Personal secretary Margaret Ford on her Journey with Archbishop Janani Luwum

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Archbishop Janani Luwum Day, marked annually on February 16, honours the life and martyrdom of one of Uganda’s most courageous religious leaders, killed in 1977 for speaking out against abuses under Idi Amin’s regime.

As the country reflects on his legacy of faith, justice, and moral courage, those who worked closely with him recall a man who led with humility and stood firm in his convictions, even at the cost of his life.

One of them is Margaret Ford, who served as the personal secretary to Archbishop Janani Luwum. Ford visited Uganda last year and spoke to New Vision’s Jacky Achan about her life alongside one of Uganda’s most revered modern martyrs Archbishop.

"I was there during one of those chapters. I knew Janani. I worked with him. I watched him lead with humility, wisdom, and extraordinary courage. And I saw how he followed Christ right to the end."

This is her story

I started in the youth department of the Church Missionary Society, or CMS, as we called it. Back then, my role was all about encouragement, writing letters to young people, urging them to consider joining the Go Club. I used to sign off with a question that became my personal refrain: Are you prepared to take a risk to go for Christ?

I thought I was living those words. Until one October afternoon in 1968, at a youth rally, I heard Christ speak to me not in a booming voice, but in that unmistakable way He sometimes does. “You're very good at writing letters,” He said, “but are you prepared to take a risk and go yourself?”

That question stopped me in my tracks. I knew instantly I had a choice: say yes and walk with Christ, or say no and follow my own path. I said yes. That decision set me on a journey of preparation that eventually led me to Uganda, where I would serve as a CMS mission partner and secretary to none other than Archbishop Janani Jakaliya Luwum.

I left England on the very last day of 1971 and arrived in Uganda on the first day of the new year, January 1, 1972. I travelled to Gulu, where Archbishop Luwum was then serving. At the time, I didn’t think much of him beyond his title. I assumed he was like any other bishop. What I didn’t realise was that he was unlike anyone I’d ever worked with. He was special.

Traditionally, missionaries lived together in compounds, somewhat removed from local life. But Janani had other ideas. When I arrived, he arranged for me to stay in a house right across from his. “My dog watches over the whole compound, including your house,” he told me with a smile. That was Janani, warm, thoughtful, and always welcoming. He brought me into his family, then into the larger family of the church.

Janani made it a point to explain everything, why people did what they did, why culture mattered. I remember him explaining why women sat on mats while men sat at the table. “The women need to be near the children,” he said. It wasn’t about superiority or power. It was about function, care, and culture. He made sure I understood that.

One memory that still makes me smile is the time his goats ate my beans. I had proudly grown them in front of my house, six weeks from planting to harvest. When I confronted him about it, he simply said, “I know. It was the first thing the children told me. We’ll have to pay.” I protested, of course, but he explained that if your animals destroyed someone else’s garden, you had to make amends. That was the rule. That was justice.

His leadership style was no different, always inclusive, always patient. His meetings were long. Very long. So long that the only way I found to end them was to fall asleep. I did once, right in front of him. Without missing a beat, he announced, “Well, since my secretary has gone to sleep, I think we’d better adjourn until morning.”

That was Janani. He let everyone speak. He believed that if someone was chosen to represent their village, they must be given a voice. When they returned home, their neighbours would ask, “What did you say on our behalf?” If they could answer, they were celebrated. That kind of trust and empowerment was rare.

At the end of every meeting, Janani would say, “Since we all agree…” and I would think, No, we don’t all agree. But what he did was masterful. He listened to everyone, absorbed their views, and then offered a conclusion that blended their voices with his vision. And because they were heard, people accepted it. They supported it. They moved forward together. That, I realised, was wise and astute leadership. It was also deeply Christlike. Jesus listened. He always made time for people. So did Janani.

When I worked as his secretary in Kampala, hardly a day passed without someone bursting into the office, pleading, “My husband’s been taken,” or “My son’s disappeared.” Janani didn’t hesitate. He’d jump into his car and act. Early on, he actually managed to rescue a number of people, simply by asking, “Why are you arresting this man?” And more often than not, the soldiers didn’t have an answer.

He didn’t promise to help only when convenient. He didn’t say, “I’ll get back to you.” He responded then and there. And that, too, reminded me of Jesus. Like when He was on His way to heal Jairus’s daughter and stopped because a sick woman touched His cloak. He always had time. So did Janani.

Falling out with the regime

How Janani came into conflict with Idi Amin’s regime unfolded like a drama in many scenes, each more tense than the last. I was there for much of it, working as his personal secretary, and I witnessed how it all escalated.

