Coming Back a Changed Man

Reflections from a Dateline correspondent, Keith Morrison on his visit to Northern Uganda....

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Coming back from Uganda a changed man (Keith Morrison, Dateline Correspondent)

Yes, Virginia, there is a boogeyman. Most people in America can muddle along for years without thinking much about a place like Uganda. But go there once, and you come back changed.


Dateline NBC
Keith Morrison overlooking the Pabbo displacement camp.
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Look out your hotel window at Kampala. Green hills and graceful villas roll out toward the source of the Nile and Lake Victoria. Domes and spires of Evangelical Anglicans, Baptists and a dozen Pentecostal denominations line the horizon. Look down at the intersection a few meters from the hotel entrance to the very spot where Idi Amin staged a car accident to murder the Archbishop. Just beyond it is the compound where his enemies were tortured, where their corpses were thrown into the backs of closed vans for the drive down to the river. Bodies in the river meant Amin was cleaning house again...

This is, need it be said, a country with a colorful past.

Our story was up north, hundreds of miles past largely abandoned tourist destinations — gorgeous scenery, brazen baboons, — in a conflict which owes its beginnings to the long departed Mr. Amin. Up here in towns with names like Gulu and Lira are the northern tribes from which Amin came. When he was driven from power 20 years ago, many northerners expected reprisals; an independence movement began in anticipation. And though the reprisals never came, the movement morphed into a bizarre rebel "cult" lead by a man who claims to be a reincarnated Jesus (and Moses thrown in, too): Joseph Kony. Some of the poorest of the poor around this part of the country — and there are millions of them — believe he has mythic powers, that he can kill with a curse, or throw an invisible net of protection around his soldiers.

Trouble is, the soldiers are kids. He kidnaps them and forces them to fight for him.

And this is the reason we are here. We met children who were taken when they were 7 or 8 years old, trained to use weapons, forced to kill friends, family — anybody Kony wanted killed. Why take the little ones? Because they are malleable, they can easily be brainwashed. So now this army of children wanders around northern Uganda, living entirely in the bush, striking villagers who neither know nor care why Kony is opposing the government. We talked to kids— escaped soldiers— who had been forced to beat their parents to death. Others told us they had been forced to kill infants who cried too much, or stragglers unable to keep up. Usually, they said, they would beat them with heavy sticks. Something like a baseball bat. They also had a supply of lightweight assault weapons, just right for a pre-teen to carry. Kony's misinterpretations of the Bible have led to heartbreakingly brutal mutilations. Because the people oppose him, he has lips or ears or breasts cut off. He attacks at night, targets rural villages, mostly.

During our visit, we noticed a few people from the International Criminal Court in the area to prepare a case against Kony. There are government soldiers everywhere, you see them strolling up and down the red dirt roads out in the country. Their campaign against Kony, however, has been decidedly mixed. They do engage the rebels, but often end up killing a bunch of kids.

So far, it’s the local efforts, and especially the brave work of one Ugandan woman, which seem most promising. Many of the Ugandans we talked to wanted to find a tribal solution: If Kony will agree to give up and apologize, the locals could start a complex ceremony leading ultimately to something that looks a lot like forgiveness. Sounded weird to Western ears, but the idea appears to have support.

When we visited one of the refugee camps I found myself wondering how long I would survive in one of them. A few days? A week? It’s humbling to realize how soft life is in the West — how tough these people are.

They have no food because they can't work their farms. Too dangerous. So we drove by countless empty food store-houses. Northern Uganda lives on UN handouts and the apparently tireless work of the NGOs. One of the UN people told me that most of the food is donated by the US, but the help is a drop in the bucket compared to the need.

And then we saw the night commuters. So strange and sad. They were little kids — 5, 6 years old. There were teenagers, rowdy boys, mothers with brand new babies. The kids had gone to school all day, then walked for miles and miles just for the chance to sleep safely where the rebels can't kidnap them. They filled up tents set up by Doctors Without Borders and other groups. They filled up city schools, libraries, enclosed courtyards, any available safe place. We asked some of them, how often do you eat? Once a day, they told us. They drink dirty water. Most of them are at risk of dying from malaria and other diseases the rest of us could cure with one trip to the drug store. They have no shoes.

But you hang out around one of the sleeping centers and they look up at you and laugh and laugh. They chatter, dance, organize games, tell jokes.

Even while they deal with horrors so vile they are beyond imagining.

As I say, you come back changed.