The story of Karim Mwase came to a brutal end in the quiet hours of a May night, a life of public service extinguished on a lonely stretch of the Iganga-Bugiri Highway, leaving a nation searching for answers
On May 11, 2025, at approximately 11 p.m., the stillness of eastern Uganda was shattered by a grim discovery. A borrowed official vehicle sat abandoned, its hazard lights blinking like a desperate SOS into the darkness. Nearby, the body of Karim Mwase, Assistant Resident City Commissioner for Lira City East Division, lay silent—a testament to a violence that defies simple explanation.
“This was no random act,” confirmed Iganga Deputy Resident District Commissioner Kato Dauda. The preliminary investigation suggests a calculated assault: Mwase was likely barricaded, strangled, and deliberately left to be found—a message written in the language of terror.
On the fateful day Mwase had traveled to Iganga to attend a meeting with regional officials, including Sadala Wandera, who was preparing to declare his candidacy for the Bugweri County parliamentary seat. In a surreal twist, Wandera collapsed during the gathering and was rushed to Imperial Hospital, causing the meeting’s abrupt cancellation.
Undeterred, the officials reconvened at Sanah Hotel for dinner. It would be the last time Mwase would be seen alive.
Mwase represented more than just a name in a tragic headline. He was a public servant in a region still healing from decades of conflict, working tirelessly in Lira—a city that had endured the brutal insurgency of the Lord’s Resistance Army. His role as Assistant RCC meant navigating the complex terrain of local governance, mediating conflicts, and representing the President’s office in a region where peace remains fragile.
The Iganga-Bugiri Highway tells its own story of vulnerability. A vital artery connecting eastern Uganda to Kampala, it is a road marked by economic desperation and occasional lawlessness. The 2024 Uganda Police Force Annual Crime Report painted a stark picture: Busoga East recorded 12,345 criminal cases, with 1,234 robberies and 2,567 assaults.
Yet Mwase’s murder defies easy categorisation. This was not a typical highway robbery. No valuables were stolen. The method—strangulation—spoke of personal intent, of a targeted elimination.
Uganda’s political landscape is rarely tranquil. With the 2026 general elections approaching, tensions simmer beneath the surface. Mwase’s potential parliamentary ambitions, hinted at by the Daily Monitor, could have positioned him as a threat to established political interests.
The borrowed vehicle adds another layer of complexity. Was Mwase the target, or was he caught in a broader web of political intrigue?
Social media platforms like X erupted with grief. @Voiceoflangofm and @Humanrights256 demanded justice, their digital mourning a reflection of a deeper national wound. Mwase’s death is not an isolated incident but part of a troubling pattern of violence against public servants.
As Mwase’s body lay in the Iganga General Hospital mortuary, awaiting a postmortem that might reveal more questions than answers, the highway remained indifferent. The barricade, the strangulation, the abandoned vehicle—each element a fragment of a larger, more sinister narrative.
Was this a political assassination? A personal vendetta? Or something more insidious?
The ongoing investigation offers no comfort. The police, led by Regional Police Spokesperson Michael Kafayo, remain tight-lipped. The vehicle has been towed to Iganga Central Police Station, potentially holding forensic secrets that might unravel this mystery.
Karim Mwase’s story transcends his individual tragedy. It is a stark reminder of the risks faced by those who choose public service in regions where political tensions simmer just beneath a fragile surface of civility.
His abandoned vehicle, hazard lights still blinking—a metaphor perhaps for a system trying desperately to signal danger, to warn, to be seen—stands as a memorial to a life cut short.
As Uganda approaches another electoral cycle, Mwase’s murder serves as a chilling reminder: the cost of public service can sometimes be the ultimate price.
The highway remains. The questions linger. And Karim Mwase—a name, a life, a service—becomes another story etched into Uganda’s complex narrative of hope and heartbreak.
