At one of my campaign rallies in the last elections held at Bajjo Trading Centre something very distressing happened to me.

Among the many people who turned up was a child about ten years old, the very age of my son Mwesigwa. As they young boy squeezed himself through the crowd to the podium, most probably to have a glimpse of Nambooze, the pain on his face attracted my attention. He had an eye irritation and the tears kept flowing on his dirty but quite handsome face. He was dressed in rags and appeared different from all the children around.

No sooner had he settled in front of the podium than my handlers chased him and other children away. This was contrary to my instructions, because people who live with me know of my great love for children and I hate to see anyone giving priority to adults over them.

“Don’t chase the children away,” I spontaneously shouted at my security team as I threw the microphone at them. Everyone at the rally murmured in disbelief. To some, my conduct had confirmed what my opponents’ had been claiming throughout the campaigns; that somehow I was barmy woman. I don’t have a medical condition of craziness, still in politics and public life, people can make all conclusions about you.

The master of ceremonies, called in dancers to cool off the ugly situation as my husband took me aside to find out what was disconcerting me. To him a mere crowd control by people I had trusted with a delicate job of keeping me safe during campaigns couldn’t drive me crazy before such a big gathering. I told him about the dirty boy I had cited in the audience and immediately the boy was brought to me.

His name is Sam Emoru; his mother had passed on when he was a baby of four months and his father Engola, formerly a worker at the tea estate in Bajjo had run out of employment when the Estate closed business. He had been at school but had now left due to lack of school fees. And the painful tearful eyes, he told me was his permanent condition set upon him by God … “Katonda bwatyo bweyatonda”!!

We later traced Sam’s father and he was more than willing to let him go with us for treatment. Not only did Mr. Engola gave us Sam for treatment but also afterwards gave us full custody of the boy.

The rest is now history, the people of Bajjo gave me 85% of their votes despite jubilations by my opponent that I had exposed my mental status for everybody to see.

Sam brings me happiness every morning as he kneels beside my bed to greet me in a sweet voice, “wasuseze otyano Mum…” To my surprise he is among the best performers in class.

Recently, his father came to see me and as he left he took the boy aside; from a distance I saw the boy who had been smiling, suddenly bursting into tears. He later told me that his Dad had told him that if he ever misbehaved and got kicked out of my home, he (the father) will dig a grave and bury him alive! This left me wondering why people expose children to such forms of violence….so where is Sam supposed to run too in case I mistreat him!

I am sharing Sam’s story with you to let you know that there is a child out there who needs assistance and a little intervention by you (in case you have means)…you can put a smile on his or her face. And please stop violence against children because once a child is exposed to violence he/she will grow up with a vendetta against society.