 and 2018, a group known as Amacumu n’Ebitara was formed. We wanted to draw the King closer to some of the things we believed he was missing. We had our own ideas of what we thought a modern and youthful King should do.
In many ways, we were still trying to tell the King what we thought he should become. But the King was not easily moved. He listened. Sometimes he accepted our ideas.
He walked through town. He interacted with ordinary people. He even visited some of the local social places, including Africana Bar at the time. But he had a sixth sense when it came to evaluating people, lifestyles and decisions.
He picked what was good. And diplomatically ignored what he believed was not good. That, perhaps, was one of the greatest lessons of his leadership. He did not have to win every argument. He simply had to remain true to his purpose.
The people we never expected him to embrace
Perhaps one of the greatest ironies of our early judgement was that we also judged him by the class of people we thought he should associate with.
Yet some of the people closest to him and among those most deeply pained by his passing were people we had never imagined would become part of the inner circle of a King.
They included Mukwi, a local comedian. In those days, unlike today when comedy has become a lucrative profession, we often referred to such people in Tooro as ebihembehe—people who, in our perception, had little serious business to do.
There were also Rastafarians, people from the ghettos, musicians and other young people from backgrounds that many of us would not have associated with the Palace. Yet the King reached out to them.
He met musicians in Tooro and challenged them to embrace agriculture. He engaged journalists. He interacted with ordinary young people. He created space for people who, by conventional standards, might never have been considered part of the establishment.
His methods were tactical, calculated and, perhaps most importantly, patient. And that is why we were so quick to judge him. Indeed, he was a leader.
Preparing the generation after him
He appointed young people to important roles, including his young Assistant, Musuga, and youth ministers who were only a few years younger or older than him.
It was as though he had deliberately begun preparing a generation to carry forward his vision. Looking back now, I wonder whether we had misunderstood his silence all along. Perhaps he was not disconnected. Perhaps he was not uninterested.
Perhaps he was simply building his own understanding of the world, of his people and of the kind of leader he wanted to become. And perhaps, while we were busy judging him, he was busy becoming the King we had not yet imagined.
When we finally understood him
As the years went by, many of us from the generation of the 1990s slowly began to understand his agenda. We started drawing closer to the Kingdom. We began appreciating the direction he was taking.
We began to understand that leadership did not always have to be loud. It did not always have to respond immediately. It did not always have to win every argument. Sometimes leadership meant listening.
Sometimes it meant remaining silent. Sometimes it meant taking what was useful and quietly leaving behind what was not. That was King Oyo.
A leader whose leadership style was built quietly from within and gradually radiated outward into the hearts of many. Your inspiration speaks volumes—not only to the young, but also to the old.
Your commitment to unity, your restraint, your humility, and your refusal to be drawn into unnecessary controversy became a testament to the unique leader you had become.
The sting of death
And just when many of us had finally begun to understand him, the sting of death hit us hard. There is a sense of guilt. We judged too early. But there is also a sense of responsibility.
We must carry forward the mantle. You may no longer be here to read or listen to this, but I believe this is what lies in the hearts of many people from my generation. We regret our early judgments.
But we remain with the lessons. And we commit ourselves to carrying forward the vision. We commit ourselves to transforming Tooro with the same energy, passion and commitment to unity that you demonstrated throughout your life. Perhaps this is the final lesson you leave us:
▪️Do not judge a leader by the boy he was.
▪️Wait to see the man he becomes.
▪️You were judged too early.
▪️But you turned every doubt into proof.
▪️And in the end, you proved us wrong.
▪️Rest well, Omukama.
Gutusingire.
Gutusingire Kimu.
Written by David Mugarra Omugweeri