By 3:23pm, the sun that had been roasting the early birds at Lubiri grounds had gone hiding. The temperatures dropped, lending relief to the revellers standing in the open around the stage and on the terraces outside the VIP tents. But when the skies got darker, the worry was unanimous: the rains may ruin the party.
It almost happened with Mathias Walukagga on stage at 4:50pm. The drizzle that had started an hour ago became heavier. Some partygoers hid in telecom and beer tents until 5:15pm. But Walukagga did not quit, calling the rain a blessing.
But one more worry: the Katikkiro, Charles Peter Mayiga had earlier confirmed the Kabaka would grace Enkuuka Bwaguuga-the biggest year-ending party. But nearly 6pm, with the royal tent still empty, expectation reduced to mere hope. Until the big announcement at 5:50pm. ‘Abange, twanirize Omutanda,’ sparking a frenzy.
Some had been swinging on swing sets, far away, camel riding, watching mad, sorry, mud wrestling and motorbike rallying-unmoved by music performances. But when the Kabaka showed up, everything stopped. Naturally. Everyone ran closer. Is that just love?
Frequent patrols by ordinary and military police had guaranteed a generally serene ambience at this sprawling venue. Because for every 10 genuine partygoers, count at least one criminal mind. But controlling a hysteric mammoth crowd as the royal convoy pulled in was enormous. But the men in uniform did it peacefully, almost perfectly. ‘Are these the same men who terrorise people at rallies?’ I wondered.
Kabaka Ronald Muwenda Mutebi II, alongside the Nnaabagereka Sylvia Nagginda, Princess Katrina Ssangalyambogo, and Prince Richard Ssemakookiro, among others, was welcomed by the Katikkiro and other kingdom officials.
Revellers hooted, cheered, moved, and waved hysterically, as thousands scrambled to catch the moment with their natural eyes or smartphones. They sang all the stanzas of the Buganda anthem with pure emotion. To many, the party had officially begun. To some, this was just enough. Yet others kept coming till the midnight peak. No wonder Lubiri Ring Road was reserved for only the palace guests till late night.
Fun, trends and sideshows
Enkuuka is no place for fashion trends. Nigiina, aka crocs, tired-not faded-jeans, loose shirts and t-shirts. Suits, gomesi, yes, gomesi, kitenge, party dresses, etc, anything goes. It is like some just came straight from their odd jobs and had no time to change.
Some wore just bras for tops, serving untidy bare backs and contoured bellies. Some, mostly beach bodies, looked dope in tight pants, heels and crop tops, flaunting snatched waists.
But others boldly wore torn leggings, others bikers, with reckless gaits, inviting ridicule from others who weren’t so neat.
You thought smartphones outdated photo studios? Think twice. After the entrance, makeshift photo studios greeted revellers inside the palace. Clients posed on sofas against backgrounds decorated with Kabaka’s portraits.
Another studio was even more creative: it had a miniature statue of a lion-the symbol of the king.
Right there were hundreds of caps made of backcloth, decorated with pictures of totems symbolising the 52 clans of Buganda. Most sold at Shs8000, but by 9pm, the prices had dropped to as low as Shs3000.
Lovebirds danced on the move, hands across each other’s waists, while movement was still easy. Mothers danced with their children, others tightly marked by their suckling babies. Yet parental duties were not exclusive to women. A man, likely 60, came along with three little girls-likely grandchildren-in white dresses and shoes, as if flower girls, only that their faces were painted.
When Irene Namatovu did her oldies Love Ey’okuvuganya and Best Friend Wo, most men and the young stood still. But the ladies around their sell-by date sang and danced along.
Then the sideshows. As Fred Ssebatta sung Baana Bange, a hit of the 90s, some fans were not watching him. Instead, they marvelled at one woman, likely in her upper 40s, acting each verb as if she had practised for years. She never got a move wrong: smiling, frowning, beating, a bit of dance, etc. and with the perfect emotion.
Elsewhere, a man, around 30, danced along song after song, with different women, while holding an energy drink. But his strokes and energy suggested something stronger on his head.