It started at Makerere University. Amin’s men stormed the compound and killed one of the lecturers. She was a Catholic, and she was pregnant. So to the Catholic community, two lives had been lost. There were witnesses. People saw it happen. But when it came up publicly, Amin dismissed it as nonsense, denying it completely, as did some other leaders. But the truth has a way of surfacing. That killing sparked a rare moment of unity, as leaders from the Catholic Church, the Church of Uganda, and the Muslim community came together at Lweza Conference Centre to confront what was happening.

Janani was chosen to chair that meeting. There were three secretaries; I was one of them. Together, we drafted a letter addressed to Amin, urging him to change course and condemn the killings. On the Monday after the meeting, we gathered to sign the letter. I remember clearly waiting for the Muslim secretary. He was late, and I thought, “He won’t come. He won’t risk it.” But he did. He came and signed. And I signed too. That’s when the regime learnt my name. I knew it was risky, but sometimes faith calls us to take those risks. So I did.

Tensions rose. That Christmas, the government cut off Janani’s sermon mid-broadcast. Just stopped it. But the turning point came soon after, and much of it, I believe, was rooted in jealousy.

In early January, Amin declared a national holiday to celebrate the anniversary of his rise to power. There would be a grand ceremony. I remember when Janani returned from attending it. I asked him, “Who was there?” He said, “Well, I was. The Catholic bishop was. But the people weren’t.” It was like throwing a party and no one turning up. I believe Amin was humiliated.

The following weekend, the Church of Uganda held a consecration service for a new bishop in Ankole. I was there. Thousands came, crowds beyond counting. Bishop Festo Kivengere preached powerfully that day. He was a fierce preacher. He asked the new bishop, “Will you use your authority to lift people up, or grind men’s faces into the dust?” Everyone knew those words were directed at Amin. Whether Amin was physically present or not, he would have heard. And I think that stung.

Not long after, there was an attempted coup, reportedly by Acholi soldiers. It failed. Soon after, Janani’s house was raided. Soldiers came looking for weapons. Amin accused him of hiding arms used in the coup. But there were no weapons. None.

That raid led to another meeting, this time only with the bishops of the Church of Uganda. Bishop Kivengere said, “Before we invite the Catholics, we need to get our house in order.” So they drafted another letter. I was to type it, as secretaries did in those days.

Now, it just so happened that this all took place during half-term in February. It had already been arranged for me to travel to Kenya with an expatriate family visiting their children at boarding school. I was also going to pay fees for Doreen, a young Acholi girl studying at a secretarial college in Kisumu. I didn’t want to go. Something in me resisted. But Kivengere saw it differently. He said, “This is a God-given opportunity for Margaret to take the letter to Bishop John Henry Okullu.” He was a Bishop of Western Kenya.

Bishop Okullu had once been a journalist in Uganda. Kivengere believed the world needed to hear what was really happening. So I carried the letter. Another moment where I could have said no. But I said yes. I delivered it. And I believe that letter reached the press before Amin even knew it was gone. That was the tipping point. He could no longer hide the truth.

The British Embassy tried to stop me from returning to Uganda. They had already advised us to leave. But they missed me. I came back on Thursday morning, February 17, 1977.

People say Janani was killed on February 16. That’s why the 16th holds such significance. But officially, in the Anglican lectionary, his day is marked on the 17th. Whether it was the 16th or the 17th, the loss was the same. And for me, it was deeply personal.

Janani was more than an archbishop. He was a father figure, a mentor, a friend. I still remember when he gave me the confidence to drive. I wasn’t allowed to drive before. But with his encouragement, I started. Once, I had a tyre burst, and I sent a message. He came to help, without question. That was Janani. A servant leader. A shepherd to his people. And he defended them, even unto death.

In the end, I believe it was about power. Amin saw something in Janani he couldn’t control, the power of the Holy Spirit. And that threatened him. Just as the Pharisees couldn’t understand Jesus, Amin couldn’t understand Janani. And like Jesus, Janani did nothing wrong. He was killed out of envy and fear.

I once told this bible story to children at a school in Lincoln. A little girl said, “Jesus shouldn’t have been killed. He didn’t do anything wrong.” And that’s it. That’s the truth, spoken with the clarity only a child can have.

Janani Luwum didn’t do anything wrong. He stood for what was right. And he gave his life for it. That is why we remember him, not just as a martyr, but as a witness to the truth, and a servant of Christ to the very end.

