The EconomistNovember 28th 2020 Middle East & Africa 411A
mos ssegawa was a 15-year-old school-
boy walking past a shop with his moth-
er. John Kittobe was a retired accountant
on a trip downtown. Sophie Kusasira was
selling food in a market. All were shot dead
by Ugandan security forces on November
18th and 19th, along with scores of others,
in the worst violence seen in Kampala, the
country’s capital, for a decade.
Unrest broke out after the arrest of Bobi
Wine, a popstar-turned-politician who is
the opposition’s most popular candidate in
presidential elections scheduled for Janu-
ary. He draws crowds far larger than the
200-person limit set to contain covid-19.
The singer was in Luuka district on Novem-
ber 18th when police bundled him into a
van. He was not seen again until a court re-
leased him on bail two days later, after he
had been charged with “doing an act likely
to spread infection of disease”.
In the meantime young men in Kampa-
la and other cities blocked roads with rocks
and burning tyres. Police, soldiers and
plain-clothes gunmen swarmed onto the
streets, firing tear-gas and bullets. The po-
lice say that 45 people died in two days of
violence, but the number is probably high-
er. By comparison, the country has regis-
tered 191 covid-19 deaths in eight months.
Firing blind
Supporters of Yoweri Museveni, the presi-
dent since 1986, were quick to condemn the
“hooliganism” of protesters, some of
whom smashed car windows, threatened
passers-by and attacked police officers.
Elly Tumwine, the security minister, de-
clared that “police have a right to shoot you
and kill you if you reach a certain level of vi-
olence.” But multiple accounts tell of reck-
less state force. Eyewitnesses say that
Mwanje Sudi, a mechanic, was shot dead
while sheltering in a yard; a bullet hole can
be seen in the gate where he was hiding.
Christine Zzawedde, a 58-year-old grand-
mother, was standing in her back garden
when an errant bullet hit her out of the
blue. “She was a very humble person, very
loving, very accommodating,” says her
daughter, in tears.
Ugandans have witnessed such epi-
sodes before. In 2009 security forces killed
at least 40 people in riots sparked by a dis-
pute over the traditional Buganda king-
dom. In 2011 at least nine bystanders were
shot dead during protests against inflation
and bad governance. Even so, the scale of
thismonth’sproteststookthestate by sur-
prise. Mr Wine inherits a long tradition of
discontent, yet he differs from other lead-
ers: the young people in Kampala’s “ghet-
tos” see him as one of their own.
The battle for the streets matters. Many
in the opposition deem it their best hope of
gaining power. The protesters have shown
they can paralyse the capital for a day or
two, but their strategy ultimately relies on
the police and army deciding not to shoot.
For the moment, the security agencies
are loyal to the president. Their chiefs are
too busy bickering with each other to turn
on him. The middle classes have not taken
to the streets, as they did in Sudan against
President Omar al-Bashir. “An officer
would rather maim some errant wananchi
(ordinary people) and get a slap on the
wrist than refuse an order from above,”
says Su Muhereza, a political analyst.
The watchful president has concentrat-
ed power among those closest to him. His
brother, Salim Saleh, a general, acts as an
all-purpose fixer. His wife, Janet Museveni,
the education minister, has influential
networks of her own. His son, Muhoozi
Kainerugaba, led an elite army unit until
2017, when he was appointed a presidential
adviser; many think he is being groomed
for the top job.
Mr Museveni will almost certainly win
the election, despite the bloodshed—or
perhaps because of it. Maria, a chicken-
seller in Kampala, worries that Mr Wine’s
supporters are “bringing problems” with
“their chaos”: her own cousin is in a cell
after being caught with a tyre and a box of
matches. Many others fear that Mr Muse-
veni will only leave office violently, so will
vote for him in order to have a quiet life.
The old soldier promises order, as long as
he is in charge. It is the logic of a protection
racket. And one day it will break. 7KAMPALA
The state shoots scores dead in the
capital’s worst violence for a decade
Uganda’s election
Bullets before
the ballot
Carrying a torch for Bobi WineM
alcolm omirhobois no stranger to
the Federal High Court in Lagos, Nige-
ria’s commercial capital. A human-rights
lawyer, he is well-known for filing suits
against the government, including one for
not releasing his ten-year-old son’s exam
results. His latest case has created an espe-
cially loud buzz. He is arguing that Arabic
script (known as Ajamiwhen used to write
non-Arabic languages) on certain Nigerian
banknotes violates the country’s secular
constitution. He wants it removed. He may
also petition the army to delete an invoca-
tion in Arabic on its flag.
With perhaps 200m people and 350-
plus languages and ethnic groups, Nigeria
is a mosaic of cultures. A century ago the
British amalgamated the three biggest
groups under one administration—Hausa-
Fulani in the mainly Muslim north, Yoruba
and Igbo in the mainly Christian south—
despite each having its own traditions and
history. Ethnicity and religion have often
clashed, especially in Nigeria’s central
area, known as the Middle Belt.
Ajamiand other Arab influences have
long stirred up arguments over Nigeria’s
identity. In the early 2000s a dozen north-
ern states imposed sharia (Islamic law). In
2007 the central bank replaced Ajamiwith
Roman letters on lower-denomination
notes of the naira, Nigeria’s currency. It
said it was trying to foster national unity by
upholding the spirit of the constitution of
1999, which bans the establishment of a
state religion and the use of any language
in parliament except English, Hausa, Igbo
or Yoruba. In 2014 Nigeria’s then president,
Goodluck Jonathan, a southerner, did the
same with a new 100-naira banknote.
Many northerners were cross. Ajamiis a
modified Arabic script used for writing
Hausa, just as the Roman alphabet is used
for English, explains Mustapha Kurfi, an
Ajamischolar. For centuries it has been
used across Africa for writing Swahili in
the east, Mandinka in the west and Yoruba
in what is now Nigeria. In northern Nigeria
it is used in everyday life. On naira notes it
is understood by “the old woman in my vil-
lage” who cannot read English, explains
Aliyu Ibrahim Gebi, a former lawmaker
from Bauchi state, in the north-east.
Many Christians, by contrast, fear what
they deem to be “Islamisation”. They mut-
ter that President Muhammadu Buhari, a
northern Muslim, previously endorsed
sharia. Many Christians complain that keyA row over banknotes shows up ethnic
and religious divisionsNigeriaIt’s all in the script