Eating for survival
What’s a party without money changing hands? Meat and chicken, fried or roasted, were in abundance. Some clients, including policemen, sat in tents for matooke, posho, chicken stew, fish or low-grade pilau, etc. For those on toothpick budgets, Shs2000 was enough for a rolex-an egg, raw tomato slices and a pinch of poorly sliced cabbage rolled with a chapatti. It was up to you to wash it down with juice or soda, which competed fairly in quantity and price-minimum Shs1000. But the juice was not the quality you carefully blend at home or buy at city restaurants. Tunywera butafa, said one man, who quit soda, but didn’t enjoy the juice either. The goal was survival.
A long queue persisted along a truck selling tea, coffee and wheaty snacks. The quality was just fine, and the prices somehow generous, by 4pm. But some buyers said that with time, the quality would fall and the prices rise with the demand. ‘Obimanyi naawe,’ a young couple said, strolling away with a couple of disposable cups. Others were sipping local brew in decorated calabashes. Many visited the nearby gardens or bushes whenever nature called.
Games of luck
At almost every corner, except on the terraces, there were stations for money games. Some were competitors, some branches of others. Some attracted more clients than others due to strategy or sheer luck.
The target customers are not those who flush millions in city casinos every night, but excited villagers and lads who stake a 1000 shillings for a million in betting houses.
To enter the game, you had to buy 10 plastic rings, each at Shs100. Throw a ring at any of the gifts on the mat: biscuits, soda bottles, money notes, tied against pieces of wood. At some game stations, the smallest was Shs1000, the biggest Shs2000. But the wiser ones offered a wider range-Shs600 to Shs20,000-to attract a bigger clientele.
To win, your ring must fully encircle the gift and rest on the mat. Anything less is a loss.
Once you win, the pay is instant. But a young man will warn you, ‘Watch your feet,’ insinuating that your feet might have crossed the byline. It’s against the rules.
It’s a game of luck. Your ring can bounce from a Shs20,000 note, dance around a Shs1000 note and settle around a packet of cheap biscuits.
In gambling, every miss feels just half an inch from the jackpot. You try again. Until you can try no more.
‘I must win that Shs20,000,’ one young girl promised her brother. She had so far bought seven rounds-that’s Shs7000-perhaps the cost of her lemon green, skimpy China-made dress. She tried on, motivated by the near-misses and her earlier win of Shs5000.
The young entrepreneurs hardly share their secrets. But in barely an hour, one had sold more than 40 rounds. That is Shs40,000, against Shs17,000 he paid to the clients. Good business.
A bad day, when the clients are hugely lucky, may deplete a hustler’s liquid capital. But I saw no signs of such on December 31.
No politics? You’re joking
How did Pallaso perform in red attire when Roden Y, aka Kabako, and others, including fans, were locked out for sporting red-a colour associated with Robert Kyagulanyi’s National Unity Platform? Even gangs, aka Eggaali, were prohibited.
The state tried to prevent Enkuuka from becoming another opposition political rally, but did not score perfectly.
Towards 8pm, comic duo Madrat and Chiko simulated Judgement Day, sending Bebe Cool, Medard Ssegona, and Mathias Mpuuga to hell; Walukagga and Kyagulanyi to heaven. ‘Guys, we are just acting,’ they disclaimed. Now came the turn for the head of state. They hesitated, citing the heavy military presence in the area. They posed, arguing over who should emulate the old man. Chiko finally took the risk. He slightly limped towards Madrat. ‘And power went off,’ they said, rushing off the stage, amid cheers.
For Walukagga, just appearing on stage was a political statement. The wild cheers said so. He read the room. Opened with Mabel, a love song nearly 20 years old.
It ends with the verses: boogere balikoowa (let them talk ill about me). Then he added: bawalane balikoowa (let them hate me), the fans picking the cues. ‘Bawaayirize balikoowa,’ (let them mudsling me).
He added: ‘Ow’e Magere aliko favour,’ (The Magere resident has favour), setting the stage for Bakoowu, his biggest hit. Released in 2012, it vividly describes our societal degeneration: marriage, health, education, politics, etc., because we are bakoowu-tired.
The song calls for an urgent need for change before ‘clerics wield machetes.’
