The president’s son 

They are trained to defend the territorial integrity of their nations and not to lead. No wonder they are always a failure. Military rule is an aberration and it will always remain so

Yoweri Museveni and Paul Biya are striking symbols of Africa’s enduring political paralysis. For decades, both men have clung to power, turning their nations into personal fiefdoms. Museveni has repeatedly declared victory in Uganda, the same country that once gave the world Idi Amin. Biya has done the same in Cameroon, maintaining an unbroken reign since 1982.

These victories are not products of genuine democratic choice but of manipulation, intimidation, and a refusal to relinquish power. Whether their countries stagnate or burn is of little concern to them. What matters most is staying in office, even as time dulls their judgment and age erodes their vitality.

In Uganda, Museveni is already grooming his son, Lieutenant-General Muhoozi Kainerugaba, as his successor—a dynastic ambition that mirrors the story told in Yasin Kakande’s ‘The Missing Corpse’.

The first in the series, ‘Murder of Hate’, among other issues, deals with America’s interest in Africa’s resources and shows us that the Big Brother is no Father Christmas. We see the clandestine operations in the Shinkolobwe uranium mine, which was important to America’s interests in that part of Africa. This mine was the source of nearly all the uranium used to create the bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 1945. America called it the ‘Manhattan Project’, a project which essentially ended the World War II and made America the number one power house.

The fictional President Mujabi in ‘The Missing Corpse’ bears an uncanny resemblance to Museveni, while his son, General Mlevi Kainewaragi, evokes the image of Muhoozi.

The novel follows the Ugandan first family as they do nothing, but scheme, steal, kill and destroy. They are simply unable to do anything good. And the president, in particular, is a randy goat whose phallus is unable to resist anything in skirt and so he becomes the father of multitudes. The novel also shows where the interest of the West lies.

The story opens with a striking episode: President Mujabi’s wife arrives in the United States carrying ten million dollars in cash. The act sends shockwaves through American immigration authorities and triggers an investigation involving the CIA. As the plot unfolds, the agency dispatches an operative named Shawn to Uganda after intelligence reports suggest that President Mujabi may be dead. Amid this, chaos brews. The president’s son has sequestered lawmakers in a luxury hotel, coercing them to pass legislation that will enable him to succeed his father, who, according to official reports, has just “won” another election. The nation erupts in protest, and the security forces do what they have always done—silence dissent through violence. Blood becomes the price for maintaining an illusion of control. And to cover their tracks, the bodies are removed and dumped in the Nile. The strategy is: no body, no evidence. This is seen as important to get the West and its media to keep quiet.

Dark humour fills the pages of this book. Sampler: ‘The officer swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing like a trapped animal.

“Sir, the protesters’ bodies are piling up… in the morgues.”

‘For a moment, the General said nothing. Just stared at the man like he’d farted during a funeral.

‘”Morgues?” the General finally said, his voice low, syrupy with sarcasm. “Who told you to give those pests dignity? Why are you wasting refrigeration on traitors?”

“Sir…” the officer stammered, “the ones we dumped in the river… some of them are floating back. The croc-odiles-uh-they can’t eat fast enough. Too much meat.

‘Too little appetite.”

‘The General sighed like a disappointed father watching his son fail at hiding a body.

“So now we’re making the crocodiles look lazy. Great. Anything else?”

‘”Yes, sir. We’ve got ten trucks full of corpses parked in Jinja. Drivers say they can’t offload everything at once-the riverbank’s getting crowded, and the crocs are starting to get… overwhelmed.”‘

The opposition figures in Kakande’s book are powerless to hold the government accountable, not for lack of effort, but because those in power have mastered the art of co-opting them. Instead of genuine freedom fighters, we find performers, men who pretend to stand with the people, who raise their voices in parliament and court public attention through the media, yet secretly meet with government agents under the cover of night. Their bank accounts swell, their lavish homes defy the limits of their official salaries, and their investments crumble under the slightest scrutiny.

Like the opposition, the West too comes across as Africa’s false friend—professing solidarity with the people while quietly enabling tyrants to cling to power for continued access to the continent’s natural wealth.

Kakande’s narrative, though fictional, mirrors Uganda’s grim political reality. It captures a system where leadership is inherited, dissent is punished, and the machinery of the state serves only the ruler’s survival.

Told in third person from different points of view, the author seduces us to continue reading with prose so smooth like Amala Skye and transition so sleek like well-made small chops.

Uganda and Cameroon share a tragic kinship—a reflection of how much of Africa still struggles to escape the grip of men who see themselves not as servants of the people, but as the state itself.

The sort of thing happening in these two countries makes some people call for military intervention.

Between the mid-80s and mid-90s, a couple of West African countries were ruled by the military. Nigeria was one of them. When one by one our continent was rid of them, we rejoiced because our experience with them was so bad, so terrible, that seeing our presidential palaces without khaki boys or men calling the shots brought us so much joy, so much relief.

Our joy on the continent was short-lived when in the last few years, a couple of West African countries fell under the jackboot again. They succeeded in Niger Republic, our neighbour. In August 2020, late Malian President Ibrahim Keita was kicked out in a coup. Keita, who became president of the West African country in 2013, later died at the age of 76 in Bamako. He was two years into his second five-year term when he was toppled following widespread protests against his government. A year and a month after Keita was shown the exit door, Guinean President Alpha Conde was given the same treatment.

Read also: https://beenewsng.com/2025/11/04/what-nigeria-needs/

The situation in Sudan saw two attempts, one failed and the other shot Gen. Abdel Fattah Burhan into power.

In the last few weeks, there have been reports of arrests of some military men. The top hierarchy of our military has also been restructured. The Federal Government and the military have not confirmed the reported coup plot. Investigation is on, but while we wait for the outcome of the enquiries, I ask: Are coups the answer to the failure of democracy? My answer: Certainly not.

From the experience of the past military interventions, the promises made by coup plotters have always been short-lived. They never last. The coup plotters always turn out worse than the politicians they send out of office. In several instances, they also become politicians and never want to leave office.

My final take: To hell with military intervention in governance. They are trained to defend the territorial integrity of their nations and not to lead. No wonder they are always a failure. Military rule is an aberration and it will always remain so.