Joram Kule is a theology student at Uganda Christian University. In 1999, Kule was abducted at age nine by the Allied Democratic Forces (ADF) rebel group that held him captive until his escape four-and-a-half months later. In the late 1990s, the ADF rebels terrorised part of western Uganda. In 2021, they have shifted their area of operation to the eastern Democratic Republic of Congo. This abduction and escape as a child are part of Kule’s story as he works to bring others through their adversities to the way of Christ. Now age 27, Kule says it is the Lord who saved him, reunited him with his family and is now leading him to further be a witness for God’s strength. Kule, who is set to graduate from UCU in 2021, eyes a doctorate in his field of education. 

Story as told to Gloria Katya

I was abducted on September 21, 1999, and memories of that night are still fresh in my mind. After supper, the practice usually was that we went to hide in a bush away from our home. We would hide so that when the rebels invaded at night, we would not be abducted from our house as others were. Rumour had circulated that our village, Mirimbo in Kasese district, western Uganda, would be attacked by rebels that night. We even built small grass-thatched huts in the bush, where we would take cover.

When the rebels eventually attacked our village, they came up to our home and followed a footpath that led them to our pineapple and sugarcane farm. And that was the same route to our usual hideout. On their way, the rebels ate pineapples. Sensing danger from the intruders, our little dog barked and my father woke up. When he got out, he saw the dog attack a stranger. That is when he called my elder brothers, who were also in the hut. 

A fight ensued outside. It was my father and my brothers who were armed with spears, knives and machetes, on one side, against the rebels.

For me, it was the noise from the fight that woke me up. When I moved out, I saw my father and my brothers fighting against a larger group of people, using spears and machetes. The fight went on for more than 10 minutes until my father and his team were overpowered.  

At one point, my father speared one of the rebels who had attempted to shoot him. Another rebel had hurled a grenade towards my father, but it missed him by a whisker. It was the fragments of the grenade that ruptured part of my father’s ribs. 

It was at that point that my father ordered us to retreat. My brothers and my father did. I was not as lucky. As I tried to run away, one of the rebels held me back. And they eventually went with me.

On our way back to their camps in the forests, the rebels raided more homes for food. They slaughtered people’s animals and carried meat in sacks. I was also given a sack of meat to carry.  

After the raids, we crossed River Isya and climbed Kati Kati hills. After about two hours, we reached the top of the hill, where we retreated for the night. Very early in the morning, the rebels prepared some meat, which they ate. I did not eat what I was given. At that time, my bigger challenge was how to keep warm. After their meal, we then set off for our journey, deep into the forests. But before setting off, the rebel who was speared by my dad during the fight the night before died and he was buried at that spot.

As we moved deeper into the forests, I recalled what my mother, Masika Grace Maate, had once told me. She said that abductees are killed whenever they said they were tired. So, each time I was asked if I was tired, I would say “no.”

We walked the whole day, before we could get to our destination. At nightfall, we rested and the rebels prepared food. They also erected the shelters where we slept. The next day, we started the journey very early again. We moved through swamps, which made it difficult for us to move faster. At about noon, on the third day, we arrived at the main barracks of the rebels. I was shocked at the level of hospitality at the barracks. I saw rebels in rags, and quite many looking malnourished. 

At one point, they brought a strong, beastly man who warned the new recruits that they would live to regret if they misbehaved. He was the hangman in the camp. I later established that the rebels at the barracks lacked food and, therefore, the ones who raided the villages did so with the intention of returning with food. And those who did were welcomed like heroes.

At the barracks, we prayed five times a day since the commanders were Muslims. Although I came from a devout Christian family, I started learning Islam and the Muslim culture. I was also given another name, Ismail.  No one was allowed to call me by my real name. 

After one week, another group of about 50 men joined us. It had a chief commander called Abdul Majidu. He came with a camera, and, sometimes, took photographs of us. Two of the other commanders at the barracks were Baruku and Mulangira. In my first two weeks at the barracks, I would get nightmares of my father, siblings and mother being shot and killed.  

After about three weeks at the barracks, one morning, we were ordered to pack our belongings and leave. The boys and women were told to carry some of the luggage, and they moved ahead of the men. We were moving deeper into the forest. 

Behind us were armed men, with cocked guns ready for battle any time. In the forest, we were greeted with heavy rains and fog. Sometimes, we moved under total darkness and also spent days without enjoying sunshine because of the canopy of the forest. Along the way, we would meet skeletons of people by the side of the paths, but no one seemed to care. I did. 

After moving for several days and nights in the forests around Mt. Rwenzori, we came closer to an area where people stayed. For the first time in weeks, I saw civilians washing clothes, grazing cattle, and tilling their land. We camped at a place called Kasanzi in Bundibugyo district, in western Uganda. That evening, some men were chosen to go steal food from the gardens of civilians. When they reached the gardens, Uganda’s army, the Uganda People’s Defence Forces (UPDF), solders waylaid them and killed some of them. The few who survived returned the following morning, exhausted. They brought sacks of cassava. 

One day, one of the rebels asked me to go fetch water for him from the river.  I was so blessed that for the first time, I was trusted and sent alone to the river. I moved down to the valley and to the river. On the way, there was an inner voice telling me to escape. When I had established that no one saw me, I started my escape. 

However, I walked for several miles without knowing which direction I was going. A thought even came to me to return to the ADF camp. But I soldiered on. The first night, I rested in a wild banana plantation that was like a cave. I discovered it was a shelter for wild animals because it had animal droppings. 

In the morning when I woke up, I continued with the journey. I saw a military base from a distance. At one point, I was not sure if it was a base for the rebels or the Ugandan army. So, I took the direction away from the base. As I moved closer to people’s homes, I found a small path that led me to the main road, where I met people going about their business. I was very dirty and shabby and with a bad odour. 

I later met a herdsman armed with a panga, who took me to the Ugandan army base in Bwamba village. I was interrogated by soldiers before I was taken to the village chairperson’s home, where I spent the night. For the first time in four months, I took a decent bath and ate well-cooked food.  

The following morning, a woman who was the herdsman’s mother had heard my story and paid me a visit with food. 

By coincidence, she recognised me. She happened to be one of my aunts who got married in the area and, as luck would have it, had heard about my abduction. I was taken to the district headquarters and then transferred to an orphanage, where my father picked me and took me to an internally displaced people’s camps, where my family and other 800 people were living. After about five years in the camp, we returned to our homes after normalcy had returned. 

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