“Before The 2010 Blast I Informed Nixon About The Planned Bomb Plot But Instead Of Stopping It, He Facilitated It & Threatened Me With Death If I Tell Anyone” Mugalu Narrates

On July 11, 2010, Uganda witnessed one of its darkest nights. Twin bomb blasts tore through Kyadondo Rugby Grounds and the Ethiopian Village restaurant in Kampala, killing nearly 100 people who had gathered to watch the World Cup final. The Somali-based terrorist group al-Shabab was quickly named as the culprit. But fifteen years on, disturbing new claims suggest the tragedy may have involved betrayal from within Uganda’s own security forces.

A Ugandan businessman—referred to here as Thomas Mugalu for his safety—has come forward with a chilling account. Just weeks before the attacks, Mugalu says he was approached at his bar by Ahmed Issa Luyima, a man later identified as one of the bombing suspects. Luyima requested unregistered SIM cards and burner phones. Believing it to be a routine favor, Mugalu linked him with a supplier.

Shortly after, the supplier—known only as Godfrey—returned with alarming news: Luyima allegedly intended to use the phones in a planned bombing in Kampala. Alarmed, Mugalu reported the warning to a government security contact, Ismael, who arranged a meeting with the Rapid Response Unit (RRU) in Kireka.

There, Mugalu met senior police officer Nixon Karuhanga Agasiirwe, renowned for cracking down on criminal networks. Mugalu expected decisive action. Instead, he received a stern warning to remain silent. According to Mugalu, Agasiirwe not only dismissed the tip-off but threatened him with death if he spoke further. Even more disturbing, Agasiirwe allegedly told Mugalu to go ahead and deliver the phones, assuring him that he would “handle the rest.”

A month later, the bombs exploded—carried out by the very suspects Mugalu had reported. Agasiirwe, paradoxically, led the operation to arrest them. To the public, justice appeared swift. But according to Mugalu, it was all a carefully orchestrated cover-up.

“I didn’t stay silent—I reported what I knew,” Mugalu says. “But instead of stopping the attack, they used my tip to protect themselves.”

Legal analysts argue that any officer aware of an imminent attack yet failing to act must be held accountable. Yet no formal investigation has been launched against Agasiirwe. Instead, he was celebrated, receiving promotions in the aftermath of the tragedy.

The story takes an even darker turn. In 2015, Joan Kagezi, a courageous state prosecutor involved in the bombing case, was assassinated. Sources now suggest she had uncovered evidence implicating high-ranking security officials—including Agasiirwe—in the events surrounding the bombing. Her murder remains unsolved, and many believe it was intended to silence her before she could expose the truth.

As for Mugalu, the consequences of speaking out have been devastating. He was arrested without charge, repeatedly threatened, and forced into hiding. His business collapsed. Today, he lives in fear and uncertainty—haunted by the belief that his attempt to prevent bloodshed was exploited and buried.

This isn’t just a story about terrorism. It’s a story of betrayal, where the pursuit of personal power may have taken precedence over protecting innocent lives. It’s a story that challenges our understanding of justice—and reminds us that in some systems, truth-tellers don’t become heroes. They become victims.