Photo: James Tugume Magabo. 

Though, looking back, we did not spend that much time together, James Tugume Magabo, who died in London on Tuesday 19 November 2024, occupies an important place in my life story. Today, I wish to reflect on the indelible impact he had on me, the lessons he imparted and the example he set. My goal is not to provide an obituary summarising the totality of his life or character. I simply want to share my perspective, shaped by the personal experiences I had with him.

I first met Uncle James, as we fondly called him, through the Community of Banyakigezi (UK), a network my mother has been deeply involved with for almost twenty years. Through this community, my brother and I were introduced to a remarkable group of individuals who nurtured, guided and encouraged us in countless ways, shaping the men we are today. Among them, few left as profound a mark as Uncle James. His sincerity, passion, kindness and commanding presence always set him apart.

There are a few memories that stand out to me, each reflecting the important lessons he taught me and the influence he had on my life:

When I was nine, Uncle James visited our home before heading to a nearby Ugandan pub, the Nile Bar, for a meeting with my mother and others from the Banyakigezi community. Just as they were about to leave, he turned to me and asked if I wanted anything. With the typical boldness of a child, I asked for a bottle of Ugandan Fanta - a rare treat in the UK at the time. Naturally, I did not expect him to remember; these meetings often ran late, fuelled by lively debates and perhaps a beer or four.

To my surprise, I woke up the next morning to find a bottle of Fanta waiting for me on the dining table. My mother explained that Uncle James had remembered my request as he was about to leave, promptly bought the bottle and told her to make sure she passed it on to me. Though this small gesture took place over 13 years ago, the thoughtfulness and care he showed in honouring such a seemingly trivial promise continues to inspire and challenge me to this day.

The following year, when I was ten, Uncle James visited again. This time, he found me at the computer, typing away intensely. Curious, he asked what I was working on, and I explained that I was writing a story - a tale with a complex plot that made perfect sense in my head but was proving difficult to put into words. He listened intently, then, with his trademark energy and passion, drew a parallel to the parable of the prodigal son, a story I had never heard before. His vivid and captivating recounting of it sparked my imagination and gave me the inspiration I needed to finish my own.

Although that old computer and its files have long since vanished, along with most of the details of the story I wrote that day, one memory remains vivid. I will never forget the way Uncle James took the time to truly listen, connect with my enthusiasm and offer guidance that gave me the push I needed to keep going.

A year later, on Friday 28 June 2013, my grandfather passed away in Kampala, Uganda. We were unable to travel to pay our respects, and the days that followed were heavy with grief, particularly for my mother. At just eleven years old, I felt powerless to comfort her in any meaningful way.

That same evening, as we grappled with the weight of our loss, the doorbell rang. When I opened it, I was greeted by the familiar faces and towering figures of three men: James Magabo, Jackson Mwesigye and Dennis Rusende - ‘uncles’ I had come to know through the Community of Banyakigezi. Upon hearing the news, they had set aside their own Friday evening plans to visit and console us.

Their compassion, and the profound symbolism of their presence in a home without an adult male figure, meant more to me than words can ever convey. In that moment, they embodied the essence of friendship, solidarity and community. From them, I learned a lasting truth: the true measure of connection lies in showing up for others in their time of need.

Though two of the three - Magabo and Rusende - have since passed on, their legacy lives on in our household and their kindness will forever hold a special place in our hearts, a testament to the power of showing up when it matters most.

A month later, as life began to return to normal, Uncle James visited again - this time with a chess set in hand. Over several hours, he sat with my brother and me, patiently teaching us the game while explaining how chess nurtures strategic thinking and patience, qualities that serve well beyond the board. But he didn’t stop at teaching the rules; he went further, gifting us a book on chess strategy and urging us to think several moves ahead - not just in chess, but in life. That simple act of mentorship was a reflection of who he was in many respects: a man deeply committed to investing in others and helping them realise their potential.

Uncle James also brought a collection of books, including a biography of Nelson Mandela written by Peter Hain, which remains on my bookshelf to this day. That summer, I became utterly captivated by Mandela’s story, immersing myself in the life of a man whose struggles and triumphs resonated deeply. By the time Mandela passed away a few months later, I felt an almost personal connection to him - a connection sparked by the thoughtfulness of a mentor who sought to leave a lasting impact.

As I grew older, the demands of teenage and young adult life gradually distanced me from the Banyakigezi gatherings where Uncle James had always been a familiar and steadfast presence. Yet, despite the pull of time and change, he never stopped inquiring about me and my brother. He kept a genuine interest in our lives and progress, regularly sending his greetings through our mother whenever they met, and we would reciprocate.

In late August of this year, my mother informed me that she had just learned Uncle James was bedridden and gravely ill. Without hesitation, I asked her to find out where he was receiving treatment so we could visit him, and she quickly made the arrangements.

That night, I prayed fervently for the chance to see him one last time and thank him for everything he had done for us. The thought of him passing without knowing how deeply we appreciated him was unbearable. My prayer, which I noted down on my phone at 1:25AM on Fri 30 Aug, was simple: "Please, Lord, grant me the opportunity to see Mr James Magabo and express my gratitude before he leaves this earth."

On Tuesday 3 September, God answered my prayer. My brother, mother and I visited Uncle James at the Willesden Centre for Health and Care and spent just under two hours with him. Despite his frail condition, his spirit remained unshaken, and his passion - for life, education, politics, Uganda and the Community of Banyakigezi - was as vibrant as ever.

He was very pleased to hear about the progress my brother and I had made, deeply appreciative of our gratitude, and even as he spoke of his ailments, he raised his fist and defiantly declared, “I have to fight on; I have to stay strong!” His words, delivered with such power in that small, dimly lit, stuffy hospital room, moved me profoundly - almost to tears. It was clear that his body was failing him, but his resolve remained unwavering.

Saying goodbye that evening was bittersweet. I could sense that his time was running out, but I was filled with profound gratitude for the impact he had made on my life - and for the grace of being able to express that appreciation while he was still with us.

As I listened to the tributes at a gathering held in his memory on Saturday 23 November - just four days after his passing - I reflected on the invaluable lessons Uncle James imparted to me: the power of a promise kept, the importance of showing up when it matters most and the lasting impact of mentorship and kindness.

Uncle James’s influence in my life was never marked by grand gestures or bold declarations. Rather, it was defined by the quiet yet profound ways in which he shaped and uplifted me and my family. His legacy will undoubtedly endure in the many lives he touched, ours included, and we will forever be grateful for the privilege of having known him.

Farewell, Uncle James. You fought on, you stood strong. May you now rest in eternal peace.