In Kayunga District, deep in a remote shrine, a chilling ritual was performed not for healing—but to escape justice. The men involved weren’t seeking redemption. They were fugitives, accused of orchestrating one of Uganda’s most brazen political assassinations: the 2015 killing of top prosecutor Joan Namazzi Kagezi.
Their goal? To “tie the case”—a ritual believed to protect them from arrest and prosecution.
This phrase, repeated in confessions and court proceedings, now sits at the heart of a complex case that entangles cold-blooded murder, political intimidation, and deep-rooted beliefs in witchcraft.
A nation stunned by violence
On the evening of March 30, 2015, Kagezi stopped her government vehicle in Kiwatule to buy fruit for her children. As she stood beside the car, two assailants on motorbikes pulled up and opened fire—killing her in front of her kids.
The country was stunned. Kagezi was not just any prosecutor—she was Uganda’s Assistant Director of Public Prosecutions, known for handling terrorism, corruption, and war crimes cases.
Her assassination wasn’t random. It sent a chilling message: not even senior government officials were beyond reach.
For years, leads dried up and the case went cold. But law enforcement never stopped searching.
The assassins and a dark pact
By 2023, investigators made key arrests. Among them: Massajjage John, also known as Mubiru Brian or “Chongo”, who was quietly living as a boda boda rider in Wandegeya.
He joined three others—Kibuuka John (alias Musa), Kisekka Daniel Kiwanuka, and Nasur Abdallah Mugonole—all charged with murder and terrorism.
According to court records, the murder was a calculated hit, funded and coordinated from across the border in the Democratic Republic of Congo. The guns were smuggled, and the mission was allegedly priced at USD 200,000. A deposit was made—and part of that money reportedly paid for a witchdoctor.
Their aim was simple: kill the target, then spiritually shield themselves from arrest.
The ritual to “tie the case”
Confessed assassin Kisekka told police that shortly after the killing, the team traveled to a shrine in Kayunga. There, a well-known witchdoctor performed rituals meant to protect them from arrest.
“He [the witchdoctor] was told they had committed a big case,” court records state. In return for UGX 200,000, he performed rituals to conceal them from law enforcement.
The witchdoctor, who is now serving time for an unrelated defilement case, confirmed their visit. During an identification parade, he pointed out the suspects without hesitation—bolstering the case against them.
More than just superstition
Police didn’t rely on spiritual confessions alone. Mobile phone data placed two suspects—Kibuuka and Massajjage—at the murder scene during the exact timeframe. Ballistics, witness statements, and crime scene reconstructions further supported the prosecution’s case.
Kisekka detailed the operation: who pulled the trigger, who cleared the escape path, and how motorbikes were used in their swift getaway.
Why Kagezi?
Justice Alice Komuhangi Khaukha said the motive was both political and psychological. Kagezi was a high-profile government prosecutor. Killing her was meant to intimidate the state and strike fear into the public.
The court ruled the act constituted terrorism. It was premeditated, politically motivated, and designed to undermine government authority.
Justice Komuhangi also emphasized the organized nature of the conspiracy, stating that the use of rituals wasn’t superstition—it was part of a broader plan to evade justice. That the suspects avoided capture for nearly a decade, she said, was evidence of their coordination and intent.
Where justice meets belief
The Kagezi case isn’t just about politics or crime—it reveals a deeper cultural truth. In Uganda, the belief in spiritual protection runs deep, even among criminals.
But this trial, now heading to full hearing, will test more than legal arguments. It will challenge how the justice system interprets the intersection of belief and accountability.
The question now is no longer whether these rituals exist—but how they’re used to obstruct justice in modern Uganda.
