A Startling Encounter: Four Hours of Armed Conflict Amidst Border Turmoil

 At #TheBalcony with Christopher Kisekka

 In the rich tapestry of tales passed down by my late grandfather, Francis Kaggwa, affectionately known as Liggwa, the ominous specters of war and armed strife had never cast their ominous shadows across the pages of my life's story. 

Surrounded by cinematic narratives, literary volumes, and the ceaseless reports of the news, these dire occurrences remained a distant realm for me. Such was the case for many individuals, like myself, who find themselves just shy of or slightly beyond the age of thirty, dwelling within the heart of central Uganda.

Yet, as the saying goes, every experience eventually encounters its inaugural moment. And so it came to pass, on an unremarkable Tuesday, that I was abruptly thrust into the disquieting embrace of armed conflict, bearing witness to its profound and far-reaching repercussions, within the confines of Bunagana, Kisoro.

This unanticipated ordeal served as a baptism by fire, thrusting me headlong into the grim reality of refugees, forced to flee their homes as a direct result of an armed conflict that raged merely three or four kilometers away from the border town of Bunagana. 

Gone were the days of hearing the thunderous roars of cannons solely as cinematic sound effects; now, my ears bore witness to the chilling symphony of bullets, their trajectories etching sparks of light across the sky.

 In the brief span of under four hours spent within this town, I found myself a spectator to an intricate tapestry woven with threads of suffering, unwavering resilience, and, most profoundly, the inviolable sanctity of life. 

It was as though I had stepped into the very pages of history, witnessing events that mirrored the tales of past wars in Uganda, and envisaging the experiences of those residing in the war-torn regions of northern Uganda, Teso, and other areas that have borne witness to conflict in recent times. Yet, I couldn't help but acknowledge that what I had witnessed was but a fraction of the larger narrative.

How did I come to find myself in such a place? As I departed from my home on a tranquil Monday morning, I carried no forewarning of the dire circumstances that lay ahead. However, by the time Tuesday afternoon had unfolded its events, our purpose, initially conceived to gauge the impact of the COVID-19 pandemic in the region and evaluate Kisoro district's response to this crisis, had become entangled in the tumultuous grip of an armed conflict seeping across the border.

Accompanied by a group of colleagues, most of whom were equally unaccustomed to such experiences, we arrived at the border point with remarkable punctuality, precisely at noon.

Originally, our plans had centered around a visit to Kisoro Hospital and possibly a school. However, while we were at the hospital, a suggestion arose that we should venture to the border to assess the situation there as well.

Just one-day prior, our neighboring Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) had been plunged into utter chaos. This turmoil was the result of a relentless assault launched by M23 rebels against several Congolese military outposts. 

In the aftermath of these fierce engagements, a staggering 13,000 individuals had already been compelled to abandon their homes, seeking refuge within the safety of Uganda's borders. 

Curiously, although no gunfire had erupted in close proximity to Uganda, we had been reassured that nothing untoward would occur. We were told that the rebels were wary of crossing into Uganda or approaching its borders, given the formidable might of the UPDF (Uganda People's Defence Force), which was deemed more than capable of crushing any threat.

Ah, for those who may not be familiar with M23, let me shed some light. The March 23 Movement, often simply referred to as M23 and also recognized as the Congolese Revolutionary Army, is a rebel military organization primarily composed of ethnic Tutsi members. It finds its base of operations in the eastern regions of the Democratic Republic of the Congo, with a predominant presence in the province of North Kivu. It's worth noting that various reports suggest that M23 has received support from political entities in both Kampala and Kigali, but delving into those intricacies will have to wait for another day.

M23 can trace its origins back to the National Congress for the Defence of the People, more commonly known by its French acronym, CNDP. The CNDP was a rebel group engaged in a conflict with the government of the Democratic Republic of the Congo from 2006 to 2009. Both M23 and the CNDP assert that the Congolese Tutsi population and other ethnic communities in the regions of North and South Kivu have faced discrimination

Returning to the unfolding drama on this unexpected "stage," a mere twenty minutes after our arrival at the border, the unmistakable sound of gunfire began to echo through the air. At first, these sounds appeared somewhat distant, akin to the overture of a performance yet to reach its climax. Little did we know that this was merely the prelude to a three-hour-long ordeal at the border, all transpiring in concert with the historic gathering of East African leaders convened to formally welcome the Democratic Republic of Congo into the East African Community.

Around 12:40 p.m., the cadence of gunfire escalated, its resounding echoes becoming increasingly palpable within the township. Subsequent reports shed light on the dire situation: rebels were relentlessly pursuing Congolese soldiers, who, in turn, were fleeing their homeland in a desperate bid for safety. 

A procession of Congolese civilians, some bearing wounds and injuries, began to flood into the township, triggering a tumultuous scene of urgency and concern. The residents of the border district also swiftly initiated their preparations for a collective exodus, for this was not the first occasion of such an ominous event.

"They could very well encroach upon our town. We must depart without delay," urgently proclaimed a local shop proprietor, instructing his wife to gather their children as they readied themselves for the journey to Kisoro town.

What followed was a poignant tableau: Children, some tightly clutching their siblings' hands, skillfully balancing cups and plates. Mothers, with babies securely strapped to their backs, ingeniously fastening ropes from their waists to their children's hands to prevent separation. Men bearing mattresses and modest bundles of possessions, while others hurriedly retreated with their goats and poultry in tow. Notably, amongst the throng, I observed schoolchildren adorned in their uniforms, trudging alongside adults who were likely their parents or guardians.

