Ephesians 6:12; “For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.
To every African and concerned global citizens who’s ever felt the deep ache of injustice, the slow erosion of hope in a land that should be thriving; come closer. Let’s speak plainly, heart to heart, no filters; just the raw truth we’ve carried for generations. Because what we’re seeing in Uganda, in East Africa, across our beautiful yet wounded continent isn’t merely modern politics gone wrong. It’s a corruption that has poisoned the soul of humanity itself; twisting leaders into tyrants, turning citizens into fearful shadows, and shattering the dreams of freedom we were created to inherit.
This corruption didn’t begin yesterday. Its roots sink deep into history; back to the Berlin Conference of 1884–1885, that infamous gathering in Germany where European powers sat around tables, maps spread out, and carved up Africa like a pie, with no African voice in the room. I call it “Satan’s Summit” because that is exactly what it was: a calculated act of domination, drawing arbitrary borders that sliced through ethnic groups, languages, kingdoms, and families; splitting the Luo between Kenya, Uganda, and Tanzania; the Maasai across Kenya and Tanzania; the Somali people over Kenya, Ethiopia, and Somalia; and crucially, the Rwandese ethnic groups like the Tutsi and Hutu across what became Rwanda, Burundi, Uganda, and the Democratic Republic of Congo. These lines weren’t meant to build cohesive societies; they were designed to make exploitation easier, to prevent wars among the colonizers while ensuring maximum plunder of resources. The result? Fractured identities, ethnic tensions baked into the very foundation of our states, and a legacy of division that postcolonial leaders inherited and often exploited rather than healed. In Uganda, British colonial rule amplified this by favoring certain mainstream groups like the Baganda, creating hierarchies of power that fueled resentment, coups, and civil wars long after independence. And look at the fallout today: those colonial splits of Rwandese peoples have directly fueled insurgencies like the M23 rebellion in eastern DRC, where Tutsi-led groups, feeling unprotected and drawing on historical grievances from the 1994 genocide and cross-border ethnic ties, clash with Congolese forces; often with alleged Rwandan backing; perpetuating cycles of violence, displacement, and resource grabs that echo the original divide-and-conquer strategy.
Even earlier, the Arab slave trade, stretching back centuries through the Indian Ocean, the Red Sea, and trans-Saharan routes, left its own deep scars on East Africa. From the 7th century onward, millions of Africans were captured, marched in chains, castrated in many cases, and sold into servitude across the Arab world, North Africa, and the Middle East. Zanzibar became a notorious hub, its markets overflowing with human lives traded like commodities, enriching Arab traders and local elites while depopulating villages and disrupting societies. This wasn’t just theft of labor; it shattered social structures, deepened ethnic and racial hierarchies, and normalized exploitation. The economic advantages those networks created influenced later colonial borders and power dynamics; traders’ routes shaped where empires drew lines, leaving lasting imbalances in wealth, influence, and trust.
2022 – Philip Entering Botswana from Zambia at Kazungula OBSP
On my Motorcycle on the Trans Kalahari Highway
I have personally walked barefoot and ridden my motorcycle along some of these very slave trade routes, tracing the pain of our ancestors with my own steps. One of the most grueling paths I followed was from Ujiji on the eastern shore of Lake Tanganyika to Bagamoyo on the Indian Ocean coast, a distance of approximately 1,200 kilometers (about 750 miles) of harsh terrain, savanna, and unforgiving heat. Ujiji was a major inland collection point where captives from deep in the interior were gathered; Bagamoyo (meaning “lay down your heart” in Swahili, a name born of despair) was the final mainland port where they were forced to rest before being shipped across to Zanzibar for auction and export. Bagamoyo was the place of no return, where all hope of seeing your love ones completely vanished. I have also personally traversed the Trans-Kalahari Highway from Buitepos on the Botswana border all the way to Swakopmund on Namibia’s Skeleton Coast, a journey of roughly 1,500 kilometers (930 miles) through desert and arid plains that once carried trade caravans and, in darker times, echoes of human movement and suffering. The one peace expedition that remains for me is the northern African route, the trans-Saharan paths where thousands of our people, centuries ago, were chained and marched to places like Benghazi in Libya, and to Port Sudan in Sudan, or further, to be sold in the Arab world. Today that same corridor claims thousands of African migrants who drown in the Sahara sands or perish in the Mediterranean while fleeing modern desperation. Walking these routes barefoot is more than a journey; it is a pilgrimage of remembrance, a refusal to let history stay buried, and a personal vow to carry the weight of what was done so that it is never repeated.
