Memorial drive honours Rajiv Ruparelia as 40 receive new limbs

The convoy began as a roar.

Engines revved, tyres protested, and a long line of cars and motorcycles rolled out from RR Towers in Mulago, snaking through Kampala at a deliberate 20–30km/h. It was not a race. It was a procession, measured, reflective, and loud enough to be noticed.

By the time the convoy pulled into Speke Resort Munyonyo for a candle-lighting ceremony at dusk, the meaning of the day had already been established inside the wards and workshops of Mulago National Referral Hospital.

Earlier, 40 Ugandans had taken their first steps again. They are the latest beneficiaries of a prosthetic limb outreach funded by the Ruparelia Group of Companies in memory of the late Rajiv Ruparelia. For many of them, the journey back to mobility has been long, uncertain, and often unaffordable. The artificial limbs cost between 500,000 and 10 million shillings, depending on complexity.

"I can now move on my own," said John Kintu, testing his new limb with cautious confidence, each step both deliberate and symbolic.

According to Dr. Charles Olaro, thousands of new cases emerge every year.

"We register more than 15,000 people in need of limbs annually," he said. "Many cannot afford the cost, and others are not even aware that their condition can be treated."

The causes are varied and often unavoidable, congenital conditions, chronic illnesses such as diabetes and cancer, road accidents, and even snake bites. What they share is a common outcome: a disruption of normal life.

At Mulago, the outreach brought together both adults and children, some of whom had spent years adapting to limited mobility.

But this was not only a medical exercise. It was also a carefully human one.

After the fittings, beneficiaries were treated to a luncheon hosted by Speke Hotel and received clothing. In the children's cancer ward, toys were handed out. There were smiles, quiet conversations, and the kind of relief that does not always make headlines.

And then, as evening approached, the tone shifted. The memorial drive took over the city streets. There were more than 80 vehicles,  cars polished to a gleam and motorcycles tuned to announce their presence. It was part tribute, part spectacle. Engines roared and occasionally screamed as drivers flirted with speed before returning to formation, the scent of burning rubber briefly cutting through the Kampala air.

It was a contrast that defined the day: the noise of machines and the quiet of human recovery.

At Munyonyo, the energy softened. Candles were lit. Conversations lowered. The same hands that had gripped steering wheels now held flickering flames.