Amidst this exodus, one disabled man, mounted on a tricycle, wheeled about in search of assistance for a seemingly interminable four minutes until a compassionate young boy stepped forward to lend a helping hand. These were moments imbued with both fear and raw emotion, yet my foremost concern was not for my own safety, but rather for those who were fleeing.

Although my command of Swahili was not particularly adept, I overheard a young girl lamenting the loss of her sister. Her impulse to retrace her steps and search for her sibling was swiftly quelled by her elders, who, after overcoming her resistance, urged her to continue moving forward.

Amidst such scenes, one could discern that displacement during armed conflict posed one of the most formidable humanitarian challenges. Displaced individuals invariably suffered physical and psychological tribulations, surrendering their autonomy, grappling with insecurity, and lacking access to essential services. Most profoundly, they grappled with the uncertainty of what lay ahead in their lives.

The influx of Congolese refugees, joining Ugandans in their flight from the impending threat, culminated in a chaotic stampede, with numerous casualties resulting from collisions with motorcyclists. This turmoil persisted for over half an hour until security forces intervened to restore order and tranquility.

Amid the pandemonium, people scattered in all directions, with the intensification of gunfire heightening the belief that the rebels might imminently breach Uganda's borders. Among the tumult, I espied a solitary police officer, identifiable as an Assistant Superintendent from his insignia.

Initially, the authorities had set up a border camp with the intention of accommodating those who were entering Uganda. However, in that perilous moment, it was impossible for anyone to find solace in the camp, as it stood perilously close to the border where the ominous echoes of bullets and the presence of weaponry were all too real, originating from the very place they had fled.

 After a brief interlude, a police patrol deployed additional officers to clear the way for ambulances arriving to transport the injured and facilitate the movement of other motorists. Within minutes, heavily armed UPDF (Uganda People's Defence Forces) soldiers materialized, marching in two columns flanking the road on either side, numbering, by my estimation, around 200.

At this juncture, an atmosphere akin to an action movie, with live gunfire echoing near the border, pervaded the scene. It appeared that the UPDF was already in combat, defending Uganda's border as mandated by the constitution.

Approximately half an hour later, UPDF soldiers began returning, bearing several wounded Congolese counterparts on their backs. Two Congolese soldiers with grievous injuries to their thighs and buttocks stood out distinctly from the UPDF soldiers due to their differing uniforms.

Throughout this tumultuous episode, I stood my ground, capturing photographs and conducting several interviews with the refugees. However, as panic engulfed everyone, prompting thoughts of the rebels' potential encroachment into Uganda, I, too, contemplated locating our van. It had vanished momentarily, with the driver having driven a short distance before momentarily parking.

In our hasty retreat to safety, some intrepid journalists ventured in the opposite direction, seeking to capture more compelling footage and photographs. At that moment, my courage waned, or perhaps pragmatism prevailed, for our driver promptly emphasized that he had been instructed to vacate the area posthaste.

With the temporary lull in the echoes of gunfire, a sudden downpour descended upon the scene. Thousands of refugees who had made their way into Uganda were now in a frantic quest for shelter. Every available veranda in the town had already been claimed, forcing many to huddle together in groups of fifteen or twenty, seeking refuge beneath improvised tarpaulins.

Amidst the cold embrace of Kisoro, numerous souls shivered uncontrollably, their bodies devoid of the comforting warmth of jackets. I could only surmise that they had endured hunger for at least twelve hours, if not more, adding to their physical distress.

With the eerie silence of the guns now prevailing, the individual who had been leading our team instructed us to swiftly board the van and depart the area without delay. During the initial ten minutes or so while we were confined within the van, a profound hush enveloped us all. It was only when a lady named Christine broke this silence that a discussion was sparked, with colleagues recounting their harrowing experiences from their respective vantage points.

 

Christine's words resonated as she declared, "That was the most harrowing experience of my life," and her sentiment opened the floodgates for the sharing of stories and reflections on the events that had unfolded before us.

Later, as night fell upon Kisoro town, the talk of the town revolved around the recent attack. Locals conveyed that this was the most significant event they had experienced in quite some time.

The following morning, we proceeded with our initial mission, which had been planned to engage with district leaders on topics unrelated to COVID-19. However, the majority of our discussions inevitably gravitated towards the influx of refugees into the district and the conflict across the border.

Several emergency meeting, overseen by the Resident District Commissioner (RDC) and UPDF officers, and other officials giving orders from Kampala were convened. Mostly they focused on devising strategies for managing the incoming groups of refugees. The involvement of organizations like UNICEF and UNHCR was also noted, and plans were outlined for the registration and establishment of temporary settlements for these refugees. Swift action was initiated to implement these plans.

Later in the day, a friend and resident of the area contacted me with alarming news. He informed me that fighting in distant border towns within the Democratic Republic of Congo had resumed, resulting in a fresh wave of people seeking refuge, including members of the DRC army whose barracks in the area had been overrun.

Presently, a myriad of conspiracy theories abounds regarding the probable catalyst of the conflict in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC). While the veracity of these theories remains uncertain, my dear reader, you will likely never become privy to them, for they shall linger as hushed discussions within newsrooms and whispered rumors along the border.

However, the anguish, bloodshed, and loss of life are undeniable realities, as personally witnessed by the author, and they persist with alarming regularity. The tally of lives lost continues to mount, while speeches proliferate, yet substantive solutions remain elusive, with no promising prospects on the horizon.