A heartfelt letter from comedian and NXT Radio host Agaba Mark, also known as Uncle Mark, is sparking fresh debate over how security forces handle civilians during presidential motorcades. Shared via social media and addressed to the Ministry of Defence and the Special Forces Command (SFC), his letter recounts a harrowing experience involving his brother—one that ended in violence, trauma, and the loss of an unborn child.
According to Agaba, a few months ago, his brother was caught in traffic as President Yoweri Museveni’s convoy passed through town. Like many others, he complied with security protocols and parked his boda boda. But when he tried to move it near a police post and seek alternative transport—he had received an urgent call that his pregnant wife had fallen—SFC officers pounced on him.
“He was grabbed, beaten, shoved into a car boot, and taken away for two days. He returned with his toenails missing,” Agaba painfully wrote. While his brother is still healing, they sadly lost the baby. His wife is also recovering.
This isn’t the first time Ugandans have expressed fear and frustration over how security handles road closures during presidential movements. Over the years, countless motorists and pedestrians have been manhandled, arrested, or severely delayed—often with little explanation.
In 2020, a viral video showed SFC soldiers beating up a man who attempted to cross a closed road near Kololo during the president’s convoy movement. In 2018, traders in downtown Kampala complained after their goods were destroyed in the rush to clear roads.
While presidential security is important, critics argue that the current approach is excessive and often brutal. Agaba’s story has reignited calls for SFC and UPDF to review their engagement with civilians. Many Ugandans are asking: Can’t the president be protected without hurting the very people he leads?
As Uncle Mark said in his letter, “Respect for security protocols shouldn’t cost someone a child.” The Ministry of Defence and SFC are yet to issue a response, but pressure is mounting. Ugandans are watching—and hurting.
