When waters rose, leaders fell silent: Lango’s villages cry out

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OPINION

By Dr Bob M. Achura

The waters have come again to Lango. But this time, they do not bring the promise of abundance; they bring only devastation, displacement, and despair. As I write, more than 40,000 households across our beloved sub-region are displaced. Their lives are shattered like clay pots dropped on stone.

In Dokolo, 15,430 souls wander homeless. In Kwania, over 12,000 families clutch at what little they salvaged. In Otuke, 8,500 households watch their futures wash away with the floods. And yet, inexplicably, the corridors of power echo with the sound of business as usual.

Where is the Lango that once made the earth tremble with collective action? Where are the descendants of Owiny Akullo, the paramount chief who stood as a giant among his people from 1845 to 1947? This was the leader who forged historic alliances with Omukama Kabalega of Bunyoro, a friendship so deep that Kabalega named his son Tito Owiny in his honor. Our ancestors understood what leadership meant: standing with your people when storms raged, not disappearing into air-conditioned offices while constituents sleep under the stars.

Today, as floodwaters devastate nine districts, our political, technical, and cultural leaders have chosen silence. The cries of displaced families have become background noise. The destruction of homes, crops, and livelihoods is treated as someone else’s responsibility. Worse still, our district memoranda, which should carry the desperate pleas of our people to the centre, whisper almost nothing about rehabilitation or flood recovery. Have we forgotten that the first duty of leadership is not to oneself, but to those who depend on you for protection?

As fate would have it, the President himself is in Lango this week, on what reports suggest is his first major campaign engagement with our people. He is the fountain of honour, the man with the constitutional power to declare emergencies and mobilise national resources in hours. But even he cannot give what has not been asked for. Leadership flows in two directions: those who would receive must also know how to ask; those who would lead must also know how to hear.

We have seen emergency interventions in other parts of Uganda when leaders carried their people’s voices with urgency. Yet you cannot pour water into a broken vessel, and you cannot answer a cry that is never raised.

The rising waters of Lake Kwania and Lake Kyoga have exposed more than flooded homes. They have exposed the erosion of our collective spirit. The Lango of old would have moved as one body when disaster struck. Clan leaders would have mobilised. District chairpersons would have camped at ministerial offices. Members of Parliament would have transformed sessions into emergency assemblies for their people.

Instead, today we see silence. Our people suffer as representatives discuss everything except the floods that consume their communities. Cultural leaders remain muted, forgetting that leadership is not a title to be worn, but a burden to be carried. The result is heartbreaking. Families that once fed the nation now face food insecurity. Children who should be in school wander displaced camps. Mothers who once sang lullabies now weep over ruined homes. Fathers who built livelihoods with their bare hands stand with empty palms, watching their labour dissolve beneath the floods.

The spirit of Owiny Akullo calls to us: true leadership means standing tall when the waters rise, not seeking higher ground while others drown. We are not asking for charity; we are demanding accountability. We are not seeking handouts; we are calling for leadership. The Constitution of Uganda makes it clear: the protection of citizens and their property is not a favour; it is an obligation.

To our political leaders, your silence is complicity. Every day you fail to raise the alarm for 40,000 displaced households, you betray your oath of office. To our technical officers, expertise without action is empty. The floods are not just data points; they are human lives unravelling before your eyes. To our cultural leaders, you are guardians of our conscience. Silence in the face of suffering is nothing less than surrender. And to His Excellency the President, your visit to Lango must not be remembered for promises, but for action. You can turn this tragedy into a story of responsive governance if our leaders give you the chance.

In the vacuum of leadership, it has fallen upon the people themselves to rise. The Dokolo North Community Initiative (DNCI), a community-based, non-profit organisation founded and championed by sons and daughters of Dokolo district both at home and abroad, led by Prof. Constant Okello Obura, has chosen to act. Hearing the cries of parents, siblings, and elders in dire need, DNCI has launched a flagship fundraising and advocacy Marathon event under the theme: “Running for Resilience: Rebuilding Lives Beyond the Floods.” And the Corporate Charity Dance, scheduled for 6^th December, 2025, in Lira city. This initiative seeks to mobilise national solidarity and resources to support flood-affected households in Dokolo North and beyond, families who otherwise risk being forgotten in silence.

The waters will recede. The floods will pass. But history will remember how we responded when our people needed us most. Will we be the generation that rediscovered the spirit of Owiny Akullo and rose as one to defend our people? Or will history write us down as the leaders who let Lango drown in silence?

The choice is ours. The waters are still rising.

God save Lango. But first, let Lango save itself.