I arrived in Gulu with friends on Friday evening, the air drifting to that northern chill that goes down with sunset. Quick pleasantries with friends in the running community at Kaunda Grounds, bib pickups, hotel check-ins and we were set for the next day’s big event. Bar the night-long nerve-racking music at my hotel, where high school students were having a party, I still managed to put in some sleep.
Beautiful Saturday morning
Saturday morning had hoteliers fussing with flasks of spiced tea, boda boda men weaving patiently through the early quiet, and the unmistakable hum of a place preparing for something big. I was one of roughly 1,500 runners – that’s the number of kits sold – taking on the second edition of the Gulu City Marathon, and even before the race began, you could feel it. This wasn’t just a run. It was a reunion, a celebration, a mild rebellion against gloom. It was Uganda presenting its best face – cheerful, resilient, and endlessly welcoming.
By 6am, Kaunda Grounds had become Uganda in miniature. Some children in overgrown shirts. Veterans stretching like coiled springs. A collection of happy recreational runners just ready to create another chapter of memories! Foreign runners took in the morning glow with that awestruck look people get when they’re discovering northern Uganda for the first time. The organising committee chairperson, Mr Francis Gimara, paced around with the confidence of a man who had done his homework. And in the mix, as reliably enthusiastic as ever, was tourism evangelist Amos Wekesa – darting around the place like he was powered by the region’s optimism itself.
Son of the soil and Minister for Justice and Constitutional Affairs Norbert Mao, and Ugandan Olympian Halimah Nakaayi flagged off the races.
A half hour later, we were pounding through streets that told stories of promise: new buildings rising, well-paved roads smoothing out, old corners blooming with fresh commerce.
Traditional Acholi dancers lined sections of the route – drums, calabashes, ululations – all forming a soundtrack that pushed you forward even when your lungs suggested otherwise. The sun climbed steadily, but the city was already glowing. Northern Uganda has known darker mornings. Yet on this one – this rare, precious one – you could almost believe the past was a distant country. The runners beside me spoke mostly of the beauty: the boulevards, the greenery, the surprisingly forgiving terrain (well, if you stopped at the 21st kilometre ha ha).
Race and economy delivered
One Kenyan quipped that ‘if this city keeps growing at its current pace, they’ll need a marathon week, not a day.’ We laughed, partly because he meant it, partly because it felt good to imagine. And the race itself delivered. Mr Allan Andiema’s 2:17:16 in the 42km was a smooth blend of grit and grace. Ms Joy Roberts, who seemed to float more than run, claimed the women’s crown in 3:25:53.
In the half marathon, Mr Peter Akwech (1:03:03) and Mr Evas Nasasira (1:15:43) dominated their categories. The wheelchair competitors drew some of the day’s loudest cheers in 10km – testimony to a spirit that thrives far beyond medals and times. There were cash prizes, some runners earning airline tickets, and a rare kind of joy in watching a city benefit directly from sport.
Restaurants were full – some popular ones like Sanyu on Aliker Road struggling to put up with the enormous orders, hotels filled, fuel stations busy, even salon owners spoke of an unusual Friday-night rush. Gulu’s economy was running its own race, and winning.
Ugly face of security forces brutality
But even as the marathon bloomed into this celebration of humanity, culture, heritage and health, something ugly was brewing barely half a kilometre away. The kind of thing that forces you, unwillingly, to step out of your runner’s high and confront the contradictions that shadow our progress. By mid-afternoon, the light had changed. What had been a bright, hopeful morning now felt unsettled, despite Kaunda Grounds being well guarded by the army from the chaos that ensued a stone-throw away.
Word began filtering through that violent confrontations had broken out near Awere Grounds, where National Unity Platform (NUP) presidential candidate Robert Kyagulanyi, alias Bobi Wine, was set to hold a campaign rally. Street gangs, part of the Ghetto Youth group formed early this year to solicit support for the ruling National Resistance Movement (NRM) party leaders, as reported in this publication early in the week, armed with crude objects descended on his supporters and beat them as police and the army looked on.
Vehicles were vandalised and some shops looted. Several people were injured. Later, security forces clashed with the candidate’s team as they attempted to move through the city, clobbering Kyagulanyi’s security detail with sticks in broad-day light and bloodying one of them in the head.
Frustrating contradictions
A few hundred metres away, we had been celebrating peace, wellness and community. And yet, in another corner of the same city, citizens legally participating in an electoral process were being met with force and intimidation. It felt like two Ugandas running on parallel roads, one sprinting toward a future it fully deserves, another stubbornly looping back to old habits.
And this is the painful part: even as we try to promote Uganda through initiatives like the Gulu Marathon and others, through tourism, culture, sport, innovation, there remains a section of the security apparatus that keeps subtracting from the nation’s goodwill. You cannot tell the world to come and enjoy this beautiful country at 9am, then unleash fear upon its citizens at 2pm. That contradiction is not just inconvenient; it is counterproductive.