In Zanzibar, those old wounds exploded in the 1964 Revolution. Just one month after independence from Britain on December 10, 1963, on January 12, 1964, around 600–800 mostly African insurgents, led by Field Marshal: John Okello; a Ugandan immigrant, Christian preacher, and Afro-Shirazi Party activist; launched the uprising. They stormed police stations for weapons, seized the radio station and government buildings in Zanzibar Town. The small police force collapsed quickly. Sultan Jamshid bin Abdullah fled into exile. The revolutionaries declared the People’s Republic of Zanzibar and Pemba, with Abeid Amani Karume as president. The uprising unleashed horrific violence; thousands of Arabs and some South Asians were killed in massacres, rapes, and looting, often described as ethnic cleansing. Estimates range from 5,000 to 13,000 or more dead. Many Arabs were detained, deported, or fled; large numbers left the islands. The new regime nationalized land and businesses, targeting perceived elites. In April 1964, Zanzibar merged with Tanganyika to form Tanzania under Julius Nyerere, partly to stabilize the situation and prevent counter-revolution. The revolution is still celebrated as liberation from oppression in official stories, but the mass violence remains a painful, rarely discussed scar. These historical exploitations; Arab slave raids, European colonial carving; sowed seeds of division, inequality, and corruption that modern regimes harvest, turning neighbor against neighbor and leader against the led.
Power, when unchecked and idolized, doesn’t just corrupt individuals; it corrupts entire nations and the collective soul of humanity. It erodes trust, dignity, and the shared vision of a common future. It makes us forget what true living looks like: shalom; wholeness and peace that isn’t the uneasy quiet after violence, but a flourishing where justice rolls down like waters, where equality isn’t a distant ideal but the everyday reality for farmer and child alike, where every person, bearing the image of the Creator, can stand tall without fear or favoritism. That’s God’s mission: to restore the broken, uplift the oppressed, heal divisions, and bring shalom that unites rather than divides, justice that rights wrongs instead of burying them, equality that levels the field instead of tilting it toward the powerful.
But liberation of Africa cannot be reduced to simply winning souls for the church. The gospel is not a tool for spiritual escapism while leaving systemic evil untouched. The true sins gripping the continent; the dominating powers of corruption, nepotism, foreign exploitation, ethnic manipulation, and unaccountable rule; are the darkness that must be confronted head-on. These are not mere human failings; they are structural evils that hold entire generations in bondage, perpetuating poverty, violence, and despair. The church, if it is to be faithful to the prophetic call of Scripture, must seek to address these principalities and powers, calling them out, dismantling their strongholds, and standing with the oppressed in the pursuit of justice on earth as it is in heaven. Winning souls without confronting the sins that crush bodies and spirits is incomplete; true liberation demands both spiritual renewal and the bold uprooting of every form of oppression that mocks God’s kingdom.
But look where we stand today, January 1, 2026. In Uganda, the air is heavy with tension as the January 15 general elections approach. President Yoweri Museveni, at 81, has been cleared once more to run for a seventh term; seven terms after nearly 40 years in power, his National Resistance Movement endorsing him unchallenged, the Electoral Commission nominating him amid opposition cries of intimidation, arrests, and abductions. The buildup echoes past shadows: 2021’s disputed vote, the dozens killed and disappeared. Critics label it perfected competitive authoritarianism; the regime calls it stability. Yet the opposition; Bobi Wine, Mugisha Muntu, and others; pushes forward despite the closing space, where dissent risks being branded terrorism.
Bobi Wine (Robert Kyagulanyi Ssentamu), leader of the National Unity Platform (NUP), is Museveni’s most high-profile challenger. He was officially cleared and nominated in September 2025 to run for president. His campaign focuses on youth empowerment, democratic reform, economic justice, and ending state capture. He draws massive support from urban youth, working-class communities, and central Uganda. Recent rallies in districts like Rakai, Kyotera, Mukono, and Kalungu have faced tear gas, live bullets, arrests of supporters, and blocked events. He uses symbolic acts; like displaying the national flag widely; to expose government failures and rally patriotism. He positions the election as a generational fight for a “New Uganda.” He has stated he will run “if I am still alive and not in jail,” referencing past threats, arrests, and violence from 2021 onward.
