15 minutes with ex-spy chief Pulkol
AS David Pulkol sipped what might have been the driest glass of red wine in Kampala, I found myself glancing around Hotel Africana, wondering if any security organisation would pick me up and send me either to a detention centre or back to New York.
By Rebecca Harshbarger
AS David Pulkol sipped what might have been the driest glass of red wine in Kampala, I found myself glancing around Hotel Africana, wondering if any security organisation would pick me up and send me either to a detention centre or back to New York.
Pulkol is the former head of the External Security Organisation and the current director of the African Leadership Institute, a Kampala-based think-tank, which came up with the scorecard for grading Ugandan MPs.
He was honest to the point where he was incisive and blunt, direct and bold, completely unafraid to express his views on anything. Whereas others might shroud their words in subtlety, Pulkol was straight to the point in discussing anyone’s character, whether in a positive or negative light.
Maybe I had just become paranoid working in East Africa, but I wondered if a Kiboko squad would be taking me home that night, rather than a commuter taxi, as Pulkol described his reasons for splitting with President Yoweri Museveni’s regime.
“He duped us into thinking we were about constitutionalism and democracy,†said Pulkol, taking a sip of his wine.
As we sat at the outside bar that looked over Hotel Africana’s massive, glimmering pool, I squinted in the dark, unable to see the notes I was taking. Clearly, my night vision in Uganda was truly pitiful. I wondered what Pulkol, an opinionated and observant man, might think if I used my mobile phone as a torch. I couldn’t see my notes, but writing through the light of my kabiriti phone didn’t exactly seem classy.
Forget it, I thought. Just scribble down what he says, and hope for the best. And if you get sent back home after someone overhears this conversation, well—at least you had the opportunity to advance your career and eat a lot of posho and beans in the last six months. And maybe the American embassy would foot the bill for my ticket.
“Museveni has mastered the 48 laws of power,†Pulkol continued, making me nervous by the minute. “A while back, I was working on a documentary where we looked at Museveni’s older speeches and I thought — would the Museveni of 1986 recognise the Museveni of 2003?â€
Suddenly, Pulkol’s phone rang, and when he took the call, his conversation quickly demonstrated how globally connected the former spy chief from Karamoja truly was. “Hello sir, are you in South Africa? No, oh you must be in California. No? Oh London, okay,†he paused. “Excuse me, I need to take this call, it’s a professor who might be collaborating with the Obama administration in the fall.â€
Realising that our interview shouldn’t interfere with the Yes-we-can dream team in Washington, I smiled gracefully, and felt a wave of homesickness as I realised I was missing most of Obama’s first year in office.
I first met Pulkol two years ago, as an idealistic American student studying grassroots development with the School of International Training in Kampala. It was my first time in Uganda and Pulkol gave a lecture to the twenty-plus something students in my programme about threats to Ugandan security. He described everything from cattle rustling to the Khartoum regime with such ease and grace that completely charmed the group.
He had been close with another American friend of mine who had studied in Uganda a few years before I did, taking her to Moroto where she had the opportunity to don traditional Karimojong dress and travel through the dusty Kalerwe market to Kanyanya to visit her and her Ugandan homestay family.
We spoke of our mutual friend’s recent engagement to an American economist and her recent activity busting cartels in chocolate companies that violated anti-trust law.
As we talked, Pulkol offered to take me to his home in Karamoja, where I could meet his parents and see where his personality and ideas were shaped. Although I have been to Gulu, Lira, Mbarara and Mbale, I’ve never been to northeastern Uganda.
I jumped at the prospect of visiting the region, so maligned by the rest of the country.
Of course, I would probably stick to my own jeans and t-shirts, rather than the traditional Karimojong clothing. I wouldn’t want to see photos of myself from the northeast circulating on someone’s Facebook thread.
As our evening drew to an end, Pulkol generously picked up the tab. I wondered if he spent most of his free evenings at Hotel Africana, since he had ordered his drinks so casually with the waitress, as if he had ordered the same dry glass a couple hundred times.
“Where is Maria (a waitress)?†he inquired. “I’ll have my usual.â€
As I got into a taxi heading up to Jinja Road, I couldn’t help but worry if anyone had eavesdropped and overheard our conversation. Kampala, I’ve learned, is quite a small place. But really, if a former security boss can’t provide you with security, who can?
