Apolo, my age exactly, had gotten married the same year as I had; we had gone to each other’s wedding, and were in all respects contemporaries. I left, he stayed. Idi Amin took over: nine years of horror. Apolo fathered four children. The eighties was a decade of adjustment — Apolo had been a university lecturer; in the nineties he had become a government minister — Public Services and Education — and now he was prime minister. He was as well known for his reforms as he was for his patrician ways. ‘I saw him in New York last year,’ a mutual friend told me. ‘He had a man to carry his briefcase. I asked him why. He said, “Because I am premier.” ’
He was also a famous tease, and his affectation of pomposity made him much more devastating as a needler. On seeing me after thirty years his first words were, ‘Ah, Paul. You are in deep trouble in Uganda. You made love to my cousin! Why didn’t you marry her? You were vibrant! I shall fine you ten thousand shillings for not marrying her.’ He made a gesture suggesting gross indecency. ‘You used to do this to her.’
‘I never knew your cousin, Apolo.’
‘You also did this to her,’ he said, flailing his arms and contorting his body. This was an odd sight, for he was full-figured, in a pin-striped suit and natty tie and affecting a plummy accent.
‘Never,’ I said.
‘You did. She was quite fond of Europeans, actually.’
‘What’s her name?’
‘You know her name. It will appear on the charge sheet when I fine you the money. Ah, you were so busy in that area.’
‘What area?’
‘The ladies,’ he said, and at that moment he was buzzed and he took the call and immediately began abusing the person at the other end, in the same plummy voice, saying, ‘Tell me why this man wrote a stupid letter to me … But you are in charge of this man … What I resent is that I am regarded as a bulldozer — please let me finish. I despise him, and in fact we had a clash before … I want action — I don’t want to hear that I am doing your work for you.’
There were eight trays on his desk labeled, Very Urgent, Urgent, Normal, Ministers, Chief Justice, Speaker, Vice President, President. Each tray was filled with memos and papers. Very Urgent was overflowing.
Apolo was still shouting into the phone. ‘He deliberately distorted what I said. Why does he personalize the debate? I had said, “You are a good man, but you are autocratic and over-bearing.” He said I am the same! Impossible! The idiot wrote “grieved.” But I didn’t say that. I said, “Aggrieved.” … No, no, no! Why not say, “Those people have created a culture of defeat”?’
‘I am a technocratic premier,’ he said to me, after he slammed the phone down. ‘What does that mean? It means — write this down, Paul — I have no electoral pressure.’
He saw that I was taking notes while he had been denouncing the person at the other end of the phone. He had always been something of a monologuer, and I think he took to the idea that his words were being recorded, if only in a notebook on my knee.
‘Under our constitution, if you are president or minister you are ex-officio MP under Article Seventy-seven.’
I must have stopped writing — anyway, was this interesting? — because he said, ‘Paul, write that down, “Article Seventy-seven.” And consider the pressure on an MP. Pressure from constituents. Making payments for them.’
‘What sort of payments?’
‘Buying coffins for them, paying school fees, what and what! They demand one’s time. They invade one’s house!’
He was pacing now like a statesman, in front of his enormous desk and the large map of Uganda and all those trays, Very Urgent, Urgent and so forth, his right hand grasping one lapel, his other gesturing.
‘As I see it, Paul, the crisis of governance is that ministers are overloaded and laboring under excessive pressure, parliamentary business, constituency work and cabinet affairs. One of the functions that has suffered in parliament is attendance. We sometimes don’t have a quorum.’
His phone buzzed again. Another call being returned from a newspaper.
‘Your reporter distorted what I said. I said the candidate “conceded.” I did not thank them for conceding. Then I open the paper today and what do I see on page five? “The prime minister commended those who accepted defeat.” I did not. Your reporter made several other mistakes, relating to the constitution.’
Apolo listed the mistakes and then hung up, nodding approvingly that I had been taking notes — I felt that in note taking I had been making him self-conscious and verbose. But perhaps not, since he had always been verbose.
‘They are mesmerized by my understanding of the constitution,’ he said. ‘My wife says “Apolo is unelectable.” It’s probably true! If people are foolish I tell them they are foolish.’
I wrote this down, and the phone rang again — another ministry, Apolo shouting the other person down.
‘My response to the Ministry of Health is, do they really need nine billion shillings to buy drugs? If so, why did we name the department “Microfinance”? What I am saying to you is that the emperor is naked in some respects … Yes, I whispered to him about that … Please listen to me. We have a saying, “When you wrestle someone to the ground you don’t then bite him.” ’
Before he could talk to me again, there was another call, from someone in his own party.
‘This proves what I have always said,’ Apolo crowed after listening for a few seconds. ‘Traditionally the Muganda looks to the chief to tell him how to vote. For the first time, democratization has reached the countryside. This is good, because Buganda has been lagging behind. They must be accountable! Unless we fulfil Article Two-forty-six we will perish!’
He hung up and turned to me again.
‘You see? I am a technocratic premier,’ he said. ‘I run the state in a specialized manner.’
‘Apolo,’ I said, ‘people say that this is turning into a one-party system. What do you say to that?’
‘Ours is not a one-party system, but a movement, unique in Africa,’ he replied. ‘In a one-party system you sack the man who does not toe the party line. In a movement you try to find a consensus.’
‘How do you manage that?’
‘Ha! The elites here are very poor at bargaining. The British concluded that in the 1950s and I can confirm it.’
‘In Buganda?’ I said, thinking of the kingdom not the country.
‘You-you-you-ganda,’ he said. ‘Do you remember Obote’s way of running the country?’
‘Obote was selfish and single-minded,’ I said.
‘I like your statement. Yes. He was that. Museveni has much more confidence. He listens. As for the multi-party system, Article Seventy-four states that during the fourth term of parliament — Paul, it is very important for you to quote our constitution. Please write this. Clause Three states that in three years this must take place. But the issue is not to be too legalistic. Better to bargain politically and attain a sustainable consensus.’
He was still pacing, monologuing, stabbing his finger at the map of Uganda. He took more calls. He sipped a can of Coke. His aunt had died in France. He arranged for the body to be transported to Uganda.
‘Yes, we will identify it. Yes, we will have a funeral on the twenty-eighth. Yes, we will cry.’ And he hung up.
Like everyone else, he said that the Idi Amin years were the worst he had known. ‘Too horrible for words,’ he said. ‘The soldiers took my derelict car. They seemed to be very pleased when they saw that a university professor was living in such reduced circumstances.’
He teased his secretaries, he took another call, he drank two Cokes, he waved his copy of the Ugandan Constitution, which he had had a hand in drafting. It was as annotated and thumbed as a sacred text. We talked about the need for political parties, and moral authority, the necessity for public debate. It was the same sort of conversation we had had in the Makerere Staff Club over bottles of Bell Beer in 1966.