By Geoffrey Asimwe

33 years ago to this day, the coronation of the Kabaka of Buganda was in full gear.

All “Bagandans” and those who loved the Kingdom were in attendance. The business had started weeks before the actual day. Alcohol. Food. Music. Vendors. Politics.

But that was not my interest. That became usual fast.

It was the unusual that caught my eye.

Being a resident of the hill, I saw it first-hand. I took part in the cleaning. Translation: we were cheap labour — students of the Kingdom.

One time the headmaster made us collect stones that had been poured on the newly tarmacked road, and pour them on our school pathways. To “match” the road leading out.

Another time, we were “hijacked” by TK’s dad. He was on the organising committee. He put us to work around a reed-fenced shrine. We were told that was where the Prince, soon to be King, would be bathed in the early morning of the coronation.

We were not allowed inside. We were not even allowed to look.

For the first time as students, we had, for days, seen people. Many people on the hill. Especially in the evenings. The sharper ones amongst us were always escaping to join them. The rules were relaxed those days. No one asked whether you were coming or going. Everyone was excited and minding their own business.

Part of the fence had been removed so the soon-to-be King wouldn’t walk around. He would go straight to his coronation. The site was an open, well-maintained grass patch surrounded by trees that seemed to bend backwards. The man who took care of it was the local medicine man.

I met him once. Our history teacher, Mr. Kamuhanda, had taken us there and we started playing around the trees. The coronation tree excited us especially. Its roots curved out of the ground to make a chair.

Kimbowa came. Cursing. Threatening. In a white kanzu.

The Christian in me thought immediately: this is it. Lightning. Like in Nigerian movies.

Mr. Kamuhanda appeased him. He left smiling, but with a stern warning: “Don’t play with ebyobuwangwa.”

Fast forward to 30th July 1993. The eve of the function.

The school gathered in the Chapel. We were told we would be the first to set eyes on the soon-to-be King. He was coming.

From the chapel we could see the convoy emerging from the newly created road that cut from Nateete to Naggalabi. Because the Prince never used the same road to his coronation as he came in.

The community — all different peoples from Uganda and beyond — started to clap and ululate.

Kabaka waffe agya!

Then the convoy turned back.

We didn’t know why. Just… disappointment.

Still, we slept on it. Because excitement.

Day D was tomorrow. The hill was alive.

31.07.1993.

I woke up to the sound of drums and ululations. At first I was confused. I thought we were under attack. Then I remembered.

Today was the day.

People had already left for the main gate where there was an ongoing mock battle. I rushed there at 6 a.m., still dark, but there were lights and cameras I had never seen.

Then it was announced: the Prince had won the mock battle.

Jubilation.

So many people.

I caught a glimpse of the soon-to-be crowned Prince. From the main gate they walked into the school, turned right at the Teachers’ Quarters, and went through the space created in the fence to Naggalabi. To the coronation site. To perform the rest of the rituals.

I’ve never been a crowd person, so I turned back to the dorm. I would catch up later. Besides, this was home. I had to take breakfast.

A TV was placed in the mess for those of us who couldn’t see the Prince because of the sea of people that had descended on the hill.

Then it happened.

A nimbus cloud covered the skies. The rain was here. It was obvious it was going to rain cats and dogs. And when it rained on that hill, it really rained.

Out of the blue, to my utter shock and amazement, the cloud started to move.

And just like that, the sun came out.

So strong it was weird.

Obviously something had happened.

It was said that the guardian of the hill, Kimbowa, had done his thing. He had cleared the rain so the function could flow uninterrupted.

From that day I have known: spiritual power is real. And it influences physical elements.

It’s been 33 years, but the excitement and the spiritual moments I haven’t mentioned here have never left me.

This is why it’s not lost on me that this year’s celebration has been led by Watoto Church. As I follow the praise and worship on TV from their Bweyogerere Campus, I relive that spiritual experience — but now with the recognition that God reigns in the affairs of men.

Abaganda Muyogeyoge.

Kabaka Mutebi awangaale.

Nabagereka agerekere Obuganda.

Happy 33rd Coronation.

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