King off the Moon Mountains—and his people—fight on

Press, 13 August 1980, Page 17

King off the Moon Mountains—and his people —fight on

By

NICK WORRALL,

“Observer,” London

High up in the Rwenzori Mountains of Western Uganda — the fabled Mountains of the Moon — women .and children sang to the beating of drums and the tinkling of instruments as their king walked slowly from his palace to meet the first Western journalist to visit his kingdom for 17 years. His Majesty King Charles Wesley ErimaNgoma of the .United Kingdom of Rwenzururu was dressed in a brilliant, white, military ‘ uniform, with the badges of a Field Marshal, a peaked cap decorated in green, blue, and yellow Rwenzururu colours, and a sheathed silver dagger.Beside him walked Queen Zeuliah, small and pretty, followed by 10 members of the Kingdom’s Cabinet. It could have been a scene from Gilbert and Sullivan. But, for the 300,000 Rwenzururians, -their independent Kingdom is a serious matter. It contains the 60 mile long Rwenzori Mountain range, higher than the Alps and straddling the border between Uganda and Zaire. Rwenzururu, with its fertile and mineral-rich

foothills, declared its independence from Uganda 18 years ago and its people fight on for recognition and die right to live without interference. Just before his fall at the hands of the Military Commission, now ruling Uganda, President Godfrey Binaisa pledged a fresh look at the grievances of the Bakonjo and Bwamba people whose struggle has lasted for 150 years. Rwenzururu, is a classic example of the way the British Empire carved up Africa without heed to th/claims of less-vocal indigenous peoples. In this case, the Bakonjo’s home Mountain region was split down the centre by the 1910 Anglo-Belgian agreement which declared the 30th meridian and the

Congo-Nile watershed to be the boundary between the Belgian Congo (now Zaire) and Uganda. Possibly because they found the people more attractive, the British then propped up the ailing Kingdom of Toro, subduing the angry Bakonjo whose land they gave to Toro, despite the conflict between the two tribes which had raged since 1830, and which still goes on. In 1921, three Bakonjo leaders were publicly executed by the British.. They are regarded today as martyrs. It all came to a head in 1962 when the Bakonjo received no mention in the Ugandan independence constitution. So, on June 30, 1962, Isaya Mukirane, the father of the present king, made a unilateral declaration of independence and the Rwenzururians retreated into their mountains. Prime Minister Milton Obote sent troops under British officers to deal with the rebels and even enlisted the aid of a British journalist to mediate. But to no avail. Idi Amin sent troops into the mountains as well.- Walking up the steep

slopes In search of the King, I was shown 1 deserted huts and smallholdings amid lush surroundings where Amin’s men had burned, pillaged, and murdered the people. But they never dared attack higher than 5000 feet. The

Rwenzururu can live another 5000 feet higher than that.

My guides told me how their region, one of the richest in Africa, had been neglected by the men who developed Uganda. “We never had a secondary school until last year when we collected 20 shillings ($2.50) from each person. It is still a shell but we can give our children some education," said one of them.

The only hospital for 50 miles is at Kagando, at the foot of the mountains. There are no roads or telephones. I had called at Kagando hospital before setting off. Run by the British-based Tear (the. Evangelical Alliance Relief) Fund, about 500 people queue for

treatment each day. Many casualties are brought in with bullet wounds from tribal fighting. It was near the hospital that I was vetted by the Rwenzururu Chief Judge Kainabu Yonasani and two Ministers. They wanted to

be assured that I was not a Uganda Government spy. After two days, permission was finally given for me to enter the mountains.

That night, after an exhausting climb of more than 6000 feet through dense tropical vegetation, mountain streams, banana plantations, and cassava fields, I was rewarded by a breathtaking view of the dry plains far below at the Equator and of Lake Edward glittering through the haze. I slept beside a fragrant eucalyptus wood fire after a meal of bananas and groundnuts cooked over charcoal. Tales of fierce mountain tribes people, heavily armed, gained some credence when, after an early service at a mud church

nearby, the Rwenzururu Inspector of Police arrived to make a. security check. Wizened, capped, and carrying an automatic rifle that dwarfed him, he methodically and with apparent enjoyment rummaged through cameras, pockets, shoes, and even my hair, in the search for an anticipated assassination weapon. In due course the King arrived with great ceremony. I was impressed, by the dignity and sincerity of the occasion, and the great enjoyment of the people at seeing their king and his visitors. My guide told me it normally took six months before any visitor could have an audience with the King. His Majesty sat at a bench in the long grass and introduced me in turn to his Prime Minister, members of the Cabinet Justices, and the Royal Chamberlain. They were not politicians, he explained: “I was appointed by God and they are appointed by me. There are no politics in Rwenzururu.” Speaking of of the Rwenzururu struggle, he told how his people, friendless and with no