Misaga Rubbishes Tormentors on Family land, “Do not chain our future to the past”:

The family land in Naziba, Seguku, holds more than bones. It holds my grandfather Jaajja Petero Kidza Wakula’enume, who walked from Kifuuta Kyotera Buddu in 1922 with nothing but faith and a dream. It holds my father Joseph Bbemba Wakula’enume, born on that land, and 10 of his brothers and sisters who never left it. It holds the prayers, the tears, and the stories of 80 years of our family.

Out of the 7 families of my grandparents’ sons, only mine has kept the line with honour. The rest have scattered, and some have chosen shame over sense. Not you, and the family of our late uncle Senkandwa is fighting us left and right because they are the beneficiary of edible rat hunting the business which stopped them from seeing walls of classes enjoying their daughter of a primary certificate in Journalism, plastered the whole place with Pit latrines, Half flied Pork and opium cannabis kiosks.

Then there is the other one – the vampire Senga who spent 50 years rotting in London’s drainage, crawled back in the late 80s with a brain emptied of sense, and now dares to speak against dignity.

I grew up in Jinja, a city clean and ordered, and I know what happens when a place grows beyond its old skin. Naziba is now 6 km from Kampala’s heart CBD. Towers rise where we once played. Investments breathe down on the very graves where we lay our dead. 

And here is the truth that breaks my heart: if we do not move them now, my children and my children’s children will one day watch strangers push our ancestors’ bones aside for concrete, development does not pause for memory. Time does not wait for sentiment. 

We have 200 hectares waiting for us in Kifuuta Kyotera Buddu. Land that speaks our language. Land where our people can rest with honor, under open skies, not trapped between walls and bulldozers. Which dignity and respect.

However, some of you hold on, not for love, but because you are still chasing mice and edible rats in the cemetery. You call it tradition. I call it fear of letting go. You would rather see our ancestors dishonored tomorrow than give up what feeds you today. And you let a brain-rotted returnee with 50 years of gutter life dictate the future of men who built their names.

I have walked through Zambia, Rwanda, Zimbabwe, Mozambique, Namibia, South Africa, Malawi, Eswatini. None of them bury in private plots inside growing cities. They honor the dead by giving them space, not by trapping them in the path of progress. 

So, I point out the above   with love for our dead and fury for our future:   Step aside. Stop threatening, stop sending goons who cannot read and vampires with lame brain cells speak for our lineage. I am not fighting you. I am fighting for my grandfather’s name, for my father’s rest, for my children’s right to remember without shame.

Uganda needs a policy that protects both our living and dead bodies with dignity while as. Kampala cannot keep choosing chaos over order.   Let us Move our family to Kifuuta while we can still carry them with our hands, with our tears, with our prayers. We do it now, while there is still time to say goodbye properly.

Because if you don’t, history will remember you as the ones who chose rats over roots, drainage over dignity, and buried progress with the people you claimed to love.

MMJ Immanuel Ben Misagga

Emeritus President SC Villa and Nyamityobora FC