Mugisha Muntu (Maj. Gen. retired), leader of the Alliance for National Transformation (ANT), was also nominated in September 2025. He campaigns on principled leadership, accountability, institutional reform, and ending manipulation of electoral processes. He warns of a potential political crisis if voters do not act decisively in 2026. His style is disciplined and moderate, appealing to voters who want dialogue over confrontation. Recent activities include rallies in districts like Ntungamo and plans for Masaka region. He emphasizes restoring fairness, confronting fear, and building long-term stability. There have been talks of opposition coalitions, including a proposed “twin candidature” with Bobi Wine to broaden appeal; urban youth plus moderate and western Uganda support; though no formal alliance has been finalized.
Both leaders, along with others like Nathan Nandala Mafabi of the Forum for Democratic Change (FDC), are part of a fragmented opposition trying to unite or coordinate against the ruling NRM. They criticize military involvement in elections, abductions, and repression, calling for free, fair, and credible polls.
This pattern repeats across borders. Tanzania’s October 2025 elections saw President Samia Suluhu Hassan claim 98 percent victory, but protests met bullets, tear gas, curfews, blackouts; reports of hundreds dead, perhaps over a thousand, bodies hidden in morgues or mass graves. In Kenya, alliances fracture like glass: Uhuru and Ruto’s old bromance dissolving into impeachments and betrayals, showing how power intoxicates even the closest bonds.
In Uganda itself, the signs are stark. Entebbe Airport; at independence in 1962; was the best and most modern airport in all of Africa, a gleaming symbol of promise, the continent’s premier gateway with state-of-the-art facilities that drew admiration from across the world. Yet today, despite recent expansions, it lags far behind continental leaders in scale, passenger capacity, and global ranking. Cash crops, cooperatives, indigenous road-builders? Sidelined for foreign; often Chinese; firms. Mulago Hospital? Elites jet abroad for care while ordinary lives hang in underfunded balance. Names of high-profile figures who have sought treatment outside Uganda are well-known: First Lady Janet Museveni has been reported to receive medical care abroad on multiple occasions; former Prime Minister Amama Mbabazi underwent treatment in India; former Speaker Rebecca Kadaga has sought specialized care overseas; and even high-ranking military officers like the late Gen. Aronda Nyakairima (before his death) and others in the inner circle have been flown to facilities in South Africa, India, or Europe rather than trust the national referral system. This pattern of elite exodus for healthcare exposes the regime’s failure to revamp Mulago and the broader health sector after four decades in power; ordinary Ugandans die waiting, while the powerful escape the consequences of neglect.
Leaders like Museveni and Moses Ali rose young yet cling on, blocking youth and fresh ideas. Museveni, born in 1944, became Minister of Defense in 1979 at age 35. Moses Ali, born in 1939, was appointed Minister for Provincial Administration in 1973 at age 34. Yet today, at 81 and 86 respectively, they still hold high office. Museveni serves as President. Moses Ali is Second Deputy Prime Minister. Their long tenure stifles new leadership. Young Ugandans see no path to power.
Regionally, Ugandan-linked forces stir in Congo’s M23 conflict, shadows of 1994’s Rwanda genocide keeping East Africa numb to abuses. Kenya’s 2007–2008 pain, though brutal, awakened reform; too often, the rest stay indifferent.
Now, let’s circle back to those towering figures in Uganda’s story; Idi Amin and Yoweri Museveni; who both navigated this poisoned legacy in their own ways. Amin, that Muslim convert who seized power in 1971, wasn’t blind to the colonial rot. In fact, he was among the first postcolonial leaders to publicly call out how the British had drawn those maps wrongly; not by accident, but intentionally, to further an evil agenda of division and control. During the Uganda-Tanzania War in 1978-79, Amin invaded the Kagera region, claiming it was rightfully Ugandan based on historical maps and agreements from the colonial era. He argued the borders were misdemarcated to weaken African unity, pitting nations against each other while the West watched and profited. He even demanded back Kenyan districts like Kisumu and Kakamega that had been part of Uganda before colonial re-drawing, seeing it all as a deliberate ploy to fragment power. He renamed colonial roads, lakes, and mountains to decolonize the landscape, stripping away the imperial stamps. Decades and centuries later, we’re still grappling with this; ethnic insurgencies, resource wars, borders that bleed; while the world looks on, often indifferent or complicit, pretending it’s just “African problems.”
