The Bullet

Lots of things happened in Kampala in January 1971. One of them happened to me, although until then I had thought I wouldn't be affected. I was Manager of IBM Uganda and although President Obote was deposed from power after the army stormed the Kabaka's Palace, and General Idi Amin seized control of the country with the help of his army, I foolishly assumed I would be safe. After all, it was nothing to do with me; whoever won there would still be a Ministry of Finance and Uganda's computers would still be needed.

But returning from giving a late night lift to a friend's house - just one hundred yards from it - the sight on the mud road of four men in plain clothes but carrying rifles was something I didn't like to see. I stopped, of course, and stepped out of my car saying "good evening" politely, in the hope that politeness would somehow make the robbery less, shall we say, fraught, dangerous, unfriendly, violent.

I handed over my money, plus keys, and when I politely asked to have my keys back they gave them to me without hesitation. Wonderful! So that polite "good evening" had worked - but apparantly not, because suddenly one of these army deserters raised his rifle to his shoulder, pointed it at me, and shouted "RUN". So I ran. As fast as I could, desperate to put distance between me and the bullet that will hit my back . . . But fortunately that didn't happen, and so I jogged all the way home.

Next day the police listened politely, accepted and filed my written statement, and gave me a receipt I could show the insurance office, and promised to catch the robbers.

Actually, they never did, because we often saw it driving around Kampala. We would pull up beside it at traffic lights and wave to the driver, and even compliment him on what a wonderful taxi he was driving. But I still think about it, and wonder what might have happened if there had been a bullet in that gun.