AS David Pulkol sipped what might have been the driest glass of red wine in Kampala, I found myself glancing around Hotel Africana, wondering if any security organisation would pick me up and send me either to a detention centre or back to New York.
Pulkol is the former head of the External Security Organisation and the current director of the African Leadership Institute, a Kampala-based think-tank, which came up with the scorecard for grading Ugandan MPs.
He was honest to the point where he was incisive and blunt, direct and bold, completely unafraid to express his views on anything. Whereas others might shroud their words in subtlety, Pulkol was straight to the point in discussing anyone’s character, whether in a positive or negative light.
Maybe I had just become paranoid working in East Africa, but I wondered if a Kiboko squad would be taking me home that night, rather than a commuter taxi, as Pulkol described his reasons for splitting with President Yoweri Museveni’s regime.
“He duped us into thinking we were about constitutionalism and democracy,†said Pulkol, taking a sip of his wine.
As we sat at the outside bar that looked over Hotel Africana’s massive, glimmering pool, I squinted in the dark, unable to see the notes I was taking. Clearly, my night vision in Uganda was truly pitiful. I wondered what Pulkol, an opinionated and observant man, might think if I used my mobile phone as a torch. I couldn’t see my notes, but writing through the light of my kabiriti phone didn’t exactly seem classy.
Forget it, I thought. Just scribble down what he says, and hope for the best. And if you get sent back home after someone overhears this conversation, well—at least you had the opportunity to advance your career and eat a lot of posho and beans in the last six months. And maybe the American embassy would foot the bill for my ticket.
“Museveni has mastered the 48 laws of power,†Pulkol continued, making me nervous by the minute. “A while back, I was working on a documentary where we looked at Museveni’s older speeches and I thought — would the Museveni of 1986 recognise the Museveni of 2003?â€
Suddenly, Pulkol’s phone rang, and when he took the call, his conversation quickly demonstrated how globally connected the former spy chief from Karamoja truly was. “Hello sir, are you in South Africa? No, oh you must be in California. No? Oh London, okay,†he paused. “Excuse me, I need to take this call, it’s a professor who might be collaborating with the Obama administration in the fall.â€
Realising that our interview shouldn’t interfere with the Yes-we-can dream team in Washington, I smiled gracefully, and felt a wave of homesickness as I realised I was missing most of Obama’s first year in office.
I first met Pulkol two years ago, as an idealistic American student studying grassroots development with the School of International Training in Kampala. It was my first time in Uganda and Pulkol gave a lecture to the twenty-plus something students in my programme about threats to Ugandan security. He described everything from cattle rustling to the Khartoum regime with such ease and grace that completely charmed the group.
He had been close with another American friend of mine who had studied in Uganda a few years before I did, taking her to Moroto where she had the opportunity to don traditional Karimojong dress and travel through the dusty Kalerwe market to Kanyanya to visit her and her Ugandan homestay family.
We spoke of our mutual friend’s recent engagement to an American economist and her recent activity busting cartels in chocolate companies that violated anti-trust law.
As we talked, Pulkol offered to take me to his home in Karamoja, where I could meet his parents and see where his personality and ideas were shaped. Although I have been to Gulu, Lira, Mbarara and Mbale, I’ve never been to northeastern Uganda.
I jumped at the prospect of visiting the region, so maligned by the rest of the country.
Of course, I would probably stick to my own jeans and t-shirts, rather than the traditional Karimojong clothing. I wouldn’t want to see photos of myself from the northeast circulating on someone’s Facebook thread.
As our evening drew to an end, Pulkol generously picked up the tab. I wondered if he spent most of his free evenings at Hotel Africana, since he had ordered his drinks so casually with the waitress, as if he had ordered the same dry glass a couple hundred times.
“Where is Maria (a waitress)?†he inquired. “I’ll have my usual.â€
As I got into a taxi heading up to Jinja Road, I couldn’t help but worry if anyone had eavesdropped and overheard our conversation. Kampala, I’ve learned, is quite a small place. But really, if a former security boss can’t provide you with security, who can?