Amin positioned himself as a Pan-African champion, chairing the OAU in 1975, supporting liberation struggles, elevating Ugandan sports, and forging alliances with Arab states like Libya and Saudi Arabia; providing aid to the emerging UAE and establishing institutions like the Libyan-Arab-Uganda Bank. Museveni, a professed Christian and self-styled Pan-Africanist, has advocated for African unity and integration while receiving honors and deepening ties with Russia and China. Critics argue Museveni’s rhetoric partly stems from envy of Amin’s bolder global assertions, amplified by religious differences. The regime’s refusal to repatriate Amin’s body for burial after his 2003 death in Saudi exile; rejecting even an Idi Amin Memorial Institute as honoring an “illegal” regime; violates core African values of ancestral respect and serves to erase competing legacies.
This exclusionary approach mirrors unequal resource distribution: key positions disproportionately held by Museveni’s family and Banyankole/Bahima kin, fueling dynasty fears. His wife, Janet Museveni, serves as Minister of Education and Sports. His son, Gen. Muhoozi Kainerugaba, is Chief of Defence Forces and has openly positioned himself as a successor through provocative public statements. His brother, Gen. Salim Saleh, acts as senior presidential advisor on defense and heads Operation Wealth Creation. His daughter, Natasha Karugire, is private secretary for household affairs. His son-in-law, Odrek Rwabwogo, advises on exports and industrial development. This tight family grip concentrates power, breeds resentment, and raises alarms of hereditary rule disguised as meritocracy. It locks out diverse talent, perpetuates tribal favoritism, and undermines any real democratic renewal. When power stays within one circle for decades, the nation loses fresh ideas, accountability, and the chance for genuine progress.
When faith aligns with oppressive state power; churches blessing regimes, leaders quoting scripture while silencing voices; it’s Revelation 17’s woman riding the beast, intoxicating nations with corrupted wine. In Uganda, religious leaders have often endorsed Museveni, crediting his rule for peace and stability, as seen in annual pastor gatherings turning into political rallies. Figures like Pastor Augustine Yiga and Bishop David Kiganda have publicly supported him. Museveni tasks clergy to spread government messages on wealth creation, blurring lines between pulpit and palace. This unholy alliance echoes the biblical harlot Babylon; religion seducing worldly power, drunk on influence while ignoring injustice. Africa’s fractures trace to “Satan’s Summit” and earlier exploitations like the Arab trade; artificial borders and hierarchies breeding strife, allowing such corrupt unions to thrive unchecked.
Yet hope flickers. Youth rising, opposition enduring, calls for transparent votes; these are sparks. As 2026 dawns and Uganda votes, let’s pray and act for shalom. For leaders who serve humbly. For systems that heal. For a continent where power lifts, not crushes; and where the church rises not just to save souls, but to confront the very evils that keep the continent in chains.
What do you say? Will we stay silent, or demand the justice, equality, and wholeness our souls crave? Let’s talk. Let’s pray. Let’s fight for the light. Shalom be with us all.
Read more about the Author here: Philip Kakungulu
References:
https://www.britannica.com/event/Berlin-West-Africa-Conference
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Berlin_Conference
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arab_slave_trade
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zanzibar_Revolution
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Idi_Amin#Territorial_claims
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Uganda%E2%80%93Tanzania_War
https://face2faceafrica.com/article/idi-amin-the-ugandan-dictator-who-claimed-parts-of-kenya-and-tanzania
https://www.bbc.com/news/world-africa-57262326
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/March_23_Movement
https://www.crisisgroup.org/africa/great-lakes/democratic-republic-congo/m23-rebellion-eastern-congo
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2026_Ugandan_general_election
https://www.ec.or.ug/
https://africacenter.org/spotlight/uganda-museveni-2026-elections/
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