64 Time November 30/December 7, 2020
If you follow directions to Bobi Wine Resi-
dence or Bobi Wine Road, you’ll eventu-
ally find yourself on a rutted mud track
that winds through the remnants of an old
banana plantation on the fringes of the
Ugandan capital, Kampala. When TIME
visits in September 2019, the man himself
greets us at his front door. He is wearing
boxing gloves.
Out of breath and sweating, Uganda’smost unlikely presidential candidate prof-
fers a fist bump and apologizes for a train-
ing session gone long. “I’m getting ready
for Museveni,” Wine jokes, referring to
the country’s current President. A one-
time guerrilla leader, Yoweri Museveni
has ruled the nation for more than three
decades through a combination of deft
politicking, questionable election prac-
tices and a ruthless use of force. Having
done away with constitutionally man-
dated term limits and presidential age
caps, the 76-year-old could conceivably
rule for the rest of his life in a country
where the vast majority of the popula-
tion has known no other leader.
Now 38, Wine, an up-from-the-slumsreggae sensation and political newcomer,
is taking him on in the presidential elec-
tion due to take place on Jan. 14. “The old
man has been in power long enough,” says
Wine, who blames the President for the
fact that more than 80% of Ugandans be-
tween 15 and 29 work informally, with
little to no income, and no job security.
“We are the generation that was created
by Museveni’s failures,” says Wine, who
was 3 years old when his rival first took
power. “Poverty, no chance for a good ed-
ucation, growing up in the ghettos with no
opportunities—this is all due to the lack of
leadership and investment in our youth.
Museveni’s corruption is destroying our
country’s future.”
Yet no matter how accurate the diag-nosis, or how well received his message,
Wine’s quixotic campaign for the presi-
dency of Uganda is a long shot, says Aili
Mari Tripp, a professor of political sci-
ence at the University of Wisconsin and
author of Museveni’s Uganda: Paradoxes
of Power in a Hybrid Regime. “The play-
ing field is not level, making it nearly im-
possible for any other candidate to win,
no matter how popular.” If anything, the
upcoming election is a test of the lim-
its of populism when stacked against
the entrenched powers of dictatorship,
cloaked in a facade of democracy.
As a musician, Wine can and does
boast a massive following—calling him
Uganda’s answer to Jay-Z, he says rak-
ishly, “is maybe understating it”—but
as he attempts to translate that pop star-
dom into political power, he is putting
himself in the ring with one of Africa’s
most wily leaders, in a nation where op-
position politicians routinely risk jail,
beatings and the occasional sudden and
mysterious death. Even if Wine suc-
ceeds with his goal of creating a popular
movement strong enough to unseat Mu-
seveni, he himself may not survive the
process. “Museveni isn’t going to hand
over power on a silver platter to any-
one,” warns Helen Epstein, a professor
of human rights at Bard College and the
author of Another Fine Mess: America,
Uganda and the War on Terror. “Uganda
really is one of the most repressive coun-
tries in the world.”
Which is why Wine is subjecting him-
self to a punishing bout of training with
one of the nation’s best boxers. As Wine
ducks and jabs on the driveway of his
stately colonnaded home, the coach urges
him through “one more round” six more
times. Finally, Wine—wiry, heavily tat-
tooed, and clad in black tracksuit pants
and a sweat-drenched T-shirt— collapses
to the curb. “I don’t intend to beat no-
body,” he says. “I’m making my body re-
sistant to beating, to make sure I don’t get
so bruised when I take the blows.”
It is wisdom born from experience. In
August 2018, Wine was at a parliamen-
tary campaign rally that turned violent.
People started throwing stones, and
government security forces opened fire,
killing his driver. Wine was imprisoned,
badly beaten and charged with treason.
When TIME met him, Wine predicted
things would get worse as the elections
drew near: “The more scared the old
man gets, the more he will lash out. Peo-
ple are going to be hurt, supporters will
be targeted, people will be killed.”
His words began to sound less like
paranoia than like prophecy, on Nov. 18.
After he was arrested by police for thesecond time in a month, his supporters
set up a blockade and confronted police
on the streets of Kampala. In the ensuing
clashes, at least three people were killed
and 38 injured. As TIME went to press,
Wine was still in detention, leaving only
a message to followers on his Twitter
feed: “The price of freedom is high but
we shall certainly overcome.”Born roBert Kyagulanyi SSentamu
to a onetime political family driven to
penury for backing the wrong candi-
date, Wine was raised to avoid politics.
He gravitated to music from a young age
and began recording and performing
sold-out concerts while an arts student
at Kampala’s prestigious Makerere Uni-
versity. His stage name is an homage to
two of his musical idols, Bob Marley and
Bobby Brown, and he chose Wine, he says,World