Museveni’s pardon breathed a new lease of life in Nasur

By Charles Musisi The prison officer flings open the iron gate. A dark skinned man of average build, clad in a greyish checkered jacket over a snow white kanzu (tunic) emerges, walking slowly with a slight limp. He wears, white socks, white shoes and his head is covered with a black and white checkered turban. All eyes turn to him. Women resplendent in brightly coloured Nubian garb-tobu (shawls) cast over khemisi (dresses) — dash frantically towards him, chanting, “Allah Aakbar! Allah Aakbar!” (God is Great). Nasur is a free man. Absolutely free under the presidential pardon. The women, most of them relatives, embrace him warmly. He smiles broadly, his white teeth in sharp contrast to his dark skin. “Don’t cry, don’t cry,” he says continually as he pats them on the back. “Allah Aakbar! Allah Aakbar,” they chant in unison, hardly believing their eyes. It is a surprise. A pleasant surprise. Reporters cluster around him. Some shove microphones towards his face. Photographers dash forward, training their cameras on him. Click, click, click, click, cameras flash. Lt. Col. Nasur is a military man by training and perhaps by nature. He wears a serious expression. When he speaks, his voice is loud, clear, and strong and assertive, without any tinge of remorse. “First of all I would like to thank you... I am extra happy.” As he speaks, he fumbles with the buttons on his jacket, buttoning and unbuttoning them. “I thank the President of this country since he is a revolutionary man, I am also a revolutionary person. I have been here for the last 22 years, for the offense I did not commit. It was because of political hatred.” There is more than a hint of bitterness in his voice. After 20 minutes he winds up his speech. Nasur Abdallah, the governor of the central region, 1974-1979, was reportedly one of the most hated and dreaded men. It is widely rumoured that he forced people to eat live chicken and to munch rubber slippers. He was also accused of killing Alderman Walugembe, the former mayor of Masaka. But Nasur denies the accusations levelled at him “The revolution can create a lot of things. Nobody came out with evidence that I forced people to eat slippers. These are just fabricated,” he argues, gesturing with his right hand and his head. Occasionally a faint smile flickers across his face. Asked whether he killed Walugembe, he protests strongly, “I didn’t kill him. I didn’t kill him.” He opens his bag and shows me Paul Ntale’s affidavit sworn at Kampala, on October 17, 1991. Ntale is the late Walugembe’s son. According to the affidavit, Ntale states, “the police informed me that people knew that it was Nasur who killed the deceased and that since Nasur was a bad man this was a chance to get at him. That I refused to implicate Nasur falsely, but they came very many times to convince me to say that I saw Nasur killing my father. The affidavit is drawn by M/s Ayiguhugu and advocates, and signed by the commissioner for oaths. Nasur attributes his imprisonment to George Masika who was the Director of Public Prosecution (DPP). “After perusal of my file he was promoted by Paul Muwanga. He was a solid UPC. How would I have escaped,” Nasur wonders. Since his release, the rumour mills are buzzing with stories about his cruelty. Forty-year-old Godi Nasur, a petty trader claims he saw people being forced to lie on their back while staring at the sun. Nonetheless, he says Nasur was a good man because he resented idleness and thieving. “He never wanted people to drink alcohol during working hours. He would round them up and thrash them. He treated idlers and thieves harshly. There were very few idlers and thieves in Kampala.” Nasur’s old mates are overjoyed to see him. One of his friends Juma Abongo travelled all the way from Kigumba to witness his release. Abongo a frail old man was the district commissioner of Mpigi between 1974 -1976. He is now a peasant. “I am very happy about his release. Moses Ali broke the news to me. I have been in Kampala for a week. I like Nasur because he made my work easy when I was a district commissioner”, Abongo tells me, a glint of happiness in his eyes confirms his loyalty to him. Aisha Abdul ,32, is also delighted. She witnessed Nasur being whisked to prison in 1979. “I was a small girl. We lived in Kakamega refugee camp in Kenya. He cried and we all cried,” she recalls. “I am very happy to see him, again,” her face beams with happiness. One of Nasur’s children, Haram Abdallah, 23, says his father’s release is a dream come true,” I am so happy. I now have a father to talk to,” a glint of pleasure in her eyes shows her mood. Not everyone is happy about Nasur’s release. David Musoke 65, a teacher at Pat Lake view vocational institute, Nkokonjeru is not amused. He contends that Nasur should be hanged. “Amin’s people were very brutal, every one knows it.” About prison, Nasur remarks; “They took care of me in a nice manner.” Henry Tugume, the superintendent, Luzira upper prison commends Nasur for conducting himself well. He was a very well behaved prisoner,” Tugume reveals. How did Nasur feel when some prisoners were hanged? “It’s a revolution …just normally,” he responds. Does he regret the demise of the second republic? Nasur is not eager to talk about it. “Was Amin a good man?” “Military regulations do not allow me to comment on my superior officer’s conduct,” says Nasur. “Did you see some military officers harassing people?” “Yes. Nasser Sebagala was arrested by Ali Towili and I intervened.” “What were your achievements as the governor of the central province?” “I cannot praise myself. Ask those who were there.” Nasur speaks passable English and I complement him on his grammar. “English is the official language of Uganda. I was born speaking English. Can you believe I only completed primary six?” Nasur informs me, smilingly. “J.3,” he adds. Nasur looks healthy. His face lights up when I say he is fit. “It is because of faith,” he says. Born in Nakatonya, Bombo in 1946, Nasur went to Bombo Islamic School. In 1964 he enlisted in the army. He was promoted to the rank of Second lieutenant in 1971. Four years later, he became a Lieutenant Colonel. In 1979, field Marshal Idi Amin Dada was overthrown. Nasur fled the country. He glosses over his military career. “I enjoyed it very much.” “What did you do before you joined the army?” “Studies,” he answers briefly. “Are you wealthy?” “No, my house was even dismantled. It was repaired while I was in prison.” Nasur has 36 children and three wives. “How has your family been surviving?” “ They farm.” “ You are alleged to be wealthy,” I probe. “That is just fabrication.” Nasur says the government did not confiscate his property. “Do you need assistance from the government?” “That is for the government to decide. If I am given Entakidikwa I can not refuse. Can you reject what is given to you? he queries. He cannot divulge his plans. “I am still studying the situation.” “What message do you have for people who say you should be hanged?” “They are entitled to their opinion.” Nasur is the offspring of Aljab Manguru, 86, and Abdu Abdallah Urada. His mother, Manguru is sickly. Urada passed away. Nasur was a very smart military officer, a fact even his severest critics admit. Given the negative hype about him, it is difficult to know the true image of the man inside the white tunic. The former governor has reunited with his family at Nakatonya, Bombo. He lives in his humble dwelling, a medium dull yellow brick house with wooden shutters and a roof made of iron sheets. “God”, “revolution” and “fabrication” recur in his utterances. “I was born on Tuesday, the day I was declared free”, he proclaims. Was this due to God, revolution or fabrication?