People in positions of leadership often want to be all-powerful. Think of the world today, nations against nations, tribes against tributes, at the heart is power, envy and greed.

So what kept Janani going?

It was knowing the Lord was with him. We often say those words too casually. But at that time, we all felt it deeply, a fierce loyalty to Christ. He was uppermost in our thoughts, and that showed in how we lived, even under threat. Singing helped us. Hymns, scripture, prayer, it became our strength. There was a group of us, both expatriates and Ugandans, mostly young people, and we used to sing together. I met one of them just recently. We remembered how we would sing not just for comfort, but as an act of survival. If the soldiers burst in, they would find us praising God.

We believed Christ was present with us. And for Janani, it was the same. He was walking in Christ's footsteps, determined to be faithful to the very end. It reminded me of the early martyrs, those thrown into flames, loyal to death. There was a unity in our suffering, Catholics, Anglicans, Ugandans, foreigners. We came together. I remember evenings of Scrabble, dancing, prayer, singing. We kept each other alert. If the soldiers came, we would be found wide awake, singing.

They never came while I was there. But after I left, they did. It was devastating. I believe they were looking for me, but confused the houses. They raped a friend of mine instead, Cynthia Nakai, a CMS missionary from England. She is with the Lord now. She once told me she was glad it was her and not a young Ugandan girl. A guard on the gate was killed. It was terrible. But it happened.

What helped us keep going was knowing that we as Christians are not heading into darkness, but light, eternity. After Janani’s death, many believed in the resurrection, especially because of his empty grave. I still remember what Archbishop Erica Sabiti’s word, he was the second Archbishop of Uganda and the first black Anglican Archbishop in Uganda, he told me that last Sunday. before I left Uganda. I was walking up the path to the cathedral, and he said, “Why are we bothering about the body? Janani went to heaven like an owl.” It echoed the confusion after Jesus’ death, when his body was gone and the disciples were accused of stealing it. I deeply felt the parallels between Christ’s life and Janani’s especially during the 2025 Holy Week and Easter I spent in Uganda.

One morning, I woke up and felt I wanted to be in a church where everyone truly believed. That’s why I called Bishop Johnson Gakumba and asked to come. From the moment I arrived, I felt I had been with Jesus in a very real and wonderful way.

Was Janani quick to decide, or more deliberate?

When Amin came to power, people had hope. As with most new leaders, we hoped he’d bring peace. Most people simply want to live quietly. But not all. I remember in 1973, Amin wanted to show his control and ordered executions in every town and village. One happened in Gulu. People flocked to see it, but Janani advised against going. “If you’re caught in turmoil, it’s unfortunate,” he said. “But don’t walk into it.” I took that to heart.

Janani never tried to protect himself. At one point, he went on a visit to England and many thought he wouldn’t come back. But I knew he would. He believed God had given him these people to shepherd, and he returned. He could’ve stayed safely in the UK, but he didn’t.

What do I remember most from his preaching?

He preached forgiveness. Over and over again. Forgive your enemies. Come to Jesus. Say sorry. At every gathering, he would end with an altar call. He even taught me how to preach. He let me practice, then gently corrected me. One thing he always said: “Many good sermons are ruined because the preacher didn’t know when to stop.” He told me to write everything down and memorise it. That way, I’d know exactly where to begin, what to say in the middle, and when to end.

Outside of preaching, how did he spend his time?

He was always visiting people, confirming believers, preparing for major events. He worked in the office too, but ministry came first. Writing letters, taking minutes—those came in between. I used to joke we did it “between the showers.” He encouraged me to work with young people—Sacred Heart girls, Church of Uganda schools. We planned our schedules around ministry.

And the letters?

They were our lifeline. Requests, encouragements, communications. The postal system still functioned. It’s hard to imagine now, but letters were everything then.

How did he relax?

With his family. In Acholi tradition, the men sat around the table while the women sat on mats. I spent many evenings in the bishop’s kitchen, chatting with the girls. So many had lost fathers and brothers. It was a sad time. And it only got worse.

People sometimes say Amin’s time wasn’t that bad

But they weren’t there. Food was short. I lived with a young Acholi girl named Pauline. Her mother told me to open an acre and a half of ground so we could grow our own food. And we did. Millet, simsim, black-eyed beans. You never starved with those. “Better to have food in the granary than money in the bank,” she said. And she was right. Every Saturday, I’d cycle to a hidden house on the roadside, stash the bike, and walk through the bush to reach our little garden.