Fans had been stingy all day, but many gave him money. When he did Uganda Empya, his latest, and a counterpunch to his political rivals-some in the VIP tents-he was simply icing the cake. An epic act.
Many others made veiled political statements. Some meant it. Some just wanted to be in the public’s good books.
Miming Pastor Wilson Bugembe’s Ekyamagero, comedian Reign, an NUP member, asked God for a miracle. Then his partner, Maulana, prayed for change, but simply gesticulated while pushing and kicking ‘someone’ off the stage. The fans connected the dots.
‘Don’t forget January 15,’ said singer Mary Bata, referring to polling day.
‘Temwerabira, akabonero umbrella,’ (don’t forget the umbrella) said Bettina Namukasa, promoting the NUP symbol.
Geoffrey Lutaaya, an NUP parliamentary flagbearer, prayed for a ‘New Year and a New Uganda.’
Just after the Kabaka’s ritual opening of the New Year, Navio hit the stage with Njogereza. He said nothing political but Bad Man from Kamwokya-his collabo with Bobi Wine-matched the mood.
Mikie Wine pulled out a Uganda flag-synonymous with his big brother Kyagulanyi’s presidential campaigns-saying ‘This is a gift to the Kabaka.’
Stop!
Vinka, Ava Peace, Mary Bata, wore baggy pants and decent tops. Other female artistes wore unprovocative dresses, even unsure of performing with the Kabaka present.
But upcoming singer and dancer Winnie Wa Mummy shredded that rulebook. Invited by her dancehall buddy Mudra, she instantly dropped her black overcoat, her skimpy white dress leaving little to the imagination. Then she twerked, her huge backside half-naked, against the audience. The giant screens amplified the madness. The organisers immediately stopped her. You don’t do this before His Majesty.
Unity is victory
Before addressing his subjects, the Kabaka crowned John Basajjamivule, who had defeated 59 others in Entanda Ya Buganda- an annual quiz contest that majors in Buganda’s history, culture and language. It runs on CBS FM for months. Joseph Busuulwa was the diaspora champion.
As the Katikkiro delivered his preamble, some sent him verbal missiles. ‘Twamukoowa’ (we are tired of him). ‘Kabaka, siima omugobe” (Kabaka, sack him), they shouted as if the Kabaka could hear them. He was only close on the giant screens, but almost 100 metres behind them.
Surprisingly, when the Katikkiro ordered them to greet the Kabaka, they obliged. Not once. But four times.
‘Muli bulungi?’ (Are you fine?), the Kabaka opened his five-minute speech in a loud voice. ‘Tuli bubi, batufuga bubi’ (we are not fine, due to misrule), said one young man. ‘Mugume tugenda kufuna omukulembeze omupya,’ (don’t worry, a new government is soon coming), one woman replied.
When the Kabaka thanked the crowds for supporting Enkuuka, they shouted “Enkyukakyuka” (change).
‘Luli wali toyogera bulungi, kati oyogera bulungi,’ one lady affectionately noticed the king’s improved speech after his battle with a mysterious disease, which kept him out of public view for months in 2024. It was a trying moment for the kingdom amid speculation fuelled by social media.
‘Kale bakuttira ki musajjawattu, atalina musango?’ (why would they kill such an innocent man?), another said, her tone oozing emotion.
“We continue to urge you to be united in all situations, and to always remind you that unity is strength,” the Kabaka said, his voice slightly shaky.
Amid fervent cheers and vuvuzelas, he emphasised: “Unity is victory,’ adding: ‘Don’t lose hope. The current storm will end if we all stay focused. Thank you very much.”
Earlier in the day, the Kabaka had urged the Electoral Commission to ‘impartially help every candidate to convey his message to the voters, without obstruction.’ He always chooses his words carefully.
At 7:22pm, King Saha drove the crowds crazy with his revolutionary hit Kimala. Fans shouted, waved flags, bandanas, umbrellas, some borrowing additional height on plastic chairs they had hired at Shs10,000 each. ‘Kabaka Tukwagala Nnyo,’ (Kabaka, we love you so much), Saha screamed at 7:28pm, unaware that the royal tent was now empty; the Kabaka already gone.