For two decades, Umeme was the face of electricity in Uganda—bringing power to millions but leaving behind scars that still haunt the people of Bugisu. As the government officially takes over power distribution , many in the region are breathing a sigh of relief, but the memories of Umeme’s brutal crackdowns on illegal connections remain fresh, like open wounds.
In the dead of night, they came—armed Umeme enforcement teams, flanked by police, kicking down doors, dragging men from their beds, and beating families senseless on mere suspicion of stealing electricity. For David Makayi of Bushiyede Sub County, the trauma still lingers.
"They stormed my home like I was a criminal," Makayi recalls, his voice trembling. "They beat me, my wife, even my children—accusing us of illegal power connections. They looted everything, only to realize later… we were using solar panels!"
His neighbor, the local LC1 chairman, wasn’t so lucky. The elderly man was left with a broken rib, a painful reminder of Umeme’s heavy-handedness.
"We Stole Power Because We Had No Choice"
For many in Bugisu, illegal connections weren’t just about cheating the system—they were about survival. Wadaba, a resident of Sironko District, explains: "The process to get legal power took years. And even if you managed, how could a peasant afford 800 shillings per unit? We had no choice but to tap lines."
Masaba Ben from Nkoma admits he was guilty—but the punishment, he says, was worse than the crime. "They came at 3 a.m. like I was a terrorist," he says, rubbing an old scar on his forearm. "Ten armed men, beating me, dragging me to jail. Yes, I was wrong—but did I deserve to be treated like an animal?"
Umeme’s Defense: "We Saved Lives, Stopped the Bloodshed"
When confronted, Umeme officials defended their operations, insisting they were necessary to curb rampant power theft that cost the company billions. "Illegal connections were killing people," one official argued. "Naked wires in banana plantations electrocuted children, farmers. Our crackdowns forced people to legalize their connections—and deaths reduced."
Indeed, Umeme leaves behind a mixed legacy. When they took over in 2005, only 25,000 Ugandans had electricity. Today, 2.37 million are connected. But for many in Bugisu, that progress came at a brutal cost.
A New Dawn—Or Just a Change of Hands?
Now, with the government in charge, villagers are hopeful—but wary. "If Umeme was cruel, will the government be any better?" asks an elderly woman in Mbale. "All we ask is fair prices and no more midnight beatings."
As the sun sets on Umeme’s era, Bugisu’s people pray that the new custodians of their electricity will bring light—not just to their homes, but to their lives.
Will the government deliver? Or will the shadows of Umeme’s reign linger?
In the dead of night, they came—armed Umeme enforcement teams, flanked by police, kicking down doors, dragging men from their beds, and beating families senseless on mere suspicion of stealing electricity. For David Makayi of Bushiyede Sub County, the trauma still lingers.
"They stormed my home like I was a criminal," Makayi recalls, his voice trembling. "They beat me, my wife, even my children—accusing us of illegal power connections. They looted everything, only to realize later… we were using solar panels!"
His neighbor, the local LC1 chairman, wasn’t so lucky. The elderly man was left with a broken rib, a painful reminder of Umeme’s heavy-handedness.
"We Stole Power Because We Had No Choice"
For many in Bugisu, illegal connections weren’t just about cheating the system—they were about survival. Wadaba, a resident of Sironko District, explains: "The process to get legal power took years. And even if you managed, how could a peasant afford 800 shillings per unit? We had no choice but to tap lines."
Masaba Ben from Nkoma admits he was guilty—but the punishment, he says, was worse than the crime. "They came at 3 a.m. like I was a terrorist," he says, rubbing an old scar on his forearm. "Ten armed men, beating me, dragging me to jail. Yes, I was wrong—but did I deserve to be treated like an animal?"
Umeme’s Defense: "We Saved Lives, Stopped the Bloodshed"
When confronted, Umeme officials defended their operations, insisting they were necessary to curb rampant power theft that cost the company billions. "Illegal connections were killing people," one official argued. "Naked wires in banana plantations electrocuted children, farmers. Our crackdowns forced people to legalize their connections—and deaths reduced."
Indeed, Umeme leaves behind a mixed legacy. When they took over in 2005, only 25,000 Ugandans had electricity. Today, 2.37 million are connected. But for many in Bugisu, that progress came at a brutal cost.
A New Dawn—Or Just a Change of Hands?
Now, with the government in charge, villagers are hopeful—but wary. "If Umeme was cruel, will the government be any better?" asks an elderly woman in Mbale. "All we ask is fair prices and no more midnight beatings."
As the sun sets on Umeme’s era, Bugisu’s people pray that the new custodians of their electricity will bring light—not just to their homes, but to their lives.
Will the government deliver? Or will the shadows of Umeme’s reign linger?