I survived because of that food. When I moved to Kampala, people brought it to me from Acholiland. When I left, there was enough food in my house to feed a family for ten months. As for money in the bank I have no idea what happened to it. I never even thought about it.

How should Ugandans remember Janani?

As a man who served the Lord faithfully to the end. He didn’t let anything take the place of Christ. Witchcraft was widespread then. People in trouble turned to witch doctors. I remember once I was asked to preach during preparations for a big diocesan meeting. I ended the sermon saying, “Will you sit with the devil around the drinking pot, or with Christ around his Word?” Janani’s sermons always ended with a choice. That’s how he was.

One thing people might not know about Janani

His constant plea to forgive. There was deep tribal division—Acholi versus the South. I remember being told, “We eat millet and meat. That’s why we’re strong. Not like the banana-eaters in the South.” Janani never said those words, but many others did. It’s easy to point to Africa as a land of tribalism, but I tell people in England—we have our own versions. I grew up thinking Lincoln was the forbidden city. Nottinghamshire people didn’t deal with Lincolnshire people. It’s the same human problem. And the only answer is Christ.

Did Janani have any customs that stood out?

We always prayed before meals. Always prayed before journeys. That’s something we don’t often do in the UK. But I carried it back with me. One day at a party, a little boy said, “We haven’t said the prayer yet.” Children remember.

What’s the biggest lesson from Janani’s life?

To serve Christ to the end. Not to be distracted by wealth, rivalry, or ambition. Today it’s debt that enslaves people. For some, it’s gambling or chasing status. But Christ is the answer. And we need to keep our eyes fixed on him. Every day.

Could Amin and Janani have worked together?

Amin could have done better. But he didn’t. Like many leaders, he craved power. Janani was different. He involved others. That’s why his meetings were long—everyone had a voice. After he died, Bishop Okullu in Kisumu asked me to write down what happened. It was a way of helping me process the trauma. That document became the book, Janani: The Making of a Martyr. Three copies were made one for me, one for CMS, one for the safe. But CMS sent it to the press. That’s what triggered the book.

Did I intend to publish a book?

Not at all. It was meant to be private. But then I was asked to expand it. I worked on a revised version with John Wilkins, a Catholic. It resonated across denominations because it wasn’t “typical” of any group. It was simply about Christ. That’s why it spread.

Will there be another book?

Probably not from me. Bishop Godfrey Loum, Bishop of the Anglican Diocese of Northern Uganda is writing the next one. I’ll contribute, but it will be his.

Leaving and returning to Uganda?

The Monday morning after Janani was killed. February 21st, 1977. CMS said if the bishops asked me to leave, I should go. And they did. Not the British Embassy. They had already advised us to leave months earlier, almost ordered, but I stayed. The bishops asked. So I obeyed. I went to Sudan. After I left, my house was raided. I had taken a letter out to Bishop Okullu, and Amin was furious it had reached the press before him.

His people followed me to Sudan. They were still looking for me. They realized too late that I had been living among them. A sharp-eyed neighbour warned CMS, and they stopped me from getting on the plane. That’s why I never returned to Sudan.

I did return to Uganda once, quietly. I can’t recall the exact year, but I crossed the border and visited briefly. Bishop Ogwal gave me a gift. So I know I came, if only for a moment. And that’s how my chapter in Uganda closed. But the story of Archbishop Janani Jakaliya Luwum lives on.

About Janani Luwum Day

Archbishop Janani Luwum Day is a public holiday in Uganda celebrated annually on February 16th to commemorate the life and martyrdom of Janani Luwum, the second Archbishop of the Church of Uganda, Rwanda, Burundi, and Boga-Zaire. He was murdered on February 16, 1977, by President Idi Amin's regime for opposing human rights abuses.

Key Details About Janani Luwum Day:

Significance: Archbishop Luwum was a courageous religious leader who spoke out against injustice, and he is recognised as one of the 10 greatest 20th-century martyrs by the Church of England.

The Murder: He was executed alongside cabinet ministers Erinayo Oryema and Charles Oboth Ofumbi in 1977 after being accused of plotting a coup.

National Holiday: In 2015, the Government of Uganda declared February 16th a public holiday to honour his legacy.

Commemorations: Events are held annually, often featuring prayers, pilgrimages, and gatherings at his home village in Mucwini, Kitgum District.

Legacy: The day serves as a reminder to stand up for justice, peace, and human rights, reflecting on his ultimate sacrifice.

In 2025, the 48th commemoration was celebrated on Sunday, February 16, in Kitgum District.