As the chaos subsided, social media was awash with images and accounts, politicians trading accusations and citizens aghast. ‘My life is in danger,’ Mr Kyagulanyi told his cheering supporters after he managed to get to the venue in time before the official closing time of 6pm. He added: ‘The NRM hired goons to attack my supporters. ‘Even if IGP [Inspector General of Police] Abbas Byakagaba is aware that I should hold a rally here, the police and UPDF [Uganda People’s Defence Forces] do not want me to have one. They want to block me so that I reach here after 6pm.’
The Electoral Commission (EC) condemned the violence.
‘Law enforcement should use restraint in applying any measures. and these measures should be humane and commensurate with the circumstances,’ EC chairperson Justice Simon Byabakama said later in a statement. ‘If there should be any disagreement, the default position should be dialogue. rather than violent confrontations.’
Yet, the police and the army have largely boasted of a record to disregard these paper proclamations without any repercussions. The security forces insisted on their own narrative. ‘He defied the agreed route and decided to use the Main Street on foot, and he had some scuffles with officers as they pleaded with him to use the agreed route,’ David Ongom Mudong, the Aswa West police spokesperson, said.
‘However, he successfully managed to use Main Street up to his rally venue.’ Mr Amos Wekesa, also an organiser of the Rwenzori Marathon, admitted to the Daily Monitor that he was frustrated by that Saturday afternoon’s unfortunate events but added that well-meaning Ugandans should not give up. ‘What happened (from the security forces) is sad, and of course discouraging,’ said Mr Wekesa.
‘But we have resilient people – and it won’t stop us. Security, police and the army included, are funded by taxpayers. And if violence discourages business, you are, in effect, undermining the same revenue that keeps those institutions running.’ Mr Wekesa added: ‘Gulu Marathon injected money into local business that weekend – hotels, restaurants, shops, economic life surged. Such energy should be supported, and not frustrated.’
Gulu’s resilience still won
And for those of us in Gulu that day, the contrast was simple and troubling: a city that had opened its arms to thousands in the morning had to briefly close its shops in the afternoon because of political turbulence. Yet somehow, even with that shadow creeping over what had been a perfect day, Gulu did what Gulu always does. It healed quickly. It kept moving. Later that evening, after the dust had settled and I’d finally hung the beautifully engraved elephant medal around my neck, I took a slow tour of the city with a friend.
We rode atop an open-roof 1972 Jeep like tourists rediscovering a place they already loved. BJ’s and D-Plus bars were alive, just as was the concert tailored for Gulu locals by the marathon organisers at Kaunda Grounds. The iconic St Joseph’s Cathedral looked magnificent under the night sky. The streets that we had pounded in the morning were calm again – wide, well-lit, full of opportunity. Some runners continued to Murchison Falls the next day, stretching the marathon into a wider tourism adventure. It felt like a poetic refusal to let the previous day’s ugliness define the weekend.
The charitable component of the run, 10 percent of proceeds going to the Martin Aliker Youth Skilling Centre in Abole, reminded everyone that the marathon was always about something greater than personal bests. It was about giving, building, empowering.
Hard juxtaposition
And yet, as I replayed the day in my mind, the juxtaposition refused to fade. Here we were, citizens doing exactly what every country dreams its people would do: celebrating health, unity, culture, sport, tourism and entrepreneurship. And right beside us were forces undoing that work at breathtaking speed. You cannot run toward progress while others drag you back into the mud. You cannot market Uganda as peaceful while afternoon headlines show chaos. You cannot cheer thousands of runners in the morning then allow violence against voters in the afternoon. You cannot ask citizens to build, grow and promote the nation while punishing them for exercising their rights. One of those paths must eventually give way to the other.
Symbol of resilience
Gulu City Marathon, like northern Uganda itself, has become a symbol of resilience. The region endured two decades of unspeakable hardship during the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA) war. It rebuilt. It reinvented itself. It opened its gates to Ugandans and foreigners alike. Initiatives like this marathon are part of that ongoing transformation. Hopeful, practical, unifying. And that is why the events of last Saturday afternoon stung so sharply. Not because they were new, but because they contradicted the very spirit of the city hosting us. They dimmed a shine that Gulu had so painstakingly polished.
But Gulu refused to stay in the dark. It lit up again. It danced again. It welcomed again. Even after the chaos, the city asserted its identity, a place of opportunity, beauty, and astonishing potential. As I left the next day, medal in bag, muscles thankful, I kept thinking about that contrast. Ugandans are doing their part. They are innovating, running, building, dreaming, and investing. They are putting the best versions of their districts and cities on display. The world sees it. The country feels it. Gulu proved it.
Now imagine what would be possible if those tasked with protecting the public stopped tripping the country at every turn. Imagine a Uganda where the heavy hand rests. A Uganda that understands that you cannot market tourism with one hand and suppress citizens with the other. A Uganda that lets mornings like the one we enjoyed in Gulu last forever, unmarred by the shadows that sometimes follow.
Because if the people keep adding, and some sections of the security forces keep subtracting, Uganda will keep running in place, sweating hard, going nowhere.
But if we run in the same direction , citizens, leaders, institutions, our country might just find the finish line it has deserved for so long.